I Wanna Live in the World

Despite my best and persistent efforts to fashion a working compromise in my marriage, things just seem to be getting worse. For me, I've been able to envision a way that we could stay together, embrace the deep comfort of a twenty year relationship, and still get various needs met outside our marriage. I've been very careful to be explicit enough to have something to work toward but not so "honest" that I'm cruel. But for her, it all just feels like rejection and humiliation. I don't mean it to be. I love her very much. But I can't go back to surreptitious subsistence.

In ways other than kink we are very different. Who knows why after so many years of a life together it just seems to be unraveling. It's not just my increasing comfort with my perviness. It's not just my draw to flirtation and sexual attraction outside our union. It's not just her shame at our increasingly precarious financial situation. Maybe it's hitting a limit on how much we can share each other's lives and our respective dreams for a path into the future. Maybe we need some room to figure out just how much we can be together.

While it is deeply sad, I can't help but feel slightly giddy with hope. The freedom to make new friends and craft a life without all the lying and sneaking around has a cleanly captivating allure. I don't kid myself. At my age, the likelihood that I'll find Mistress Right and live happily ever after is pretty remote. But as a connoisseur of the greyer shade of grey in human interaction, maybe I don't need Mistress Right to be happy.

Maybe right now, like Jackson says, it's enough to hear a voice calling the prisoner inside who's the captive of my doubt, a voice which feeds all my dreams of breaking out ... and taking my chances - alive in the world.

Pro vs. Pampered Lifestyler

In chatting about her upcoming travels on the Max Board, the iconic, extraordinarily lovely, and oh-so-funny Domina M drew a distinction between the professional and the "pampered lifestyler". She posited she'd be "okay" - or on the sunnyside of legal - if she had her submissive pay for her hotel and played with him at her leisure. She seemed to define this form of interaction as "pampered lifestyle". I love this term. FWIW - and it is not worth legal advice - I agree with M that she's unlikely to get jammed up if her "compensation" is a nice corner room at the Marriott.

But more than legal niceties, her term "pampered lifestyle" seemed so accurately descriptive of the relationship I have with the domme I love. For each of her visits during the past year I've sprung for her hotel. I've loved doing this as it allows her to stay in town, have a base of operations, and I get to be told to strip naked so I don't wrinkle my suit when I bring her coffee in the morning. We also have romantic dinners from heaven and at the end of our lovely evenings I pick up the tab. That's just Chivalrous Dating 101. I'd been searching for a characterization of our thing together. Normally I don't pay for my friends hotel stays when they visit from out-of-town, but paying the bill at Kink Hilton didn't really seem like green in the tribute pouch either. The reaction on Maxville to this relationship concept was, as usual, facinating.

So thanks M for defining what has slightly perplexed me for the past year. Long live the pampered lifestyle!

Plea Bargains With Pain

She's visiting again ... the domme I love. It's so wonderful and intense. There's something about her physical presence in my life that provides a natural anchor to my submissive sexuality. So many of my "shortcomings" in my relationships with vanilla, non-dominant women are explainable when I'm with her. We just seem to fit and the natural order of things seems so clear. My penchant for service is appreciated, encouraged and sometimes rewarded. My lifelong reticence to "put the moves on" is actually an asset. She's the dominant and makes the first move because that's what she likes to do. Being with her is proof positive that I'm a submissive, kinky guy. I'm proud of that in a way I've never been prouder before.

But I have to say goodbye to her. It just breaks my heart in a million pieces and I feel so lost. No anchor to hold me, appreciate me and encourage me. Our connection is strong but I never know when I'm going to see her again. I bargain with my pain ... we'll plan our next romantic liason. Maybe she'll move back to the States next year. Maybe I'll figure a way to be more consistently close to her.

I try to live in the now and be with her up to the last minute. To revel in our being truly together and not let the pain interfere. It's hard but I'm getting better at it. I know we'll have that one more cup of coffee I fetch her before she goes ...

The Mahwah Kiss

No, I'm not talkin' about the town in New Jersey... Jersey gets enough of a bad rap as it is. I'm talkin' about the kiss where she either air kisses ya or kisses your cheek and then makes a sound. A sound like the town in Jersey. A sound that probably should be phonetically spelled like "mmmooooowah". You know the kiss. I really hate that kiss.

I had dinner last night with a very hot vanilla woman friend of mine in an effort to put myself in harm's way. Now I value this woman's friendship immensely. She's single, attractive, smart, and extremely flirtatious. Ultimately, however, she is safe as she is on a mission to marry and procreate. She is completely uninterested in scenic detours with kinky married men in sexless unions who for some mysterious reason are being drawn like butter to vanilla sex.

So last night we had a late dinner and I walked her home. At the corner, dressed in jeans and a light jacket, she shivered and complained about how quickly autumn had arrived. In a completely selfless and chivalrous show of gentlemanly concern I put my arms around her and drew her close, rubbing her shoulders to create a little heat. We walked arm in arm to her door and said goodnight. But then she double kissed my cheeks ending with the dreaded "mmmmoooowah kiss" or "Mahwah Kiss" as I like to think of it. Now, I'm sure it's wise that I don't further complicate my already complicated life by weaseling my way into a little vanilla nookie with my otherwise valued friend. But to give me the goddamn Mahwah Kiss ... I mean the mayor of Mahwah actually committed suicide ... I wonder if it was over a Mahwah Kiss? Take me home to kinkland ... this vanilla stuff is way too hard.

Oh well ... I guess from now on I'm just gonna have to steal my kisses.