I have learned that grief is another name for love.

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I still find it astonishing, even after 21 years.

You would imagine that it would get easier, and in many ways it has. I can now celebrate the many times we enjoyed, and I can look back with joy in my heart rather than total devastation and, more often than not, anger. Anger with you for not going to see the doctor sooner, that they couldn’t catch it in time because you wouldn’t tell anyone. You fought it for a number of years, never admitting that you were going to die, even after they said it had spread to your bones, and liver. The time they thought you had a stroke, but it was really rogue cells floating around in your brain.

Your strength has probably inspired me more than I admit.

For many years every time I saw someone whose life you had touched they would say “oh, haven’t you got your father’s eyes.” They always missed out the eyebrows, chin and nose!  And what about your stubbornness, dry wit and sense of adventure. Did I get those traits through nature or nurture? You were a stay at home dad until I started school, and even after that I was like your shadow. Saturday mornings in the shop are memories I will always treasure, the touch of felt will always take me back to that time.

Grief is a funny thing though.

Every year in the lead up to your anniversary something makes me feel like my heart has been broken. I never equate the two immediately, but tonight was a quicker realisation than the standard day or two. Maybe I am learning with time. Perhaps next year I will surprise myself with allowing the sadness without needing other hurts to bring it out.

This evening I was driving home from delivering my children. It’s the holidays and I get a rest too.

I was thinking about events from the last week or so. You see, when Sir left again in July I felt a little sad. I knew that I wouldn’t hear from him until at least February, and even if I did I wasn’t sure how that would feel. My need to submit took a sabbatical. I have been exploring this wonderful world of kink in different ways and enjoying myself greatly, but as time wore on my mojo drifted. Recently a few things have happened which have made me realise that, although enjoying the opposite sides of myself, I had actually been hiding my submission. It hadn’t left me, just curled up inside too scared of being exposed and vulnerable. The intensity of my submissive love and the loss thereafter too hard to face again. Grief is not just felt for those who have died.

Driving along I felt my heartbreak all over again, my eyes burning with tears held back too long.

I knew that I needed to run, and once I was safely home I did just that. Not 200m from my front door I realised why. I have come home and spoken to one of my lovely friends (you’d love her, she’s completely mad) and I have talked about you more than I have with anyone in years. I hope you would be proud of the woman I have become, the way I have conducted myself when times have been hard and the way I am raising the two grandsons you will never get to meet. More often than not I need to be strong just like you were, sometimes I need to laugh until my sides aches and occasionally I need a good cry.

Tonight, astonishingly, I have done all three.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

February Photofest

Sadness flies away on the wings of time #10

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Gotye – somebody that I used to know (feat. Kimbra)is an incredible song which takes me on a wave of emotions. When I first heard it I was sad for him, then I listened closer and realised that her words wouldn’t take much tweaking to mirror some of my experiences. Very emotive, very beautiful and the video is so creatively made. This is my choice of song that makes me feel sad.

I love music and am always on the lookout for something new to listen to, so I hope the 30-Day Song Challenge inspires some of you to share.

Christmas – Peace, love and joy?

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Photo by Ma Boîte A Photos on Pexels.com

Christmas 2016 was not one to be repeated.

On paper it should have been something to look forward to, a time to cherish with my boys. P had told me, in no uncertain terms, that when I ended things with him I had ruined Christmas for him forever. With that in mind I would “need to have the children for the big day.” No big problem, you would think, but he had always made me feel like a failure at Christmas so any joy that I may have brought from my own childhood had been reduced to zero over our marriage. The confidence I had in making it a nice day for the boys was not high. Add to that his desperately sad Facebook post on Christmas day 2015, and my eldest spent the build up to the festivities worrying about his dad.

What about M? He would be around, surely?

The plan was that he would spend Christmas eve with his mum and the day with his dad, who had just lost his wife to cancer. Then he would hot foot it up the coast to spend Christmas night and boxing day with me and the boys. I was always excited to see him, and I knew the boys would wrap him up in festive fun. M was as enthusiastic about Christmas as I was, and when he called me one lunchtime with a strained voice I knew something was up. There was an offer to join a friend of his to deliver a yacht from Portugal to the uk. He didn’t know whether he should go, or if he needed to stay and fulfill his duties as son and boyfriend. I gave him my blessing, genuinely excited by this opportunity. A little jealous perhaps, but genuinely happy for his opportunity. Once he had built up the courage to talk to his family they were all happy for him too.

