Healing Wounds / How The Other Half Lives

By now the pain of last Sunday’s little revelation has almost subsided. We’re still angry and betrayed-feeling, of course, but there is an air of acceptance too. We can’t un-relationship Claire and Lewis so we have to let it be.

I’ve done quite a bit of research on the matter and the consensus is broadly the same: she goes, and he goes too. That sucks, sure, but it seems only right.

“I’m so glad she turfed me out before I got interested because then I can have you all to myself, completely guilt-free!” I grin, holding my arms up in celebration.

“Yay!” Matt says, he hugs me.

There’s a smile this morning when I realise why Lewis may have been so afraid to approach Matt: Matt is more confident now and dare I say it, but that’s probably the “Helen effect”: I make people believe in themselves through encouragement and shared experiences. I’d do it for anyone, coming from a woman who hated herself at one time and didn’t believe in herself. I’m not a therapist by any means but I still try my utmost to be a good and honest friend.

The reasons for getting rid of the friend (Lewis) I find interesting and especially fitting too. If a ‘friend’ can date an ex then who’s to say that they might not have eyes for your current partner as well? Even if not right away, say they and the ex break up, who’s to say they might not get curious? That’s the catch you see, I am what happened after Claire. If Claire and Lewis break up but Matt and I have been together for 15 years, what is it that I have or do that makes me so exceptional?

Do you really want a ‘friend’ around who is thinking things like that? A friend should be someone you can trust. How can you trust a friend if you’re worried they’ll make a move on your partner? How can you trust them again if they admit that they’ve been shacking up with your ex for two whole months behind your back?

So we owned it; we need new friends.

I won’t bore you with our request, Dear Reader, but if you want to read the humoured post draft that I wrote for Fetlife, it’s here. I wanted to inject some gentle humour into the situation because that’s who we are, it’s what we do. If you don’t laugh, you cry.

And to be honest, the response has been overwhelming – it’s been kind, positive and genuine. It’s why I love the kink community so much, and why I wanted kinky friends over new vanilla ones. The genuineness of kinky folks is truly heart-warming.

On Wednesday I decided to do what I could to get my husband out of his funk. Again I couldn’t un-relationship his best friend from his ex and I couldn’t un-betray him either, but I’d be damned sure that I could cook him up some more bacon and maple syrup pancakes. I add two extra, because I spoil him.

While I cook I play some music on the kitchen speaker and Matt joins me in an embrace. The Ronettes’ “Be My Baby” plays in the air and it speaks volumes for us, in this moment.

So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me.
We’ll make ’em turn their heads every place we go.

In the afternoon I write my weekly letter, a kind of alternative to the diaries I used to keep. It’s a new way of addressing things now and, we find, works much better than the diaries. It doesn’t feel quite so passive-aggressive.

“Thankyou for your letter” he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, “it was really sweet”.

I won’t share it all, that’s private business, but I did tell him that I didn’t need to sleep with Lewis to know that I had the ‘better bro’. I’ve always liked Lewis, as a friend, he’s just not my cup of tea.

Matt, however, most certainly is.

“No problem” I reply, “and hey, if you’re still pissed, you could always return the favour and fuck your ex-girlfriend’s once-best-friend? See how that goes for you” I offer coquettishly, he needs no further encouragement.

“You, Mrs S, are incorrigible as ever” he chides, pulling me into a kiss.

“Yours too” I mutter against him.

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Matt did hear from Lewis again yesterday, in a simple “hi mate, how things?” text message. For his part he has decided to speak to Lewis again, though his ability to forgive him very much hangs on that conversation. For my part I’m feeling much less forgiving and I think he has some real nerve to ‘mate’ the friend he’s betrayed, I’ve also dubbed Claire “Scooter” because by now it seems that most of the city has had a turn on her. It’s disparaging, sure, but perhaps justly so.

I’ve also made it quite clear that I will be much more guarded around Lewis now, if indeed they remain friends. It used to be that I would allow for spots of ‘covert submission’ in Lewis’ presence, little touches of Matt’s domination of me that were suggestive but not obvious of his role: fetching drinks, addressing him playfully as “Sir” or “boss”, fulfilling requests almost immediately and without any explanation as to why, that kind of thing.

