Stranger Come Home

I may not see her this visit. After three magical stopovers we just may not connect. Then again, we may. There's still Friday.

I don't know why I feel compelled to write publicly about something so personal. Perhaps the writing process helps me understand and deal with powerful and confusing feelings. For me, wordsmithing is cathartic. Plus from comments and some emails I've gotten, at least a few people relate to what I'm going through so I end up not feeling so all alone.

I was meditating on the essential nature of my relationship with "She-Who-Visits". The common lore seems to say that since I started as her client our bond is flawed. "Once a client, always a client." Not that the relationship of prodomme/client is bad or blemished or emotionally corrupt in anyway. But collective wisdom, especially sub-guy folklore, warns that it is a rare union indeed that can successfully transition from the dungeon to a lasting and permanent tie.

I don't allow much room for illusion. I was estimating the other day I've had somewhere between 350 - 400 pro sessions in my life. Almost every single beautiful one of les liaisons dangereuses have remained behind the kinky curtain - except with her. She has become a part of the fabric of my life. She has become an incredibly important person to me. I suffer no pretense at a future in the traditional sense of the word. No white picket fence around a cozy cocoon of kink for us.

I've wondered this week whether in even the rarest of client/prodomme couplings which transcend the clock and tribute in a real sense if there isn't an unavoidable dynamic. Stress can make people revert. My shrink likens it to crevasses of character. You do all this work to root out the weeds and rot. You landscape it all nice and pretty. Invariably, life's storm clouds bring a downpour which fills those emotional arroyos right back up. For a time you lose the order and beauty of those carefully planted zinnia, begonia, and sweet alyssum.

It strikes me that just as I may have vexed anxiously about whether she really only loves me for nice hotels and fancy dinners, she may defensively place me in "business mode" to compartmentalize me away - returning me to "client status" - so as to gain distance and remove. Last night she cancelled our dinner we had arranged yesterday morning. I have no doubt she was suffering the affect of a stomach virus. But given the emotional roller coaster of the week - I was actually relieved not to be seeing her under these circumstances.

But this too shall pass. Our tie to one another is that rare kink hybrid - deep and resilient. The strong spring sun will shine, the flood water will recede and those deluged canyons will bear flowers again. The other day I saw my first green shoots of spring in Foley Square on my way to court. I texted her about it - my message like a robin, landing in a tree.

Hey girl, there's only me waiting here for you. Am I wrong to love you like I do?