As the dutiful girlfriend I drove him and his friend to the airport, dropping them in the car park before heading on my way.

One message pinged through before I was 5 miles away:

Thank you for bringing me, and being so wonderfully you. I hope you are not too sad, show me your smile. xxx

To which I responded with a quick selfie, of me trying to smile with wet eyes. I had a few hours to kill so I went on a mini adventure of my own to a nearby seaside town where I could have a cuppa and a walk on the beach. Sitting down to a steaming brew after a long cold walk I opened my phone. First thing was a message:

My beautiful girl. 🙂 Fire alarms, airport evacuated, delayed flight. Off again now. I’ll let you know when I’m safely landed. I love you xxx

Then I tapped my Facebook app as I sipped the cup of brown liquid. M had updated his profile picture. There I was! The picture I had sent him just a couple of hours ago. That put a smile on my face.

Getting home, still smiling and feeling loved, I collected the boys.

They had been with P, for their first Christmas. Hyped up, full of sugar and singing daddy’s praises I got them to bed. Two more days to the big day and they were only going to get more excitable, as children do! By Christmas eve I was feeling overwhelmed. Getting them to bed on the night before christmas was such a challenge. Then I had to organise the presents and by the time midnight slipped past I was in floods of tears. Dreading the noise and excitement of the following day, missing M, just wanting a cuddle… And to top it all off I had burnt my red cabbage trying to get ahead of the game! A game I didn’t want to play, but that I felt it was expected of me.

Surrounded by wrapping paper and piles of gifts my phone suddenly began to ring.

Through the tears and the snot I answered the phone. He was just pulling in to harbour where the two of them would be resting and collecting the third sailor for the long stretch home. He missed me and wanted to say hello as he knew how hard I would be finding the preparations. We chatted about the boat and his crew mate as well as how his journey was going so far. With his voice in my heart I slept well and woke to the excited voices of two little boys who had received a visit from father Christmas.

The day was as difficult as I had expected.

Excited children and my grumpy mum. My home filled up with my brother and his family mid-afternoon, just when all I wanted was to shut the doors and regain some calm again. More food, more gifts, more excited children. And one more phone call from M, who had spent the day trying to cook a roast dinner as they sailed across the bay of Biscay. Now they were all sat on the deck eating together, and he was in range of masts so could talk to me and the boys. Somehow that grounded me enough to get through the rest of the day until, with the boys in bed and the dishes done I was able to sit down quietly and chill out. Stretching out on the sofa I flicked on the Christmas news and saw that George Michael had died. This was all the encouragement I needed to let out the tears which I had been holding back all day.

Surely the next year would be better?

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Christmas – Peace, love and joy? was originally posted on A Leap of Faith.

#SOSS: Sharing the love.

sharing is caringThis week has been an interesting one for me.

Starting the week with some exciting (for Sir) but sad (for me) news, realising something so glaringly obvious that I can’t believe it took four years to understand and running more miles than I have clocked in a number of years, all in an effort to make sense of it all. Throughout the week I have been pleased with myself for reaching out to my friends, but sometimes quiet contemplation and curling up with a blog post or two has been wonderful as well. I love briefly slipping into other people’s worlds, whether they are writing fantasy or reality, or sharing pictures.

With that in mind, here are my top posts for the week.

I found Sensing submission midweek, I think via Twitter. Her posts are candid and well written, but Bukkake Madness, in particular, made me smile.

A fraud, from Marie Rebelle didn’t make me smile, not in the traditional sense anyway. It served to remind me that even the people who appear to have it all under wraps often don’t. I have included her here because her words had a profound effect on my week, even though my sadness came from a different place.

Scanderella is another new find for me this week. A surprise attack brought me back to my senses after spotting it in a tweet, so much love (should that be lust???) for this piece. But seriously, her writing is so steamy I even found her review for a penis masturbator had me drooling.

Domestic discipline, Jenny style has such an interesting life, I really enjoy reading all about her relationships, especially as her poly experiences are expanding. This week I read this post about what happens when the Dom goes away. A great insight into how her particular brand of poly looks, educational and informative as well as erotically charged.

I have been following Photo Stephi for quite some time now. The pictures that are shared there are so tasteful and elegant. Not smutty at all, which is slightly out of line with my usual preferences, but they are so, so beautiful, and this week they have been incredibly busy adding new collections that have caught my eye I couldn’t help myself anymore.