Not anymore, not now. He doesn’t deserve to get to enjoy that side of me and Matt understands my feeling towards it. To allow it would be to share me with him and he’s already done the sharing of my predecessor behind my husband’s back. I believe in honesty, even if it hurts. Lewis wasn’t honest and so he doesn’t get to enjoy.

We did have quite a biistering argument last night, annoyingly, on date night. We settled ourselves down to watch Sex/Life, a series on Netflix with not exactly stellar reviews. The deal was that if we watched it then I’d have to review it, that’s just how sexy things, Netflix and me go now.

“Is that it? Is that the premise of the whole series? She’s just a woman who wants sex?” Matt asks. It’s enough that I need some time to cool off.

“Okay, you know what? Find something else, I’m going to bed” I say, I resort to the bedroom to regulate my feelings for a little while. I’m too hurt right now to deal with this. I know why, too.

I’m kinkier than Matt, and I have always been kinkier than Matt. I don’t say that as a bad thing of him but it was at least something that I had to learn to accept for the sake of our relationship. I had to tame in some of my deepest, darkest fantasies to meet my slightly-more-vanilla then-boyfriend half way.

That’s kind of depicted in the series too, the downside of meeting (and forming relationships with) some of these men who will blow your goddamn mind. Sadly it’s a familiar story for me.

It’s mindblowing sex for us, but it’s an ego trip for them. When things start to go wrong? They can go really, really wrong. Ultimately you have to decide what you want more in life – good sex or a good guy.

That’s not to say that good guys can’t be good lovers, by the way, but when you really love someone, sometimes you do worry about hurting them more than just a little bit, even if it’s what they really want you to do. When they mean the world to you and when you share a life with them, sometimes you don’t want to see them in a less than favourable light.

It’s human nature, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it.

But it also doesn’t meet the need.

What’s wrong for me though is this turfing up feelings of the past. It’s reminding me of the times when I, I don’t know, wanted to be be stripped, used and dehumanised. By Matt, by the one I love.

And Matt didn’t want to, and the frustrations that ensued because the one I love didn’t want to strip, use and dehumanise me like I wanted him to. He didn’t want to claim me like I desired.

I’m still relatively satisfied, make no mistake, but it’s a compromise and sometimes a healthy dose of intensive fantasy to boot. I need that je ne sais quoi that gets me there sometimes, one way or another.

I do live a life, a kinky life, but it’s not the kinky life of my dreams (or many people’s dreams) because Matt is a real person and life is a real thing. Sometimes I too need to fantasise because there is still an unmet need.

“Flip this on it’s head, imagine it was a man who was sexually frustrated” I argue, “he would seem like a sex-hungry pig.”

“That’s not exactly an uncommon stereotype” Matt points out, I glare at him for a moment while I think of a response to his smartassery. Damn him for calling checkmate on me so soon. Ass.

“Right”, I finally say, “well then if men are sex-starved pigs and women are sexually-frustrated creatures…”

“Actually, forget that offer” I smile, “I’m not into beastiality.”

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This morning, after some yoga, I settled down to tea and pancakes while I read the latest post from slave Shae. I find it interesting how similar and yet how different we are. Whilst we are both women of a similar age, who both have seemingly similar personalities and both live in our submissive roles (and support and teach others about kink and BDSM), we also live seemingly very different lives. Some many things that Shae doesn’t have or do, I do have or do, and vice versa.

Take for example, in her post here Shae mentions that she is drawn to business-style Dominant men. Whilst I certainly can appreciate a man in a suit, a man of wealth and status is not so important for me. The two that I am in relationships with, I would say, could be best described as “deep, sadistic, funny geeks”. That seems to be a draw for me; everyday men, sadists with feelings and a good sense of humour who love comics. sc-fi, rock music, technology, video games and science. If I can be forgiven (or not, because I’m sure there is a way for compromise 😉 ) for preferring DC to Marvel, I work with these men quite well.

“Hygienic” is important too, though perhaps and again, the idea of what that means really varies. I like a man who smells of clean clothes and body wash; I like him to smell clean, but not perfumed. Similarly I like my men to be maintained, but not overly groomed. If he’s too perfect, it’s unattractive for me. I’m not perfect, why does he need to be?

