Fresh Air And Big Skies

Fresh air and big skies with a view between my thighs of impact play marks and breasts.

With the marks from our passionate scene blossoming on my thighs and buttocks I took myself to the moor. Fresh air and big skies are such an important part of my aftercare routine. In fact, it’s where I find it easiest to provide myself with gentle kindness on any occasion in need a little self care. Whether that is to help improve my general mood or ride the wave of crashing endorphins. Today that space would prove even more important for me.

After parting company on the Sunday I’d slipped back into parenting mode. Slightly sore in the seat I drove east for collection. Calmer for the impact Sir had on me, ready to face the challenges I’d be presented with following their weekend away.

He and I remained in close contact. My post-play email was with him before I slept, along with pictures of the welts he’d inflicted on my milky white flesh. He checked up on me in his calm and measured way. Requested I be careful and ensure I heal properly, as per my rule. The way he looks after me, makes me feel safe, is perfectly in tune with my needs. Present but not over-the-top. He lets me get on with it my way- like the strong, independent and bloody-minded woman I am!- while also making his presence felt.

The following morning, he had an appointment at the office. There, he’d thought, it would signal an end to his contract, freeing him up in the UK for a spell. Instead, they wanted to extend it, re-task him. This would take him out of the country again until at least the next February.

We discussed this in the late morning. As had previously happened, he would remove restrictions from me. I’d be free to play with anyone I wanted, in any way that I chose. Unlike before though he had tasks, if I wanted them. Things to keep me going, progressing on my journey. Naturally I did want them, I love to work hard for him.

But first I needed some fresh air, some big skies.

When I parked the car, my notifications told me he’d replied. The tasks were in. He’d removed one ongoing task, the first part causing persistent problems. And if I managed to achieve the first step, I’d need him standing behind me, supporting me as that developed. Importantly, he asked me to continue training, to be ready for my first marathon in the February. I was free to end my blog but tasked to refocus my writing efforts elsewhere. There were a few other tasks, around my health and wellness. All positive steps to becoming the woman I wanted to be.

Mulling these over I pulled on my running shoes. Set off. The fresh air and big skies were joined by huge rocks and muddy bogs. By the time I’d reached four miles I was in tears. The sadness at him leaving was, however, eclipsed by something else. Something I hadn’t expected, or even ever imagined. With all of my self-reflection and inner work I’m surprised that I didn’t see it coming, but as I rounded a tor it smacked me in the face like a shovel.

Somewhere along the line I’d fallen in love with him. I couldn’t tell you when it happened, but that calm adoration of him had been present for so long. The realisation that he was leaving and my main emotion was joy at him having a new contract, being able to continue the career he gets so much joy from for (at least) a little longer. It’s funny how you only realise how much someone means to you when they are taken away. But wanting only the best for him, in spite of my own loss… I think it was B who told me the difference between love and attachment, she’d shared the following video with me months before. I think, perhaps she’d seen what I’d not. Out on Dartmoor that afternoon the video suddenly made absolute sense!

I now understood what true love meant to me.

Smiling through my tears I shared the contents of my mind.

It’s not attachment. Not about what he can do for me, but seeing him happy, healthy and fulfilled. I’d thought I didn’t love him because I wasn’t clingy, needy or fearful. Given my history of “love” within an abusive relationship that’s understandable. I didn’t want to hear it back from him, just needed to share how I felt. It’s important to know that somewhere out there someone is thinking of you, that you are loved. Don’t you think?

Under the big skies, I felt the grief flood over me. Fresh air, funnelling up from the sea, caused me to rise to my feet, resume my course. Pounding out a meditative rhythm with my now heavy feet, I decided to enjoy the rest of our time before he travelled. With a long contract I knew he’d be busy tying up loose ends, just as I’d be busy with my children.

The final task he set was to make myself happy.

Looking back now, I can see that he was asking me to pour the love I have for him back into myself. To be kind to his property when he wasn’t able to be. And to make the most of this precious life that I have.

Would I?

If you’ve been with me for a while, you might know the answer to this. I’ve shared moments from the last four years. But there are a lot of gaps to fill in, amazing stories to tell and experiences to share. He wouldn’t return for eighteen months, and I had plenty of time to practise being my own sir. Sometimes I required more fresh air and big skies, but when he returned to my world I was able to show him I’d been fulfilling my promise to do just that.

I’m sharing Fresh Air and Big Skies for Wicked Wednesday’s final link up. Marking off the bingo call of To Love Is A Choice.

Being My Own Sir Starts With Red Latex is the next instalment of the story behind the blog. You can find the rest of the posts here, or head right back to the beginning with this post. Feelings That Come Back Are Feelings That Never Really Went Away. The next chapter can be found here: Mr Knickers Meets Barefoot.


  1. it is amazing how some posts drop into my inbox at the exact moment in time that I need to read them. This is one such post – thank you…

    1. It’s been an interesting journey. Both before and after this discovery. Time passes though and it’s now more than four years since I realised. Love is a funny thing, and very welcome in my world. N xx

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.