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Photo by Stephanie Pombo on Pexels.com

Nothing is more powerful than an idea whose time has come.

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Sir had been called in to attend a meeting not far from me, so K and I were invited to join him the evening before.

When he emailed us in the morning, I responded promptly and chattered to K via text but, unknown to me, she didn’t respond to him. I received an email later in the day asking if she had changed her mind as sir hadn’t heard from her to confirm. I reassured him that I was due to be at hers at 6pm, and we would be there in plenty of time. Our instructions for the start were the same as I was used to. This time there would be two blindfolds waiting, one each. We were definitely not allowed to draw attention to ourselves as we walked through reception! He emailed shortly after 6 to confirm the room number and K, who was testing my patience by being predictably tardy, replied that we were getting our stuff together and would soon be on our way.

By the time we finally got on the road I was a little bit frazzled.

In fairness to K she was nervous, and chattered away as we drank our cups of tea on the drive towards the hotel, a very familiar route in my kink life as well as my personal and professional ones. I was able to talk through her jiggling nerves with her, explaining what my experiences had been and what my expectations of the evening would be. I had to remind myself that this was her first experience of BDSM, and that it was a good thing that she was asking questions. Her chatter turned to her swinging experiences and I was able to just listen, and run through my thoughts as I drove. When I parked we nipped to the restaurant toilets to freshen up, and I put my heels on, then we were good to go.

The room was the first door you arrived at after walking through reception.

It was open, as always, and we walked through into the darkened room which smelt so familiar. Putting my bag of toys down next to me (as instructed) I handed K her blindfold and put mine on, and encouraged her to settle. My heart racing. Then he was there, greeting us, running his hands over my body and claiming me back. Today there was no collar for me, its absence weighed more than the thick leather band itself. First we were tied together, and then encouraged to explore each other. Then he used a wand on each of us, his Hitachi on K and the electro wand on me. Sadly the vibrations and static didn’t produce the intensity required to take me over the edge, and when he told me I was to be quiet with each orgasm I told him that the wand wasn’t getting me close, the vibrations weren’t going deep enough.

I had brought the doxy, and he switched over to that… which worked a treat.

And then I came repeatedly. Although she hadn’t been expecting it K experienced orgasms too, and was quite vocal. I understood why I had to be quiet… Two moaning ladies would attract undue attention. And when he swapped back to the electro wand it was even more fun trying to keep the noise down. That evening I was exposed to a number of firsts. Reading through my review for the evening I can see the disappointment I felt. During a scene he would always ask “Are you bored yet?” and the answer would always be a resounding no. This night he didn’t ask me that question, and it is the only night I would have said yes.

There were bits that I really enjoyed, and I was really surprised about them.

Such as when K and I were sharing his cock with our mouths, kneeling either side of him. I loved that. And when he showered us with his cum at the end, feeling those drops fall on my body and my face is engraved in my memory. Understandably there was no impact play due to the proximity to reception, but when we were bent over the bed, side by side and tied at the ankle, I could have wandered off and made a cup of tea. And when K and I were in a 69 (I have never been a fan of that position) I may as well have not been there while he took her from behind. We spoke about this afterwards and he told me that some Dominants would have had me sit on a chair and watch them use another woman but he didn’t see me ever not being involved. It was a form of humiliation. Something that I still don’t fully understand.

What surprised me was how I felt about sharing him. Not that he was mine to share.

I had worried that I would feel lacking in some way, or jealous at his attentions being laid elsewhere. There was none of that, for hich I am extremely proud. I felt left out, but never not good enough. And though there were parts which I wasn’t enamoured with, there were many parts which I did love. I have always felt selfish because of my mixed feelings about that night when I know full well that scenes with sir would sometimes not be about my needs, and given the meeting he had looming over him the following day… Speaking to him about it just a few weeks ago it turns out that he was a little disappointed with the evening too. Not being able to include impact play for me, us having to be civilised because K was more about the swinging than the kink and he didn’t want to scare her, and me not being as free in my sexuality to fully embrace it. I am looking forward to revisiting this scenario at some point, and seeing what we have both learnt from that experience and over the (almost) two years between then and now.

This was my first time with Sir of my expectations not matching the experience. Not bad for a journey of almost 2 years…

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When your self esteem rises your life will follow.

