In the three and a half years we’ve been together, I’ve only cried (really cried) in front of J twice. The second (and last) time was during butt sex (his butt, not mine).
The first time was very early, before this thing we had could even be called a relationship. Maybe that’s when I first realized it might be a relationship — I’m not sure.
We hadn’t been dating long when I decided the whole D/s thing was just too much pressure — it required too much reading, responsibility, and too many rules. I just wanted to enjoy his company, fuck him silly, and satisfy some kinks, and in those areas, we were a good match.
But J also wanted me to be dominant (or a dominant), and he wanted to be submissive (or a submissive). I just wanted to be myself and I wanted J to be attentive, accommodating, and compliant — not in general, but to me. Looking back, the irony (coincidence?) is not lost on me — but at the time, those things seemed incongruous, and perhaps they were. Regardless, my perception was overwhelming dissonance where there was actually potential for compatibility.
To me, his being “a submissive” demanded “a dominant,” — both roles (as I understood them) seemed too codified, prescribed, and pornofied, for me. Besides that, his “submissiveness” came along with a lot of wants, ‘suggestions,’ and occasional weird capitalization.
Back then, I couldn’t wrap my brain around the dissonance, much less articulate it. While J and I had talked about his want for a D/s arrangement, and my hesitance toward it, I didn’t reference any of that. I was tired of all of it, and I was just… done.
We hadn’t been dating long, so I didn’t think breaking it off would be a big deal to either of us.
I was wrong. When I told J I didn’t want to see him anymore, my own tears took me by surprise. While I had feelings for him, obviously we weren’t a good match — he wasn’t what I wanted and I wasn’t what he wanted. Rationally, breaking it off was the right decision, and it should have been and easy one (free of the annoying emotions that cause unwanted wetness on my face).
Finding myself in tears caught me off guard — I didn’t expect to feel as strongly as I did, nor did I expect to show it. In an effort to explain my anomalous emotions (perhaps more for me than for him), I offered this:
“I’m only crying because I think I’m in love with you… a little.”
In my head, it sounded like a reasonable explanation for unreasonable emotions about by a man I hardly knew and couldn’t possibly love.
But I did. I loved him a little, and I already loved him enough. None of that was logical, but it was true.
What I failed to consider (and failed to account for in my ‘explanation’) is the fact that love isn’t reasonable — it’s not logical, nor predictable, nor explainable. It just happens sometimes, even when it isn’t ideal or easy. It’s a lesson I’ve been learning for the past three years or so, and one I expect to continue learning for some time.