For those keeping track, I spent Tuesday through Thursday with my ex-wife.
I’ve already spoken at length about that, and to repeat it would advance nothing.
I’m deliberately avoiding the NSFW tag, because, honestly, it doesn’t mean anything. What matters is who we are to each other, and that is safe for work.
I’ve been back in my van for a couple of days, and I guess someone would like this, but what a fucking masochistic starting point.
My ex is, in fact, a masochist. I branded her … twice. When someone asks politely, I’m inclined to be a submissive bitch. (I’m serious, here. 50 Shades hadn’t come out yet, so we didn’t even yet have a terrible rendition of BDSM that was about to spring forth.)
To call my ex-wife difficult is to ignore that you don’t want to be with me. We are equally difficult, and that’s why we work. You don’t really notice this when it starts, as you’re a bit too busy fucking.
We were both exactly what the other needed, at exactly the right time. All of the foreplay was negated by “oh fuck, you’re mine.” You don’t really recover from that.
This said, we can’t talk right now, as we skated so close to the edge of reality that one of us may have fallen off the cliff. Neither of us would ever admit that, which is unuseful.
I have completely cut off trying to meet others as a result. I’d been fucking around on Reddit, but, honestly, I don’t want someone else. I’m not going to do better, and so to try is folly.
She owns me, I own her, and this just works. I don’t know I’d feel comfortable owning someone else.
Oof! That sounds precariously intoxicating. I don’t think I could resist that and certainly couldn’t blame you for not being able to.
And yet, the idea of owning someone does not sit well with me.
What a tricky dilemma. Good luck, and keep your powder dry.
Interesting choice of words on the powder.
I did not set out to own anyone, as I agree that it’s unsettling. We rather fell into it. I complained my ring finger felt weird empty, and she did what one does at a pizza place: went to a quarter machine and got me one.
When I finally asked her to marry me a few months later (had to get the first marriage out of the way first), she had a lot of fun watching me stumble over my words. She gave me about 20 minutes before just taking my hand, pointing to that ring and saying, “I already claimed you.”
Sure, a ring is not ownership, but my reaction was “well, fuck … guess I need to get a collar now.” In my defense, when I first came across her profile five years prior, she was wearing cone spikes in one of her pics, and that … just might have been what tipped the scales to messaging her.
I did get her an engagement ring; in fact, I saw it again just a few days ago. But I knew the collar was going to be temporary; no worries there, as the real thing was coming. I commissioned two artists off FetLife: one for the leather, and one for the metal.
At the wedding, no one was aware they’d just signed up for a collaring ceremony, but seriously, if a chick walks into her wedding wearing a collar, do you not expect an upgrade?
She still wears her collar when her grandson is not around, as it’s still quite sharp, but she tells new people that she collared herself instead of explaining “Well, in 2011 …”
Powderhorn, gunpowder, keep your powder dry.
Archaic well-wishing, but it seemed apropos.
I have an entire fucking horn! A friend got me a Civil War-era powderhorn early in my career (also the only reason I’ve fired a gun, but that’s Virginia for you).