I’ve been mentioning here and there that I want to do a post about love and I have the time right now to do it, but of course today is one of those days where my thoughts are flitting about like butterflies on crack so no promises on this making a lick of sense.
Sometimes I think love is a death sentence for M/s. It could be the only time where unrequited love is preferred. Because, at least for me, my love for HIM is necessary, something I draw on when it comes to service and submission. I could not find pleasure in half of what I do if I didn’t love him as deeply and fiercely as I do.
But his love for me, when it comes to parts and pieces of Ms/ and sadism – is like a wet blanket.
It’s a trap. A trap that he opens and I fall into, a place where we both end up spinning in circles for a time, not sure what’s holding us down until finally, one of us (me, usually) will sit up and go “Ah-ha! You’re loving me again. Loving me too much.”
What will happen is that I’ll end up with a case of the “wifies”. Girlfriend syndrome, I’ve heard it called. A time when expectations dip into romance and tenderness, when I begin to think I deserve to be treated more as an equal than a subordinate, when I assign more importance to my needs than to his, when I expect to be courted and wooed and romanced into sex and service. When I can sit on the couch, with my feet up, and ask HIM to fetch ME something.
A time when his requests are met with an eyeroll instead of a pleasant nod, when he’s answered with grunts or heavy sighs instead of “Yes Master”, a time when I stomp away, scowling, and thinking to myself, “what about ME, you selfish prick? I’m tired and I’m stressed and my head aches and.. and.. and.. etc. etc.! What makes YOU so special?”
What makes this so hard for him to see is because he loves me as deeply and fiercely as I love him. He doesn’t immediately see it for what it is. Instead, he lets the love, and the natural urge to please the one you love, override what should be the response of a Master. He responds as my husband, with gentleness and concern. He babies me, pets me.
It’s not long before we are both sitting here, scratching our heads, wondering what the hell happened to that mean old Sadist and his docile submissive.
They are buried somewhere under the heavy, wet blanket of loving husband and wife.
I know it’s not just us, either. I read and I see other long-term couples, living together, trying to make it work, slipping and sliding into the same love-trap. Clawing their way out only to slide back in without notice some few months later.
I see more who give up the fight for good. It’s easier to live as husband and wife. That’s what makes it such an easy pit to fall in to. It’s less work, the only consequence being a twinge of remembrance, a flash of want, overshadowed by a reminder of how much damn WORK it is to maintain the whole M/s thing, how you can’t take a day off, you can’t let anything slide, you have to be Johnny-on-the-spot ALL THE TIME and *sigh*…. easier to not have it.
So we fight and we fight, over and over again, to keep on keepin’ on. Less ’Scott and Tess’, more ’Master and cunt’.
But then I ask myself, “self, do you really want it any other way? Oh sure it sounds all sorts of “fun” to have that uncaring person of your fantasies ordering you about with no consideration to your feelings. But, let’s look at this honestly for a moment. Would you really want to have to suck a dick when you have a migraine? Would you truly want to be sent outside to shovel snow in the midst of the stomach flu, or pushed under the desk when you’re so tired you can’t see straight or… OR, for goodness sake, have access to watching American Idol taken away?? Worked and fucked and worked and fucked to the bone, to the very edges of your sanity? Or… is it nice to know that this person who hurts you in ways that you like (and in some ways that you dont), this man who fucks you senseless, who holds you to standards that are high but not unreachable.. this man cares about you, worries over your feelings, never wants to hurt you beyond repair, would do nothing, ever, to cause you emotional pain, consults you on matters of the heart, rubs your cheek as you cry, testing and feeling and proving that he’s not pushed you too hard, too far. Really, would you want that to change, cunt?”
No. For God’s sake, no.
If it is that there has to be a balance for us, a tightrope walk between love and sadism, and if we are prone to falling off now and then, the fact that we always, ALWAYS fall to the side of too much love gives me profound hope for our future. Because it is fact that someday, far into the future (I hope), M/s and s&m will be laid to the side – like a pair of pants we no longer fit into. Age and health will someday force us out of it. And at least I know that what we’ll be left with once stripped of those M/s clothes, is a deeply forged love, a connection proven time and time again to be our natural state.
“He loves me too much.” My chief complaint. But one I make with a smug and satisfied smile.
At least for today. Another day, I’ll be lamenting those early days of callous sadism before love was in the mix. I’ll be begging him to hate me, just a little, just for a little while, because underneath my wifely loving heart lies the soul of a masochist, starving for a plate of mean.
So, there you have it; butterfly thoughts on crack.