He dumped me.
I saw it coming.
My guess is that, conquest completed, he got bored.
His version goes something like: “I’m in the middle of a divorce, trying to figure out what to do about the house, taking care of kids 50% of the time who are in activities every night of the week, running my own business, and I just have NO TIME.”
Did he have to do it via text message? Really?
I messaged him back that if he can’t even find the time to dump me in an appropriate manner, then he really MUST be swamped.
He didn’t offer to meet me somewhere so we could talk, or suggest a final roll in the hay. That, more than anything, is how I know that he has just gone off me.
I am sad, but my prevailing emotion is relief. No tears here (at least not yet).
Why wasn’t I the one to pull the plug? Simple. I never could resist the question, “What if?”
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to drink vodka and eat chocolate bars.
It didn’t happen. We are still together. I can’t seem to bring myself to let it go. Plus he is being nice to me now.
I know how pathetic I sound. I hate women like me. What I never understood is that it’s different when you’re in it.
I had a delicious car quickie with Sir last night. I hopped into his big work truck and didn’t make eye contact until he greeted me. I have been reading up on sub etiquette. It was a little weird–I am what you’d call a spirited submissive with a teasing, bratty streak–but I know he wants me to work on my protocol, so I will do my best.
We drove to a nearby parking lot, beside a ravine.
“Get naked,” he said.”I can’t believe you’re wearing clothes.”
I smirked at him, stripping, and climbed into the back seat.
“Are you wearing panties?” he asked, unbuttoning his jeans.
“Yes,” I answered.
“You shouldn’t be–take them off.” I complied, yelping as the cold leather met my ass. He tossed me a blanket, then climbed in the back with me. “Get up here.” I straddled him while we kissed, his hands rubbing my pussy.
“Make it hard,” he said, so I sucked him into my mouth, employing my newly acquired deep-throating skills and occasionally licking up and down his shaft, or running my tongue over his balls. He grew rock hard in seconds as I worked my tongue over his dick, and I grew wetter and wetter, treating him to my moans, as he fingered my pussy.
Then I was on him again, my legs parted, my body opening totally to accept the fullness of him. Once he was completely inside me, I rode him frantically, both of us moaning and talking dirty.
“Just like that, you little slut.”
“Mmm, I love your cock, Sir!”
“You’ve been dying for this all week, haven’t you?”
Moments later I was coming, clenching around him, still rocking.
“Get on your knees,” he said. I got onto all fours, with my ass in the air, facing him.
He mounted me, filling me with just the right angle and pressure, and again we fucked, taking each other violently.
“That’s my dirty girl,” he growled. Being called “his girl” so strongly increased my ecstasy that I was shocked by the power of it.
“Fuck me, Sir!” I purred. I could not get enough. It will never be enough.
He screwed me hard and fast, hitting the spot again and again, until I came with a scream and he covered me in his cum.
I looked at him over my shoulder, ass still in the air, dripping with his liquid. We kissed savagely, and for the first time, I meant it.
“You missed me, didn’t you?”
Sir and I had a lovely reunion today. We fucked each other silly, cuddled, took a shower, and then I helped him cook. In the kitchen, while I chopped veggies and he chastised me for my improper usage of different knives then showed me how to do it right, we had a long chat. It actually felt like more of a Q&A, in which I grilled him, hoping to figure out exactly what is going on between us. It was a drawn out conversation, but I’ll condense my questions and his answers. Maybe having them in type will help me make sense of what we discussed, because despite hours of conversation, I am still not completely clear on where we stand.
Question: What are you looking for in a partner?
Answer: Someone who is younger, has no kids or no kids under the age of 10, isn’t a party girl (he likes to go out and have a good time but he doesn’t drink or do drugs), and is reasonably fit.*
Question: What about in terms of personality?
Answer: A perfect lady, and a total slut. . .exactly like you.
Question: How would you classify our relationship?
Answer: We are having an affair. (Ouch.) Does it bother you that I said that?
Question: So, you have said you are looking for a life partner, but you are not monogamous, and yet you don’t believe in fucking around…?
Answer: I believe in fucking around as long as it is not behind the person’s back. So with us, if I met someone, I would tell her that I am non-traditional and that I have another girl, and would ask if she’d like to meet you.
Question: What does that mean, “I’m your girl”?
Answer: We are together, but you can’t be my partner because you’re married.
Question: How do you think another woman is going to react to knowing there is already someone in your life who you want to keep?
Answer: Not well.**
Question: So then maybe the two of you would swing?
Answer: Nope. I’m not a swinger.
Question: Am I your submissive? (We had got onto the subject of collaring and how he views it the same as a wedding ring. Therefore, for someone to truly be someone else’s submissive, they would also have to be partners, in his view).
Answer: Sort of. We would be under the category of It’s Complicated.
Question: So what does that mean?
Answer: It means that you are married, so you can never truly be mine. I am also afraid to completely dominate you because of The Incident. I have to have total confidence in my ability to do what I want to you without crossing any lines, and I don’t have that confidence. And honestly, people have gone to jail for taking it too far with a submissive. Every time I am about to dominate you it scares me and I pull back.
