(continued from “A Retrospective: Part 5“)
I didn’t end it because we had never established there was anything to end.
That’s a terrible excuse, though, because I wasn’t ready to end it. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t.
Things plodded and stumbled along, we talked and saw each other here and there, but I certainly withdrew a good bit of my emotional investment after that night. I wasn’t sure how much of it was real anyway. I resigned myself to the fact that things weren’t working out, and they were only temporary anyway, so I might as well do what I wanted with J while I had the chance.
And I did. :)
We played hard, tried lots of new things, and had a blast. During that time, a few well-chosen words and well-placed strikes helped encourage J to back off of his facesitting fetish. (No, he didn’t back off completely, and I still have mixed feelings about his motivation and about my attitude towards it. It’s going to take some time to figure that out).
Facesitting and oral service aside, playtime was awesome — fucking awesome. But of course, fucking awesome playtime can lead to unintended injuries… and it did.
At one point, J casually told me that when we played a few days before, I had hurt him in a way I hadn’t intended — I injured him. It wasn’t “major,” but the injury gave him some trouble for a couple of days. He didn’t tell me because he thought it wasn’t a big deal and because he was afraid I’d get skittish about playing that way again.
Of course, part of his reasoning for not telling me right away was that he didn’t want to upset me (unintentionally injuring people upsets me…go figure?). But also, he admitted that he didn’t want to tell me because he enjoyed that type of play and didn’t want me to back off from doing it again. In other words, he withheld information for his benefit.
I brought it to his attention that withholding information like that was breaking a rule, specifically, this one:
If something is wrong [. . .] you need to let me know immediately, regardless of what you think my reaction will be. I’ve said it before, but it’s worth repeating–you’re very important to me and I enjoy what we have. You need to help me to be sure we don’t break it or let it fizzle out.
He didn’t realize he had broken a rule–not until I mentioned it.
I wasn’t angry that he was unaware, nor was I angry about the act of breaking a rule. I was more concerned (and angry) about the underlying trust issues that particular rule speaks to and the consequences of him breaking it. Above all else, I was most concerned that he understood why it was a rule in the first place so he didn’t withhold information of that sort again.
I didn’t yell, and I wasn’t fly-off-the-handle angry — I presented everything in the context of making sure it didn’t happen again. I tried to explain all of that, but I’m not sure he heard me. He seemed more concerned about breaking a rule–any rule–than anything else. In addition to missing the point, he took it way harder than I imagined.
Later that night, J sent a note of apology that included statements like “I feel sick,” “This is mortifying,” and “I need some time to process this.”
It seemed melodramatic, but as an experienced submissive, perhaps breaking a rule really was “mortifying” to him. All the same, it seemed as if he were upset that he broke some code of conduct as a submissive… not as my submissive. But I didn’t want to deny his emotions, and he said he would write the next day, so I didn’t respond.
The next day, I got a longer email with more self-flagellation, more dramatic language, and at the end, this:
“This is the first time since we started seeing each other that I feel it might be better to move into friendship mode. You had very simple, well articulated, easily understood expectations spelled out and they were not met. The failure to meet them is inexcusable as it undermines real ‘trust’ going forward. Much Love, J”
I read those lines again, and again, and again, and then burst into uncontrollable, near-manic laughter. I laughed so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. Seriously? That’s all it takes for him to jump ship? After everything I’ve struggled with, after the research, the fear, the anxiety… he’s going to call it off? Over this?!?!
After I recovered from my fits of laughter, my mood swung 180 degrees. I got angry… really fucking angry. Fuck him. Fuck his melodrama, fuck his friendship, and fuck his “much love.” Stupid fucking boy thinks he can call “friendship” because he fucked up? Over something so little? Oh hell no. Fuck. No. After the twisting and turning and anxiousness and worry and doubt and sadness I’ve put myself through to maintain this, he thinks he can call it off? No. Fucking. Chance.
I emailed him my response:
“I reject your ‘suggestion’ we should be just friends. In fact, I won’t even consider it.
You don’t get to call this off. It’s my call, and I’m not calling it. You don’t get to bail because you broke a fucking rule. No fucking way am I going to throw away the time and effort I’ve put into you. No fucking way are you allowed to reject the love and affection I’ve given to you.
You offered your submission and I accepted and I’m not playing games anymore. We’ll talk about this later and we’ll figure it out.
And by the way… you are mine. Sign your emails accordingly.
“Yes, Ma’am. I understand. Yours, J”