Posts tagged with "ex-girlfriends"

It's A D/s Life: Life After Loo

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.

::Sniff::

I swear I’m miss­ing some under­wear.

For the longest time, I had enough box­ers to get me through the week at least, but now I find myself hav­ing to do laun­dry before Saturday comes around. I can’t imag­ine any­one actu­al­ly tak­ing them, although every time I lose an arti­cle of cloth­ing, I always sus­pect the most recent ex-girl­friend first. This isn’t for any spe­cif­ic rea­son (in fact, I’m pret­ty sure none of them have ever actu­al­ly tak­en any­thing), and is prob­a­bly just a para­noia cul­ti­vat­ed through group hug con­fes­sions.

That, and know­ing how impor­tant smell can be to some­one. Ashley, in par­tic­u­lar, used to take my under­shirts on a reg­u­lar basis. She’d tell me to wear them for days (good thing Asian peo­ple don’t sweat), and we’d have a rota­tion thing going on where I’d give her a new (used) shirt when I could­n’t see her for a while. She told me that she’d fall asleep clutch­ing them, although the smell would nev­er last longer than a week.

Michele was dif­fer­ent. She did­n’t have any nat­ur­al scent, and told me that my shirts would nev­er stop smelling like me. I sus­pect that she had a much sharp­er olfac­to­ry sense.

Sam I could smell through the pages of a book she once gave me: a copy of Flowers For Algernon by Daniel Keyes. She picked it up at a book sale, and read it in one day. By the end she was cry­ing, and thought I would enjoy it. Every time I turned the page, it was like she was sit­ting in front of me again, cof­fee smell on her breath.

Louise was dif­fer­ent still. She had a great scent that was a lit­tle sweet, under the Cool Water by Davidoff she would fre­quent­ly wear. She did­n’t seem to care for my nat­ur­al body smell as much as the arti­fi­cial “male” scents, such as the Gillette series of prod­ucts. Jacky once told me that she was using a stick of the same sport antiper­spi­rant that her ex used because it remind­ed her of him. When I actu­al­ly saw the stick, even already know­ing that it was a stick of “guy antiper­spi­rant”, I was still sur­prised at how male ori­ent­ed the mar­ket­ing was, with high con­trast flu­o­res­cent stripes and bold fonts. It looked a lit­tle odd when she put it on, hold­ing the stick with her dain­ty hands.

I find that most girls are like this; they pre­fer the man­u­fac­tured smells of an after­shave, body wash, or even deodor­ant. Instead, Ashley taught me to appre­ci­ate an eau de nat­ur­al. I remem­ber walk­ing up to her house, after not see­ing her for a month, and being able to smell her from out­side the door. I would miss her even more just stand­ing there, almost as if this made her ethe­re­al pres­ence tan­gi­ble. Ever since, I’ve believed that the scents we pro­duce are more impor­tant than the ones we put on. They’re unique to one per­son, and nev­er go away.

Unlike my under­wear.

Church And State

I want­ed to thank you for chang­ing my life.

Then I real­ized that you did­n’t do any­thing. You were com­plete­ly self­ish, com­plete­ly incon­sid­er­ate. I picked myself up and made the best of what you left me as. Loving you was the impor­tant part, not any­thing that you had ever done.

I real­ized that it was­n’t you who changed my life. It was the expe­ri­ence. It was the con­scious effort to turn my life around.

It was me.

Hemlock

The two longest rela­tion­ships I’ve ever been in, both bor­der­ing on the two-year mark, were mean­ing­less. I learned a great deal from them, mak­ing them great expe­ri­ences, but in all truth, that can be said about any of the rela­tion­ships I’ve had.

My short­est rela­tion­ship, which nev­er even got into the three month range (and also hap­pened to be with the only girl to break up with me), was the most mean­ing­ful.

And tox­ic.

I should­n’t have been in that rela­tion­ship, and I knew it. It was unhealthy, it was destruc­tive, it was painful. Yet I kept going. I kept apol­o­giz­ing instead of accus­ing, I kept storm­ing with­out releas­ing. Was I weak? Perhaps. Was I in love? More like­ly.

But I was scared most of all.

Scared of giv­ing up a chance for hap­pi­ness, scared of for­ev­er won­der­ing, “what if?”. With lack of choice comes free­dom from regret. It took more strength to push on, know­ing that it would­n’t last, than it would have tak­en to end it myself.

It was­n’t weak­ness. It was deter­mi­na­tion. It was an attempt at per­se­ver­ance. It was an attempt at sto­ic res­ig­na­tion. I knew she was going to end it.

Because I nev­er would.