In this post, Shae mentions that for her Dominance over Sadism is important, and for me it is the other way around. I am a masochist – a smart-assed masochist, specifically – and I have long found pleasure in pain. Those who I serve love to see me suffer, they enjoy me suffering them and I enjoy suffering for them. I enjoy ‘feeling’ them, by that I mean that I enjoy feeling whatever they want me to feel. I offer myself to their sadistic ways whenever they want or need me to. I know and understand that sometimes sadists find pleasure in inflicting pain, that it is a raw and unexplainable feeling, and a masochist wants to feel it. We want to be that feeling, felt. We give ourselves willingly to our sadists to feel.

With safewords, of course.

Secondly, I note that Shae mentions herself as being below others as a slave, as property or less-than status. That lies in sharp contrast to me – while I may belong to my pack I am not below them, rather I am seen as a woman of worth and I am treated as such; an asset, not mere property. I am a pet, a kitten, a primal being (and a knowingly spoilt one at that). I am still property, but of no less value. Even debased to the basics of the The Three B’s, Matt and Bill will still turn to me for advice and guidance on matters readily. I travel in luxury taxis and I have not less than four (I counted) sets of sapphire earrings for every occasion – I am treated to good and valuable things because I am seen as a good and valuable thing. That’s not to brag, I’m not allowed to, but it is at least to be honest about my circumstances.

Shae is also readily displayed and shared, whereas I am more hidden and utilised. I should imagine that, if we lived in some neighbourhood or community where we could be our kinky selves freely, then Shae and I would be of a sort of slave collective yet live broadly different lives. For example, while Shae is displayed for the entertainment of guests, I would be kept clothed, perhaps decorated with a collar and/or cuffs (collars are only right for pets after all, Sirs) and kept to hand, perhaps of use in some other way. Whereas Shae is shared sexually, I would perhaps be made to be aware and count my lucky stars that I am not, that my Sirs could if they wanted to, they just don’t (I think?) want to. I am not better than Shae, I just live a very different submission. I would never be allowed to forget such a fact and promptly chastised if I did.

‘The Golden Rule’ is also a very real threat for me in these situations – that if I want to be disrespectful to another Dominant then I can also be punished by another Dominant – so the idea of forgetting my place? Yeah. Ouch.

Where my submission would shine would be in the ways that I could be of use, domestically. I have long enjoyed domestic servitude and Shae is already aware of my existing coffee-grinding use. Both of my Sirs have uses (or ideas for uses) for me domestically. Again I would not be permitted to see myself as above Shae, and just because I do domestically useful things instead of sexually useful things, it doesn’t make me above anyone else.

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I also share Shae’s shame in the words that are spoken of us and, perhaps more debasingly, even the comparisons that could even be drawn between us. That, I think, would be really intense for both of us.

I wish I could turn away here and say that I don’t understand the objectifying, third-person talk that Shae speaks of in her posts, but I do and I know that my Sirs would expect me to admit it too. However, the ‘trigger words’ for me are similar and different again.

One of the most stupid names that I have been called – that came from a moment of no real significance and shouldn’t have affected me like it did – was “Daddy’s little tartlet”. It had the same sting as “slut”, but it was more unique and personal and with it, also more cutting.

Oh, and “my little croquembouche”, because of my tendency to be… umm, cream-filled.

I share Shae’s love-hate relationship with “slut”, mostly because I too want for it not to be true. Again I’m not shared like Shae is but I am a woman who is known to love sex and cock. If I could just turn these things off about me then I would, the problem is I can’t. I also understand Shae’s meaning when she talks about the pain of BDSM – there is a painful shame that comes with knowing and accepting that I am a woman who loves submissive sex. I am a strong, successful woman who willingly gives herself over to (selected) men after hours, to be used in whatever way they desire.

“Whore” and “wench” are two that I have been called and that I found so laughable, I paid them no mind. I am not a prostitute and I am not shared for sex, how can I be either?

I should note here that yelling at me also doesn’t work. I am the daughter of a military brat, I spent my first 23 years being yelled at. I am immune to it now, I switch off and stare right through the yeller. I know that yelling is an attempt to intimidate and control, and unless I agree to instruction, the yeller has no control (though in a bizarre twist, I do). Why not save your voice and blood pressure, then?

“Subject” or “patient” are perhaps the two that have always had the most effect, but perhaps also “pet” by now too. A subject particularly is a thing unknown, a thing of wonder to be captured and studied. I’ve tried for so long to hide some of these deepest parts of my submissive identity but, well, there’s just no hiding me anymore, is there?