Question: Do you think that maybe I’m a little crazy?
Answer: No. You are one of the most sensible girls I’ve met.
Question: Then why do you feel like, if I have given you carte blanche to do what you want to me outside of my hard limits, I would turn around and call the cops? Do you not think I know what I want?
Answer: It’s not about what you want. It’s not about you at all. It’s about trusting myself and knowing I am not going to go too far again. I can’t seem to get past that fear.
Question: You know what they say about facing your fears?
Answer: I just need to get over it. And you need to piss me off, you never do anything wrong.
At this point I picked up a slice of rutabaga and threw it on the floor. He laughed and hugged me and told me it was going to take more than that. Then he promised we would get past it.
So. . .shall I go brat? I really need a spanking!
P.S. For those of you who were concerned about the fact that I wasn’t mentioned on his FetLife profile, he told me today that I am now listed under his relationships–without me even bringing it up or having to ask. Yay.
*He added that none of these are deal breakers if he is in love, but this is what he is looking for.
**I wanted to ask what he would do if he found someone he thought he could make it work with but who wasn’t okay with me being in his life, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer. Regardless, he says he is not monogamous and will not be, so I guess any woman he is with would have to share him one way or another.
I’m pretty sure he’s on a date. Right now. As I live and type.
How do I know this? I don’t really. Except that we had plans today, and when I told him it was my time of the month (CURSES! Of course, right when he gets back from a month away this shit happens), he was all too quick to say that we should reschedule. We chatted via text all morning and all afternoon (during which he told about “the girl”, who we will refer to as She Devil). They went out once before his trip (which he already told me weeks ago) and apparently have been chatting online.
Anyway, as I said, we’d been chatting via text all day. Then suddenly, about an hour ago or so, he stops responding. I text him and he answers with one word. I respond to his one word, and he answers with “k.” Does that sound like a man on a date to you? Because it does to me.
I am not happy. It’s not (just) the fact that he is (probably) on a date. He’s been on dates before, and he’ll go on them again. It’s the fact that he just got back from his trip and I haven’t even seen him yet, and he is (maybe) out with someone else? No! Plus, if he fucks her, which he will, that means SHE gets the benefits of his almost-month with no nooky, not me. I’m sorry, but that is just not fair. Welcome home sex is supposed to be mine–MINE!
And then I kind of blame myself a little. Because he was in town on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. His kids were with the ex from the 24th until the afternoon of the 25th, when they came to his place and then they all left to visit family. He texted me on Christmas Eve, saying he was desperate to see me. But I couldn’t. It was Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve through Christmas Day is family time. There is no way I could have sneaked out to meet him without experiencing extreme self-hatred. My husband and I always have sex on Christmas Eve, I could not have excused myself and gone and slept with Sir too. It would have just been. . .icky. And as my husband is not stupid, he would know that there was no last minute emergency that needed tending to on Christmas Eve, and that I was not merely “out”, but that I was out with “someone else.” It would have totally crossed a line.
My feelings about all of this are all tangled up. Yes, I’d like to have a poly family, but I think I would prefer if we were all involved, rather than having individual relationships all over the place. It just gets so complicated. I’m not even really poly at this point,but I can’t stop my head from swimming with all of these possible problems. Who gets holidays? Who gets priority when two people are experiencing a personal crisis at once? Does the spouse, or whoever was there first, always retain “primary” status? Can anything ever actually be equal between a person’s two or more lovers? Should it be?
Then there’s the huge issue underlying all of this. . .which is that I feel insufficient. I know that sounds completely ridiculous coming from a married woman who’s sleeping with other men because her husband can’t meet her needs, but hear me out. My husband is my partner. We are a family. No matter what, we will always have that. He comes first, and he knows it. I sleep here, I consult him on all major decisions, holidays are automatically spent together and it is up to the two of us to build a life together.
When it comes to Sir, I have no such status. I am listed on my Fet Life profile as under his “protection” (as commanded by him), but I am not listed on his. At all. And then I get to see in his news feed that he is posting on singles boards, and on his profile that he is seeking a long-term relationship, and I just get. . .I don’t even know what the word for it is. He has never been anything less than honest with me, so that isn’t the problem. I guess I just still feel like the girl he is seeing while he waits for someone better to come along. Which was fine, back before he was interfering with my affairs. But when I’m not allowed to see or talk to guys I was formerly sleeping with, when anyone from the fetish community who wants to talk to me has to go through him, but I don’t even deserve to have my existence acknowledged? I don’t know. I am new to this, maybe I am over-reacting? Can anyone else give their opinion?
I need to know that I am his. I need something to hold onto. Not necessarily a collar, but something. But that is not the kind of thing you can ask for. It has to be freely given, or it means nothing. We don’t even have a picture together.
Part of me just wants to tell him to screw off, or that I thought I was okay with this but I’m not, or that I need to find someone who is also married with children, who understands exactly where I am coming from and whose needs are balanced more closely with mine. The rest of me knows that I am in this until I am cut loose, left on the side of the road in a cardboard box, shivering and howling my head off, in the tradition of all abandoned pussy.