I have struggled with the topic of this blog post for awhile now. It has been eating at my soul for the better part of three years and it is time to incise the wound so that it can heal. There is no fantasy or delicious sexy-time content in this post, so if you are accustomed to reading that on my feed and don’t want to read about heartbreak and emotional self-flagellation, now would be a good time to stop reading.
Okay?
Okay.
If I had to wager, I wouldd say the vast majority of my readers are female and identify as a submissive or bottom in some form. And I am sure that most, if not all, have had their heart broken by a man at some point in their life. And yes, we men may wear the battle-tried armor to protect you fair lasses, but our armor is sometimes the weakest over the proverbial breastplate where we actually need it to be the strongest. Some of us are the sensitive type and we get our hearts broken too.
Sadly, even us well-meaning men fall short of perfection. As Doms, we sometimes hurt our submissives and sometimes we break their hearts, ripping out our own in the process. As well-meaning as we might be, we sometimes, dare I say oftentimes, have no one in which we can turn for comfort, compassion, or empathy. We are the alphas, the strong ones; the ones who rush into battle to defend our maiden’s honor with the hopes to return to our castle, drenched in testosterone and passion-filled lust, ready to reclaim our woman and our rightful place on the throne of our relationship as you kneel before us in supplication... Only sometimes, it does not work out that way. Sometimes, there is no “happily ever after”. Sometimes, we must do the honorable thing, no matter how painful that might be for all parties involved, and walk away, leaving behind the ones we love because, to stay, would hurt them more than setting them free.
Life is messy and often ugly. Ask any Dom; if given the opportunity, would they want to spend the rest of their life in a 24/7 relationship with their submissive and I bet you will hear a resounding thunderous “Yes” that would rival the war-cry of the Spartan 300 as they stood at death’s door. You know, as well as I do, that sometimes we are not free to give ourselves to the ones we desire due to prior commitments and obligations. And before anyone sends me hate messages about the sanctity of marriage or the fact that spouses should not be looked upon as merely an obligation, I am going to ask you to stop, and please don’t travel down that well-worn path. Nobody likes a Judgey McJudgerface anyway.
Some of us are in committed, loving, and perfect “bless our sweet little hearts” vanilla relationships and would love nothing more than to be in a D/s relationship with our spouse... but we either cannot or we have tried and they won’t. Sometimes we are too afraid to ask and risk our happy little lives because we fear what they might think of our “kink” and judge us harshly, or maybe we have been down that road and broached the subject only to be shunned before we can finish that hypothetical sentence. Funny, the euphemism of trying to wash a poll-cat in a muddy creek floods my mind (I don’t really know what that means, it’s just something that my Granddaddy used to say when he was describing pounding a square peg into a round hole). Sometimes our spouses just do not “get” BDSM. And hey, it is not for everyone. The point is, life does not always lend itself to perfection. It is messy and ugly, yet beautiful and exotic all at the same time. Some of us believe that it is impossible to be all things to one person. I know first hand the pain of resentment and heartbreak resulting from years of neglect and unmet needs. Some of us find that perfect-for-us-extra-someone to meet those needs and life is indeed perfect again... Until it’s not. We become the best versions of ourselves again... Until we don’t. Because why? Because life is messy and it is ugly. Humans have feelings and longings. We all know that the connection two people feel in a D/s relationship is greater, stronger, and deeper than any vanilla relationship in this world.
But sometimes, one must kiss their submissive goodbye. And even though the lips say, “Until I see you next time,” the heart says, “this will be the last time” because we just cannot bare to see the biting, quivering lip, one more time; or the sea-green eyes flutter as they well with tears, one more time; or the one more embrace and the one more kiss, followed by the “I love you!” and the “Please don’t go,” one more time.
But we pull away. We pull away and we smile. We kiss the top of their head for the very last time and then we turn and walk away, fighting every urge, in every cell of our being to turn back around and run into their arms. And we pray.
We pray that they do not see the salty streaks running down our cheeks. We pray that they do not hear the stifled sobs as we turn the corner and hold on to the wall so that we do not collapse. We pray that they do not see us sitting in our truck for 15 minutes or maybe an hour until we can breathe again and we pray... we pray that they find happiness in life and that one day they will meet the one perfect-for-them person that can give them everything that we could not. Then we start the truck and finally drive away, we tell ourselves that we will try to move on, but deep down we know we will never be the same because they took a piece of our heart, a piece of our soul, and we will never be free to give ourselves wholly to another with our incomplete being. But we smile.
Three years later we smile, because deep down, we know that we were brought together for a reason. We know that no matter how painful it was in the end, the beginning and middle were the sweetest days of our lives. Yes, indeed we smile, and do you know why? Because deep down, we know that in spite of it all, we wouldn’t want it any other way.