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With the removal of P from my home life I suddenly had some head space.

Not a huge amount, I felt guilty for moving him out and he was still asking me to deal with this, that and the other. The late night knocks on the door, the calls and the texts were not welcome… but I felt responsible for him, for his misery, for his loneliness. I may have removed his physical presence, but he wasn’t gone yet. While I supported him in his new home I had two small boys to get settled into a new way of living. They were incredible, and a source of inspiration to keep going when things were difficult. And things were very difficult at times.

Break ups are challenging at the best of times, without being told repeatedly that you aren’t good enough to cope alone.

Over the months that followed things began to change, slowly but surely, in the way that a dripping tap still fills a sink, I began to realise that. My time with Sir had started my seeds of self-confidence growing. I had been strong enough to get to this point. I could just make out some of the ways that I had changed already. Trusting my own judgement, making a plan and sticking to it, learning to ask for help when I needed it, understanding that I was worth more than being treated like dirt. However, what was becoming clear to me was that I was becoming excited about the future. It was a faint buzz rather than all out joy, I still had a lot of healing to do before I could trust that everything would be ok, but I started to make plans.

Plans for my future started taking shape.

I had enrolled on a foundation course with the Open University. I could study alongside my full-time work and the children. The course material would help with my work and in theory would tell me that I was good enough to continue onwards with my career path. I had to battle those demons, informing them almost daily that I would be able to do the work, that I was good enough… a capable and intelligent woman. At the time though I had just enough confidence in my ability to start and complete tasks that I believed I could get through the access module, at the very least. My tasks as a submissive were bearing fruit, even four months after they stopped.

My confidence in my ability as a parent improved too. 

I had felt the impact of strict boundaries and moving goal posts for many years, and seeing the confusion on my eldest’s face when he met these ever-changing rules and regulations was awful. As a submissive I had also experienced a very fair set of boundaries, knew where I could push and what the consequences would be. Operating as a single mum I could take inspiration from my other secret life and build stable foundations for my boys. Watching the boys flourish, even as they pushed back against the safety nets I had put up, filled me with pride. Watching them grow made me more aware, more present, as a parent, and that made me more capable. A positive cycle which I had learnt through Sirs example of being both patient and strict. I could do it!!

I was also coming around to the idea that I was an ok person.

I had been socially isolated throughout most of my marriage, only being allowed contact with certain permitted friends. With the removal of P from my life came a loss of most of those “friendships” I was suddenly blocked on social media, people wouldn’t answer my texts, and the ones that did would shut me down. The lies which were being spread about me were vile; friends, family and colleagues having their heads filled with nonsense. All a way for P to continue bullying me, he always played the victim card. As hard as it is to see these doors close, to feel the isolation, I soon began to see little rays of sunshine. In the place of the long-standing friendships I started to meet new people, people who fitted with my new sense of self. No longer the drinkers, pot heads and gossips… I had control over who I wanted in my world, and as much as being cut off hurt at the time this was another reason to be excited. R and M to start with soon to be joined by more along the way.

Out with the old, in with the new.

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Humanity was drawn to turmoil and self-destruction as inevitably as the earth was drawn to complete its annual revolution of the sun

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I had read about sub frenzy in the early days of my research.

My understanding was that it affected new subs in their early days, wanting to try anything and everything as soon as possible. Under the strict care of Sir I had sidestepped this phenomenon. My hand had been held while I went through that phase in my earliest explorations. Now though, with this big wide world to explore, I had all of the self-confidence to try new things, but lacked a certain amount of self-respect to go with it.

As a result I got myself into some situations which were less than ideal. 

The first risky scenario I found myself in was with a man I met on Alt, having joined after a couple of months without contact with sir. I still recall his handle on there, and I cringe at my naivety now. Or perhaps naivety is the wrong word? Maybe I was hell-bent on self-destruction at this point, choosing to meet with someone who showed signs of being unsafe? There was a lot of sadness and a general feeling of being lost and worthless. Why should I take proper care of myself? No-one would miss me anyway.

Hmmm…. I’m glad I’m not that woman anymore! 

Anyway, I started talking to this man, A, on Alt, later switching to email. In our conversations he seemed quite normal, friendly and kind. We arranged that I would visit his office one friday afternoon, I would travel to him after I finished work at 1.30. It was early summer, and the drive should have taken about 45 minutes. Only there was a crash, and so it took me 2 hours, and then I couldn’t find his office. It was on a dairy farm up a narrow lane outside of a town I knew fairly well.

