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.