There’s a group of people I once knew well, past the barriers of formality and beyond any boundaries of unacceptance. Unfortunately, circumstances didn’t go our way, and I had to leave. It may have been considered a self-imposed exile, but exile sounds so severe. Leaving was the only thing that I could think of. I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know from what I was running.

I just know that I was running. I just know that I needed to get away, to distance myself from some of the only people who have ever treated me with respect. From some of the only people who have ever treated me like family. With no explanation, I left, and they have every right to never speak to me again.

Now, years later, I find myself missing what I had. How selfish.

Perhaps it was the commitment. Perhaps it was my intolerance. Perhaps I was trying to protect others from getting too attached. Most likely, it was a combination of everything. I won’t say that I made a mistake, because I make my decisions based on limited knowledge and current, undeveloped wisdom. I will, however, apologize and admit that I’m sorry. Sorry for ever causing any sort of pain, to the last people in the world who ever deserve it.

This is me at my most humble.

I haven’t written about this subject in a while now. I needed to take a break, to distance myself in order to gain some perspective. Now that I’m here, I feel comfortable enough to talk about it again.

But before I go on, a little explanation of my potential bias is needed. I’ve always been one to believe that a single bad experience shouldn’t turn someone away from anything forever. I try to keep this belief in my head when I catch myself associating the D/s lifestyle with pain (ha! get it?) and frustration. The only hands-on experience I have being a dominant was with a person who would repeatedly hurt me and bring me down.

However, I don’t believe that this was a conscious characteristic. It was a personality that was widely hypocritical, mean, and extremely difficult to deal with, but all of this fit the “type” of submissive that she was. I saw her as a tremendous, effusive force that, when wielded correctly, could be used to great advantage. The only problem is there are only few with enough strength and patience to tame and guide such a force, although someone who could accomplish such a task would form an unbreakable bond between master and slave. I knew that I would eventually have the strength, but I certainly did not have the patience to be dealing with what constantly felt like a person working against me.

So it’s with this cautionary step that I proceed to explore the D/s branch of the BDSM umbrella. My sub was dependent on the lifestyle; she required it in her relationships, and her only means of relaxation was being a bottom at a party. I knew the risks of getting involved. One of my biggest fears was that I would grow dependent on the lifestyle as well. After all, what greater elation is there than to feel as if one owns another mind, another soul, another person.

As of yet, I don’t feel some tremendous urge to go out and find a sub to abuse. I’m not experienced enough as a dominant to do that. I know, however, that D/s is something I’d want to explore in future relationships. I consider it a basis of openness, trust, and acceptance. Exploring the lifestyle (as a female sub especially) would lay the groundwork for a lot of other things.

Many of which I have yet to discover for myself.

I pointed out the only cute one to Shirley, and she teased me about it for the rest of the night. I only chose her because she had those glasses and that look. She was the type before I discovered discovered that I have no type. Almost every time something like this happens, I realize that they’re almost twice my age, and I wonder if there’s anything wrong with me. The other guys I know feel guilty cause they talk to girls who are sometimes 10 years younger than them. I feel guilty cause I catch myself flirting with women who are more than 10 years older than me. I feel even more guilty when they decide to wear their ornamented engagement rings when wedding bands would be more appropriate, or when they show me pictures of their kids.

In almost all my relationships, it feels like I’ve been waiting for my girlfriend to catch up. The only one who seemed to be on par or perhaps ahead, was simply fucking nuts. To me, the only saving grace was a mix of open-minded vulnerability and the ability to channel this vulnerability into change, but most had one but not the other. Perhaps I’m biased in believing that a woman, not a girl, would have enough strength and experience to posses the proper mix of both. I realize that I’m probably usually wrong in this belief because most of the older men and women that I know are still very blissfully ignorant, and have become too old to change their ways (and this fact was a cause of a lot of my previous loss of faith in humanity). Every now and then though, there’ll be one woman who stands out because I can read her like a book.

And she’ll be enough to keep my faith alive.

Anyway, what I was trying to say is that I’ve been really moody lately. Extremely moody. Almost on an emotional level.

Another post-breakup phase. I go through this for a few months after breaking up with someone, but it only started to hit me recently. Funny how I’ve only now had enough relationships to actually realize this. I look at my monthly archives from the beginning of the blog and most of them begin with some emotional, confused line. In fact, this entire blog started as a way to vent these post break-up thoughts and feelings, until it became something more than that. Now I’m falling back into that trap. I’m starting to do stupid shit again, things I wish I didn’t do, afterwards.

Every day, in my head, I plan out my entries for the next week. Yet, every time I sit down to type, I’m never in the mood to write. It’s just the same shit, over and over again.

The difference is that this time I know what to do. I’ve been looking for too much meaning in too little.

I want to get out. For the first time in my life, I’m sick of this winter. I want to sit in the sun. I want to be amongst others.

I want to lay on the track, feel hot steel screaming at me
Expose the bones on my back, let me show you what I mean.

While John was here, we got into a discussion about hypocrisy. Being the complex person that he is, he admitted that he sees no problem with acting in a hypocritical manner. In fact, he tried to convince me to feel the same way. “You’re letting your morals get in the way of advancement”, he would say. I don’t heed any of this advice, of course, because our mindsets, goals, and relationships are founded on two different sets of values, this being one of them. Having built the first twenty-four years of our lives on this foundation doesn’t make it difficult for us to change them, but makes us indifferent to change instead. As much as we like to consider ourselves dynamic individuals, able to adapt to a situation in the best manner possible, this is limited by our desire (or lack thereof) to do so.

In any case, I find it difficult to be a hypocritical person, and in turn, I find hypocritical people difficult. The most aggravating are those who are hypocritical critics. I don’t have a problem with people pointing out my flaws. I have them, and I admit it. It’s the first step towards self-improvement. It’s also great for gaining perspective, for learning how different people interpret things (because I know that many see problems where there are none).

I do, however, have a problem with the people who freely give criticism, when they can’t take it themselves. These are the hypocritial critics; the people who judge others past themselves, when they are the last ones who should be passing judgement on anyone. This hypocrisy may stem from something as complex as insecurity, to something as simple as upbringing (especially as a result of parents who refuse to admit fault to their children). It becomes especially important in equal (non-authoratative) relationships to recognize the barriers that get put up by such a double standard.

Funny how an authoratative relationship taught me this.