Not in the town as I had originally thought.

We had discussed a “job interview” type scenario, and I would be in his office while his employees were hard at work in the main office just the other side of the door. Well, I pulled up in my car, and there was just one car in the parking area. ONE. Something wasn’t quite right about that, bearing in  mind I was in the middle of nowhere arriving at a supposedly busy office. But he was at the door, waiting for me. Smiling, friendly, actually he looked as normal as he had seemed on the site. After my long drive I needed to use his toilet, when I came out he offered me a drink and then sent me through to his office while he made my cup of tea. Walking through the main office I looked forward to a nice hot cuppa, barely registering that it was empty. I saw his desk and sat down in the chair in front of it. He appeared with the drinks and it started

“Who told you that you could sit down?”

Oops, I hadn’t been thinking! He made me stand against the wall, turn to face it and lift my skirt above my backside. After a harsh bare-handed spanking (my least favourite technique for a tanned behind) he played with my pussy. I was by this point wondering what the f*ck I was doing there, regretting my hasty meet up. The fear and the spanking had made me wet, and after he shoved his fingers in my mouth to clean my mess off of his hand he unbuckled his belt, sat down and got me to take him in my mouth. Then he wanted me to ride him, in his office chair. As quickly as it started he was finished.

And we sat down on opposite sides of the desk to drink our cups of tea, which were still too hot. 

A was actually a very nice man, and we chatted for about half an hour before I went on my way again, no plans to remain in contact. It was with surprise when he tracked me down on Fetlife a couple of months later I’ve found you little one and I did receive an email from him this Christmas asking how I am and would I like to meet him again.

Eighteen months after a single, brief session…?

I was a silly girl who had gotten off very lightly, all things considered. He didn’t make me do anything I wouldn’t have done anyway, though the experience did make me consider how lucky I was, and how things could have gone so horribly wrong. A mistake, maybe. But a valuable lesson for me. It was the first time I had raised my eyes to the ceiling and asked myself what on earth I was doing, without a smile on my face.

I did not want to do that again…I knew that much.

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Some days there won’t be a song in your heart. Sing anyway.

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Nothing could have prepared me for the sense of loss and abandonment that I felt.

It is hard remembering how difficult I found the first few weeks. I had given part of me to this man and then he left, taking that part with him. Aside from sending him the email I didn’t really know what to do, so I continued with my rules and tasks. I can see how that may read to others; why would I keep on when he had vanished? Honestly, it makes little sense, even now, except that I was floundering, I had no idea how to transition back to “normal”, or if he would pop up and say it was a test and I should have carried on, or…. At the time I needed the routine of the tasks, looking back I’m so pleased I kept on.

If I hadn’t kept on I would never have met E.

I had told him early on that I was curious about being bi-curious, and I would never have had the courage to explore that side of me without those tasks. I had been building in confidence, flirting and had even scened with another woman and her husband. When I started talking to E she was a breath of fresh air. Her fabswingers profile stated she was a highly sexed lesbian looking for no strings fun. About 5 weeks after sir went P was working nights, and the boys were in bed… E arrived at my door. She was 6 feet tall, slim, blonde and giddy. She had brought a bottle of wine with her, and a bag of toys. She knew that I was very inexperienced but keen, and she was excited to be playing with me.

A couple of glasses of wine later and the exploration began in earnest.

She was very caring and gentle, she was also very appreciative of my efforts. E shared her love of oral, scissoring and a strap-on. She was very attentive with her mouth, and when we swapped she was clean and smooth, not scented with urine which was a step up from the last time. I decided then that I only wanted to go down on smooth women. Scissoring was something I had never come across before, it was clumsy and awkward and I still don’t understand how it works in a pleasurable way. Now, the strap on was something different for me too. I had never seen one before and had no idea what they were meant to look like or feel like. The one that she brought (and enjoyed) was, I believe, a vibrator sheath attachment for the harness. It didn’t enter me and I found it a little disappointing, I wondered why people would rather this than a beautiful cock. She went wild though, loving every minute that it slid over her. I have since googled and seen in person other strap-ons, and I would love to try it again, with a woman who is less vanilla. And maybe with less wine!

When she left to go home I was so proud of myself.

