Tuesday, August 28, 2012

The night our lives changed


Oddly enough, as vivid as that night is in my mind, I can’t recall the spark that started it all. We were fighting over something, probably something trivial. One thing led to another and it wasn’t long before our relationship and all our difficulties came to the fore.  All along I actually believed I’d convinced her that our problems were insurmountable, but I was wrong.  Very wrong.

When I finally blurted out that I wasn’t sure if we were going to endure, it was as if I’d physically struck my poor darling wife. Turned out that she was just “giving me space” all along and had no idea I’d want to end things. She kept asking: “what’s happened… what’s changed you?”  She wasn’t buying my feeble argument that all of the petty gripes I’d been complaining of could be enough to tear us apart. 

After an hour or so of fending off one plea after the next, I had to admit that she was right. It wasn’t enough, and if I was going to end our marriage, I couldn’t bear the selfish act of letting her think it was her fault in any way.

Without warning, the flood gates opened up. In one huge emotional surge, alternating between wails of emotional anguish, and tears of personal shame, I told her who she was married to…

After a lifetime of being tongue tied when it came to the “real me”, my words flew out in one massive torrent. I spilled it all. Not in the hope that she could become the woman I needed her to be, but to convince her why I wasn’t right for her, why I was sure I could only find happiness with another, and why she should let me go. 

 “I’m a slave”, I wailed. “I’ve been a slave since puberty, and I’ll always be a slave. Virtually every free moment of every day, I ache to submit. I need a woman who wants to own me as badly as I need to be owned. I need to have my rights stripped away. I need for my happiness to be a distant second to my woman’s. I need someone who will not just let me serve her, I need someone who expects and demands that I serve her in every conceivable way. I need to live under threat of punishment… severe punishment if I mess up even a little. I need to be controlled, taken, and subjugated”. 

Not wanting to give her a chance to respond, for fear that I might not “get it all out” if I were to stop, I continued. “You understand and accept, that gay people can’t help the way they are. They were born that way and nothing will ever change them. I’ve never had a gay thought in my life but I KNOW what drives them because it drives me as well. I know it sounds sick or wrong to you but I can’t help who I am. I’m a slave… I’m a fucking slave!!!”

When my monologue was through, I was spent, realizing I'd been running on pure adrenalin.  Now I fell in a heap on my half of the bed, curled myself into ball, and wished the world would end. I never felt so low or so ashamed. Not for being who I was,  but for putting her through all that I had, and wasting so many years of her life. I felt horrible for marrying her “under false pretenses”.

I was expecting her to say, “yeah, you’re right. Maybe we should separate”, but she didn’t. She told me she understood. She told me that while she’d always known I was submissive, she’d never really “gotten it” like she did now. She told me that she’d always thought my submission was just related to passivity during sex, and when I explained how sex had NOTHING to do with it in the usual sense, she understood that too.

We talked until three A.M., and while we never really coming to any sort of agreement as to what our future held, we communicated like never before. Still, now that the cat was out of the bag, I felt a little trapped. The whole reason I wanted to end things for any pretended reason other than our D/s incompatibly was because if we tried and failed, it seemed too weak of an excuse to separate.  Yet, it felt cathartic to finally unburden myself.

We were both exhausted by now, and when we said good night, she said I’d given her a lot to think about.  I switched off the light and after a few minutes of silence, I heard her chuckle to herself. I asked her what was funny, and she said:

“Remember the movie: ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?, you know the part when Jimmy Stewart is walking Donna Reid home when they were young and she accidentally loses her robe and winds up in the hydrangea bush? That’s when he picks her robe up off the ground, realizes she’s naked and vulnerable, and says to no one in particular… ‘Hmmmm this is a verrrry interesting situation we have here”.

I didn’t know it at the time, but at that moment, my darling wife of over 30 years, became my mistress.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Beginnings Part II

Some might wonder why one would attempt to end such a seemingly perfect union without giving a full out attempt at open honesty. If I loved her and respected her as I say I did, why didn't I have it in me to try and reach out to her and let her see what was in my heart?

Honestly, it was because of my respect for her and my genuine need for her approval, that I held back as I did. Sure, I was virtually certain that she'd never consider entering into any sort of FLR in even the most superficial way, but didn't I owe it to us both to at least try?

The sad fact is, that I felt that her "unwillingness to own me" was not a "legitimate" enough excuse to leave, and not something which I could have any right for her to accept, if I stayed. Actually, it was my "head" that told me that, as a result of a lifetime of societal indoctrination. My heart was another matter. As I mentioned earlier, these thoughts consumed me for hours a day... every day of my life. How could they be ignored?

I also knew that right after her ownership, the thing I craved most, was her approval. At the risk of coming off as big headed, I have quite a few items in my "plus column". Pretty good looking, trim physique, and successful in business. I leave it to the reader to judge my wit and intelligence. What I'm driving at is, her approval meant more to me than the approbation of 1,000 of my own peers. If I were to end things for the reasons I was contemplating, I'd be deserving of the avalanche of disapproval which would come with it.

As a side note, if it did ever go down that way, I never for a moment feared that she'd vent her hurt by telling my children of their father's "secret". She's just not that way. Frankly, that fact made me feel even worse.

So if I had trouble justifying my true reasons, how in the world could I expect her to? I could fill many pages outlining the small and petty ways where I tried to find fault with her, while also trying to exaggerate my own shortcomings. In retrospect, it seems so cowardly, but at the time, my best case scenario was for HER to want to end things. My god, what a cad i was.

This cycle of non-existent communication and emotional wall building went on for the better part of a year. Then one night this past spring, things came to a head, and something happened which changed both our lives forever...