What The Duck?

A close-up picture of a drake. He has a brown blody with a green head and a white collar around his neck

I’ll never look at waterfowl the same again…

I think my anxiety has somewhat calmed down by now, so that’s good. I’m sure my search history will have the Google analysts asking questions, but whatever, I needed some assurances. I’ve taken a few days to come up with a plan of action, a way to address this problem in my life. I’ve decided to write a handwritten letter to my mother and brother, at some point over the next few days. I can’t tell people what to do of course, but I can at least share my concerns and hope that they will listen. My mother never used to shy of leaving me handwritten letters in times of stress, so maybe it’s time I returned the favour.

Speaking of problems, I’ve been umming and arring over how the hell to add some storage to my entranceway. My entranceway, if you ever imagined that I might live in some English countryhouse with a long drive-up and stone arched doorways, is about two metres long and seventy centimetres wide, with a bulky white radiator that juts out from the shortest wall. I’ve put a mail holder with key hooks and a mirror above the radiator to create some semblance of decor, but to be honest, the holder has been stuffed full of reusable face masks ever since the pandemic began. Not to be outdone, I’m replacing the picture frame opposite with a large grid wall and the mail holder will be replaced by a small shelf and key hooks. That way,. I can hang some baskets on the grid wall for odds and sods, and mail can go in the actual mail holder that comes with it. Whether or not that actually happens, of course, is a different story.

We’ll call this Project Entrance. There will be picures.

Last night didn’t owe itself to any kinky fuckery again, and I also know that it got to me more than usual. Kink, for me, is not just about sex. In fact, I think for anyone, then kink is made up of many components. There’s the service part – service is like an act of love for me. There’s the sex part – sure, kink isn’t always about sex, but they quite often go together and I’m married to a 35-year-old red-blooded male, so sex happens often. There’s humiliation – humiliation is fun, but it’s also hard to sustain for any real length of time. I know it, I’ve been Dominant and submissive, humiliating someone for any real length of time can be quite taxing if you’ve already spent the day using your brain.

Then there’s pain, and bondage, and sensation, and all of that generalised yumminess. That, for me, is where it’s at. Sex without kink is fine, but sex wthout kink on Kinky Fuckery Friday is… frankly disappointing. In fact, Kinky Fuckery Friday without kink is disappointing, full stop. Kink is my stress rellief. It sounds bad, but I need to suffer to get all of my stress out. I need to endure just to see how strong I really am. The more I endure, the more angry I feel, the more I groan and scream and the more stress comes out. Eventually, all that’s left is a being with no desire or will to fight – a happy, complacent, satisfied, sleepy being, ready to good for the next two weeks. It sounds fucked up, but it works.

I’m not into bruises and heavy beating, but stress positions and things that leave me sore and achy for a day or two? Hmm… where do I sign?

Still, when I don’t have that outlet? I’m left to carry all of that stress. I feel it it in my shoulders (which, by the way, absolutely adore a good flogging).and I’m left angsty and irritable for another two weeks. It’s not Matt’s fault, he’s stressed with work, but whereas a bottle of beer or a glass of whisky can help him relax, it doesn’t do anything for me. Only a sadist with a kind heart and a wicked sense of humour can fix me.

My favourite breed.

Yesterday, I spoke for a bit with my mother. I didn’t say anything about the… problem, but she told me that she’d split with her most recent partner, also a Dominant. In a somewhat sardonic way, the cause of her break-up was the same as my own, only, unlike her, it’d taken me several months ang go-rounds to realise that he wasn’t right for me. He’d told her that she was his ‘only true sub’ and that he loved her, but he also disapproved of her going to events without him, even just socially.

You got out and now you don’t go back. Trust me, I assured.

You did.

Wait, you don’t think this is the same guy, do you?

Ahh yes, so it begins.