I had pushed through a boundary and enjoyed myself. With a willing partner I had explored new areas and tried new toys. I was still stuck with the thought that this must mean I am a lesbian, that perhaps P had been right all along, that the reason I hadn’t wanted sex with him was because I wanted to sleep with women. And I didn’t have the option of contacting sir, to tell him all about it. I had always been asked for reviews after each scene or challenging task, not only did it give him feedback on my thoughts and feelings, but it was also a positive thing for me to reflect and digest what had happened.

Now though, I didn’t have that outlet, that form of after-care if you like. 

This was an important learning point for me. That I would need to figure out a new way to process my wandering mind after new experiences and intense sessions. I’m nothing if not tenacious so this was a welcome puzzle for me, a distraction from what else had been going on in my life at the time. I just had to figure out how to embrace this new world on my terms, without an abusive husband calling the shots or my Dominant guiding the way. The first one I couldn’t wait to see the back of, and the other, Sir, I missed with every aching ounce of my being.

My mind was working again, and I was setting the rules. Maybe it wasn’t all bad…

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I want to say I miss you…but it wouldn’t change anything so I’ll just keep pretending I don’t.

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Not long after we met with the couple Sir had some news for me.

He would be working overseas for a few months, flying out a few days later and he would be unable to be in contact. This wasn’t a surprise to me, we had discussed his unpredictable work patterns and I was prepared. He lifted all restrictions on me and I was free to do my own thing if I chose to, or had time. With Christmas fast approaching it was unlikely I would have time to meet for a few weeks at least, but I was able to chat and make connections, fuelling my libido in his absence.

There seems to be a never-ending supply of interesting people to talk to online

This was the first time I fully immersed myself in the hook-up site I had joined earlier in the year. There was never a shortage of men who wanted to tell me what they were going to do to me. The ones who wanted to kiss me all over and lick me for hours were the worst for me; over the years I have had some curious (and fairly extreme) approaches but that particular scenario made me feel sick. And worse, the men offering such an experience would generally get angry when I turned them down.

Five weeks later I had a pleasant surprise in my inbox.

He was travelling and was able to send a quick hello, filling me in with his movements. He was due to return to the country a couple of weeks later and would be off again after a few days. I had the dates in my diary and things went to plan. As quickly as he had returned he was gone again, but a bonus meeting in the middle of this first long stint abroad was enough to make me feel special. He was expecting to be away for another month or so, and I was ready. I lived in hope that it would be less but, although the time wasn’t less, with my home-life in turmoil he was back before I knew it.

We were back in contact for a week or so, chatting about this and that…

How had I been? What had I been up to in his absence? Had I had any meets? What was happening in my marriage? My restrictions were back in place now that he had returned, and my tasks too. Body writing, video diaries, gaining confidence around women with an aim to playing further. We were in the process of coordinating our diaries when all of a sudden nothing…

Sir had vanished…

I hadn’t wanted to disturb him, using the logic that he would get in contact when it was convenient. But it was so painful. I thought I must have done something wrong, upset him somehow, that he was punishing me. About ten days after I last heard from him I sent an email putting words to my thoughts and detailing the one thing that I felt I may have done requiring this treatment. I had been chatting to Dommes, and though my restriction was no contact with male Doms maybe I had misunderstood?

Radio silence

Part of me felt naive and stupid for believing that I could be this man’s treasured possession, he seemed to have it all together and my life was just chaos. Another part of me felt that this was what I deserved, a fair punishment for whatever I had done wrong, though I knew not what that was. But the main idea that I had was that I wasn’t good enough for him and he had just got bored with trying to make me a better submissive. This tied in very nicely with the negative conditioning of my marriage and, with hindsight, it is easy to see why I felt like this. I searched google and found some interesting articles on Disappearing Dominants. Nothing really matched our dynamic but it did at least provide me with some answers that weren’t all based on my lack of self-worth so I was able to limit the self-torture that I had been so skilled at for so long within my marriage.

With a conscious effort I was able to continue building my life in the way I had begun.

He had always been so careful with my emotional well-being, surely he wouldn’t just cut and run? Maybe he had died? I couldn’t dwell though, and while I did miss him there was nothing I could do about that so I plodded on. I felt like an important part of me had been taken but time marched on and I had a husband to remove from my home, a house to sell, children to raise and a life to reconstruct.

I often wondered about him though….

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