I will be traveling in a day. In hours. Going back to Texas.
My first D/s relationship began in 2020 and lasted online, for about a year, until he found someone vanilla that suited him better. I was devastated.
I had given up everything, including my will. But it was not enough. He will tell you that it had nothing to do with that, but, I can’t let it go. I can’t submit how I feel about it.
He tried to be there for me in the aftermath of my destruction, calling often.
I always answered the phone.
I still answer the phone for him, will choose him over others, not because I still love him, not because he earned it, but because the need to respect him has never faded.
A lot felt wrong after he chose another and I took a path that would consume me.
The next person I met also ended up choosing another. (And no, I don’t blame you or hold that against you. It was right for you at the time and I was in such a rush to cover my bleeding wounds with something, anything. That’s not your fault.)
There were a couple of little online things, that burned hot and left scars.
And then there was the first man who was all in – he wanted to be with me, and would make sacrifices, face hardship, cross the country, to make it happen.
And That was all I saw.
He was married, but poly. She was okay with me. We talked. I made sure. I warned them both that I wasn’t really poly, but I would try.
I did try. But not, quite what they were both hoping for, because from the first I wanted my territory separate from her territory and I would not, could not budge. I suck at sharing. I really do. And I’m also highly competitive when it comes to attention.
I want it all.
And I was broken. Such a mess. Still in this state of crying every other week about my first love, disgusted with myself that I had tried to rush into something right after, and hating myself for how weak and biddable I had become with men I had never seen.
That first relationship opened me up and left me open. I still haven’t managed to close the doors and windows my first online Dominant created in my psyche, how he took a need to please authority and amplified it, how he took desire and …freed it.
See- five years later and I still feel him.
But then there was the four years with Sir, and his wife.
The four years that dug into my soul and crossed some of my most sacred boundaries. NOT boundaries that have anything to do with kink. No these were life choice boundaries that involved my history, my possessions, my property, my family and my finances.
And yet, I obeyed.
Not only that, I had my Sir’s back. I stood firm, I found ways to keep going, I got work, I scraped the bottom of the barrel for needs and wants. I was there for him in a way no one in his life was.
Until I was drowning and realized that not only would that situation never change, but other promises would never be fulfilled. The final blow landed in May of 2025.
I cried.
And then I made choices.
Our lives were entirely entangled, and I had let him into everything. I loved him. At one time, I had made the choice to trust him.
I chose trust. I allowed love. I learned… much.
When I met him I thought I didn’t need…emotional support, strength, another’s will or order to keep me going. I was a service submissive; I was an honorable obedient slave. I was a sex addict. He provided ease for the last and I provided the attitude for the first two.
It pissed him off that I didn’t need him, crave his emotional reassurance, and his physical presence the way he craved mine. He didn’t want me to work. Didn’t want me to leave the house. Invaded my space whenever I tried to set a schedule and work on a project. Used my services to help his wife and his sons when he needed time to work on his projects.
But he loved me. With words and with body and with small actions that spoke massive volumes. He appreciated everything I did and often argued with me about doing too much.
He didn’t want me to work. But no one else could get or hold a job. So I worked.
But things got bad. I couldn’t keep up.
I worked a full day. Sometimes two jobs. And sucked his cock and fucked him almost every night he spent with me, and often in between.
We had an arrangement. It was every other night with me. He took turns between beds.
I don’t know what he was doing with his wife. I do know we had sex like a new couple, and I wanted, needed that physical touch, because this was where I was fed. This was my emotional need. To touch him. To be with him. To feel skin.
I have now learned that the more he loved me the less sex he had with his wife, that she had become submissive to the point of being unresponsive and he had lost all desire for those types of encounters.
So, when I never intended to, I also hurt their marriage.
They have been together 30 years, but there are things there that I should not say. I’ve already said too much.
I love him.
I submitted to him.
I let him bankrupt me.
He apologized. This man sees what he has done. He has always been an amazing communicator, who admits when he is wrong, admits when he has anxiety and confronts me with my own issues when the time is right.
We have talked about how because of certain mental issues that his view of what is the truth and what is reality are two very different things. And yes. I realized this, guessed this early but I was covering bleeding wounds and also on a self destructive bent of “kill the stupid sub bitch inside of me that got me into this mess.”
Sometimes. Often. I still want that stupid bitch dead. I hate her. As if she were an alien seed in my gut I can not eradicate, as if she takes over, her need roaring to life, and burning everything that matters, like fucking self-control and honor, in her need to get a hard dick inside her mouth, pussy or ass.
All this to tell you, this man, who I left in August, is now very sick.
Born with sars, badly abused by parents, teachers, a community, used in childhood experiments on medications for epilepsy, sharp shooter, fisherman, carpenter, creative, story teller, hunter, navy Seal, sniper, proud, stubborn, angry, full of life, passionate, sexy as hell, this man…is waiting for confirmation that he has ALS.
I promised him I would take him to the diagnosis appointment. I promised him I would go home to him, before he was in a state where he didn’t know I was there.
So. That’s what I’m doing.
Because I do what needs to be done.