I was reminded of a conversation that I’d had with my good friend, Bill, about military personnel in romantic relationships. According to Bill, military life ‘screws them up’, and I had to wonder if this time he might be right. I don’t think it screws people up in a way that they are incompatible with everyday living, but I think it sets ‘them’ apart from ‘us’, the ‘civvies’. I grew up in a family that had military connections – my gradfather was in the RAF, my mother and father were in the Territorial Army and my uncle (and now cousin) are/were in the A rmy. When I started dating Matt, I had to unlearn the fast-paced lifestyle that, I supposed, came with military indoctrination – if breakfast is at 0800, you’re at the table for 0730. If yor transport is at 0900, you’re outside and waiting at the roadside for 0840 – even family vacations meant we usually hit the road at 0600 and arrived before the sun was fully in the sky. When I started dating Matt, I can remember going though a phase of apologising for waking up late. I felt sick for the longest time, I’d get up at 9am and they’d still be in bed. When I got up late once and Andy was already awake, I even apologised and feared that I’d be in trouble. He brushed it off with a wave of his hand and told me not to worry.

That’s new.

Still, being in the forces often comes with privileges, including service personnel discounts and formal dinners. The reward for less freedom and time to relax, I supposed, is these discounts and dinners, and at the benefit of not having such priviliges that us ‘civvies’ are afforded, is freedom. Military personnel are also known for their bluntness, whereas civil society teaches people to speak to one another with kindness, politeness and respect. It’s a clash of two different lifestyles, and so friction is bound to happen.

Last night, Matt and I sat down to our regular Friday treat but, ahead of that, we watched Channel 4’s Gogglebox. It’s usually interesting, except last night there was footage of a woman who ended up developing feelings for a duck. Confused, I watched as text filled the screen.

The Woman Who Was Fed By A Duck”, the fifth episode of Roar, currently showing on Apple TV.

Okay. Seems strange.

Larry the talking duck was very commanding, telling Elisa what was good for her and the decisions that she should make in her career path as a doctor. Most of it seemed harmless, with Elisa taking Larry for a bicycle ride and them sitting on the couch together in front of the TV. It seemed like a cute – if a little odd – companionship.

We then watched as Elisa filled a bathtub and Larry floated happily on the water. Elisa then slowly and seductively disrobed in front of Larry, and jumped in.

“This feels like Fifty Shades of Grey meets something I never thought I’d watch,” I said, “I feel turned on and horrified, both at the same time.”

As if the bath scene wasnt weird enough, it gets worse.

“Take off your pants and lie on the floor” Larry begins. What the…

Horrified and mesmerised, I witnessed a sex scene between a woman and a (fortunately CGI!) duck, slowed down for dramatic effect.

And cue end credits.

Horrified but nonetheless curious, I had to research as to why I’d just seen zoophilia play out on my screen. It turns out that the duck is metaphorical, and whilst I don’t generally agree with tarring all men with the same brush (or scenes of zoophilia to make a point, for that matter), the reasons for this trauma have at least been explained here.

“The following programme contains scenes of sex and full frontal nudity” the narator began.

“Mate, up to what I’ve just seen? Nothing can shock me from here” I laughed.

Matt and I settled down to our weekly episode of Open House: The Great Sex Experiment and in this episode, unfortunately, we saw our first couple split up. The first signs of trouble came at the idea of rules – Alex wasn’t allowed to form emotional connections or kiss anyone outside of a game and yet, when Lydie went on her date, she broke both rules. The pair then went on another, rule-free date with their respective new partners and while Alex felt too guilty to see through a night of passion, Lydie returned happy, with claims that her date was “perfect” and she’s “never felt so happy in my life” Undertandably, that hurt Alex’s feelings and the pair recognised that they don’t want to be together anymore.

“I don’t know, that gives me the ick” Matt said.

“Okay, talk to me?”

We sat in silence for a moment, though I observed Matt still.

“You’re worried I’ll find someone else and do the same to you?”I said softly.

“I guess” he sighed. Time for my Shakespeare moment.

“Mr S, you are without a doubt one of the kindest, funniest, warmest men that I have ever met. I left other men for you, because I wanted you more and they just weren’t you. You have a great -“

“Big dick and a good tongue?” he intervened, I cocked my head and glared at him. Really?

“A great mind, an infectious sense of humour and a gentle soul” I affirmed.

“But the dick is sure a bonus, right?”. I sighed.

“Undeniably” I exclaimed, exasperated.

“Polyamory is about ‘and’, not ‘or'”, I whispered. “Besides, and obviously I don’t know where things are going to go yet, but Will is real. You’ll be able to meet Will, and with time, hopefully you’ll be able to trust him. We’ll be able to talk about everything, about going fotward and about boundaries as things maybe progress. I think once you do that, you’ll trust more and then that fear will begin to fade.”

“Then I’m fucked” I uttered.

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