No, really. I’m good.

I typically become profoundly uncomfortable when I cannot craft my thoughts or feelings into words. This becomes especially irritating when someone asks me how I am feeling, what I am thinking, and I am nonplussed and vacant, ready with neither quick quip nor reasoned, seasoned response. The capacity to think quickly and clearly is one of the aspects of my “me-ness” in which I have always taken great pride. To have that erode, or vanish completely is jarring, to say the least.

 

I found myself repeatedly in this position when I was visiting with The Dominant Guy, watching him watching me mull some simple question he had just asked concerning my state of mind, ofttimes my response being a rather goofy smile, and a response somewhere within the coherency range of “Well…um…I…I’m just so happy to be here, sir.”

 

Interestingly enough, and contrary to what I thought might happen, the “aftermath” of my (finally! OMG for the love of Ganesha!) being able to spend time with The Dominant Guy was…anti-climactic.

 

Wonderfully so.

 

I didn’t even cry when we parted ways. And as the days have rolled into a couple of weeks now. I’m still marveling at how so many of the things that fretted me were non-issues. Attempting to divine or determine how such things as chemistry and interpersonal interactions MIGHT unfold is an amazing, singing dancing Busby Berkeley level technicolor musical of hubris Because? As much confidence as I have in how well I know myself, what I need and what I want and how I think things will unfold? There’s always an outcome I’d not anticipated.

 

And I am finding of late those unanticipated bends in the road are the doozies.

 

And I am finding of late that, when I stop thinking about them, when I let my mind grow still? I remember the quiet moments of tranquil peace I found when I was in service. Those moments when I knew I was where I was supposed to be. Those moments when I knew I was, within myself, at home. Nothing can shake me.

 

I will share that I took a couple of hits in my forward momentum. Well-meaning friends and bystanders who would share their concerns that I was setting myself up for failure. That my expectations were too high. That, if it all collapsed in a Walpurgisnacht Bonfire of Epic Vanities, that the resultant conflagration would immolate any and everything in its vicinity.

 

“I’m just afraid you’ll be let-down”

 

“No one could live up to the expectations you’ve set.”

 

“But you’re monogamous. You deserve better than to have to share someone.”

 

“I hope you are taking care of yourself. I worry about you!”

 

and these were the more straightforward slow seep tentacles of “concern.” Mostly? That slid off of my back, so much fear and hesitation contained within them. Everyone has their own motives for casting shade or “sharing” their “pragmatic” points of view.

 

I won’t second-guess ’em.

 

Not my job.

 

I will say that, despite an occasional cold shiver? They didn’t touch me deeply because I knew. I knew what I felt, and in the week we were together, I knew even more deeply how he felt, and what he wanted, and these things were similar.

 

I did have some trepidations, yep. Fears around what it would be like to spend time with him AND Mrs. The Dominant Guy. That was a big one. This wasn’t a feature of my fresh-faced submissive fantasies. This was real, and kind of scary, and an exercise in absolute trust in myself and in that fact that whatever the outcome? It would be what was right. The best, and only thing I could do was to remain present, in the moment, be who I was, and have these discussions with transparency and openness.

 

And you know what? No one died. I didn’t implode, and to be honest it was rather a relief to begin this part of the process…everyone checking everyone else out…and to realize that it was alright. More than alright. It was pretty damned cool. We have a similar sense of humor and I felt quite at ease. It was cool that she was so cool, and there was no stiltedness, awkwardness, nuttin’. I’ll even take in stride that she totally threw me under the bus sans hesitation. OK, sure, I was being a bit sassy and bantering with The Dominant Guy over dinner, and at one point she casually glanced over at him, eyes sparkling, inclined her head in my direction and said “You gonna let her talk to you like that?” which of course resulted in corrective measures to adjust my behaviour being taken. I think it involved poking. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: watch out for female switches. Wily, lethal creatures, to a one! I enjoyed my time with her, with him, and with them, and that was really an unexpected epiphany.

 

Seeing them together, rather than throwing me into some paroxysm of soul-numbing jealousy, in fact had a somewhat different effect. I found I was not overwhelmingly jealous, however I did feel envy. Wanting to also have something beautiful, something you observe others enjoying, is different from jealously wanting to take that which others have. And even my jealous feelings were relieved of their barbs and gently worked free once I shared them with him. He has the ability to disarm my well-crafted emotional smart-bombs and return them to their more inert facets, and then I am able to see the root of my ebbs and flows.

 

Do you know how powerful it is to look into someone’s eyes and have them tell you that they want all of you….all of it…and to believe it?

 

I am, every day, surprised at how the context of my desire to submit to him, and the mutual desire we have to explore this relationship embraces more of my daily walk as time unspools.

 

Surprised, delighted, and quietly, violently, elegantly, simmering with joy.

 

SO, OK, if you’re still worried about me? Knock yourself out. But rest assured, I don’t worry about a single fucking thing because I know what I want. I know what he wants. And I know who I am.