"I know you come a long way, baby
But you don't need that heart of stone, no
You proved that you could do it, do it, baby
You can make it on your own
But you can't keep runnin' away from love
'Cause the first one let you down, no, no, no
And though others try to satisfy you, baby
With me, true love can still be found
Love can still be found"
People sometimes tell me my words sound like poetry. That makes me smile, because truthfully, I didn’t grow up with books of poetry on my nightstand—I grew up in a family of musicians and artists. My uncle Howard even sang the very song that carries the title of this post, and yes, the royalties from that song paid for half my college loans (Thank you uncle Howard). But more than that, the words carried me once through a moment when I thought I couldn’t stand. They gave me a flicker of hope at a time when I needed it most.
This is the anniversary of that moment...
Years ago, I was dealing with a sensitive family issue involving my child, my daughter in fact—and the crisis demanded everything I had. It was in the middle of that storm that my submissive decided to break up with me. No conversation. No three strikes. Just: “I’m out.”
It devastated me.
What cut the deepest wasn’t only the loss, but the timing. Imagine drowning and, instead of someone throwing you a rope, they turn around and say, “Sorry, I’m done swimming.” When I tried to explain how foul that felt, I was accused of being manipulative. That’s when I realized—I wasn’t dealing with someone who could face reality. I cared so deeply about the pain that she experienced in her past, but clearly I cared more about her pain than she did my own.
Because here’s the thing: fetish relationships are still relationships. They don’t exist in some bubble where bills don’t come due and children don’t get sick. You can be the biggest, baddest Domme on the planet, but when the flu lays you out, someone still has to bring you soup. Fantasy is beautiful, yes. Fantasy is what draws many of us to this lifestyle. But reality? Reality is where relationships either grow roots or wither.
People look at words like mine and imagine fairy tales. But behind every carefully crafted sentence is a man with responsibilities, with flaws, with heart. Behind the curtain—whether it’s the Wizard of Oz, Gandhi, MLK, or any leader—you’ll always find flesh and blood. You’ll find the ordinary holding up the extraordinary.
That breakup taught me the sharp difference between fantasy and reality. It taught me that in this lifestyle—maybe even more than in “vanilla” life—we have to protect ourselves, because when the masks slip, it’s just us standing in the wreckage.
And yet, even in that pain, there was a lesson. There was the song. Shalamar’s The Second Time Around reminded me that life has a way of renewing itself. That love, connection, even joy—they return when you least expect it. Things can change just that quickly.
The Song, the Lesson, the Life
The Second Time Around isn’t just a groove—it’s a sermon in disguise. When the words hit, they hit different if you’ve ever had your heart broken and had to put yourself back together.
“You know I really love you / And I paid for my mistakes, yes, I did, girl.”
— Real relationships cost us something. Nobody walks away clean. You will make mistakes. She will make mistakes. Love isn’t flawless—it’s work, repentance, forgiveness. The only people who think otherwise are still lost in the fantasy.
“I know you come a long way, baby / But you don’t need that heart of stone, no.”
— We carry scars, but scars don’t have to harden us. A heart of stone can’t hold love, it can only deflect it. The lifestyle—this world of Dom and sub, power and surrender—still demands softness at the center. Without it, the connection dies, no matter how pretty the exterior looks.
“But you can’t keep runnin’ away from love / ’Cause the first one let you down, no, no, no.”
— Too many run from reality after the first wound, chasing distraction instead of facing the ache. But you can’t run forever. At some point, you have to risk it again, because running never heals you—it only delays the moment you have to face yourself.
The song reminds us that life, and love, aren’t defined by the ones who left or the moments that broke us. They’re defined by the courage to stay open—to step back in the arena, softer but stronger, wiser but still willing to feel.
The Wisdom
Fetish relationships are not immune to reality. They’re not pure fantasy, no matter how shiny the profiles look. We still have bills to pay, children to raise, bodies that get sick, and minds that get tired. And if someone can’t live in both worlds—if they can’t hold the fantasy in one hand and your reality in the other—they’re not truly ready for this life.
What carried me wasn’t bitterness. It was perspective. My uncle’s voice on that record reminded me that there’s always another chance, another connection, another dance. And as painful as that day was, I see now that the second time really was better.
Because life keeps moving. Hearts keep healing. And sometimes the best wisdom is hidden in a beat, in a lyric, in a song that outlives your heartbreak.
And you know what… I cried. The Big Bad Dom cried. Heart broken. Truth be told, my heart still hurts. But tears don’t make me weak—they make me real. And they remind me that no matter how heavy the first fall was, I’m still standing, still feeling, and still looking forward to… The Second Time Around.
May we all find what we need the 2nd Time Around