Wishful thinking

I am 58 years old.

 

I feel 25 or 30.

 

I am the most confident I have ever been. I feel like I know which battles to pick, which hill to die on, how to prioritize life and how to best love myself and others.

 

I appreciate and find the joy in every single day I am given. In every simple gift. In every interaction I have with another.

 

All three of my best friends have had cancer in the past 4 years Including two twin sisters diagnosed with HR negative breast cancer. I watched one of them, my closest friend of 54 years, nearly lose her battle to stay alive and I treasure each day with her now more than ever.

 

Her mom, to whom I’m also close, is currently on hospice and dying in my bestie’s living room, floating in and out of consciousness. Catheter in place. Will?…NOT broken.

 

Yesterday, she woke up and said my name and carefully twisted the two tendrils of curly hair that had fallen from my hair clip, framing my face.

 

And she said “I love you.” And I know that’s the last time I will hear her say it.

 

So today my heart is breaking for all the inevitable things in life that are beyond our control. For all the losses we have to endure and because eventually, we have to watch the people who tend to our hearts the most lose their right to walk among the living.

 

Which is why I wonder how someone can leave loose ends and unspoken words, words that have tremendous healing power. How can someone leave a legacy of hurt to another and deem them unworthy of basic human decency? How can one love someone that tears another woman apart and steps on her head to get a better view of the rock star she’s trying to ogle onstage?

 

Yeah. I don’t know.

 

Other than maybe they suck a mean dick or are easily manipulated. And there is always that Jerry Springer style entertainment factor.

 

At least I can finally laugh about it, as I am impatiently waiting for my lover to get out of his meeting with contractors and pick me up on his Ryker, to spend the rest of his day giving me joy and pleasure and wrapping me in his arms to hold me and kiss me. And ain’t ONE day that goes by that he doesn’t tell me how loved and cherished I am.

 

Upon my return from vacation, he was waiting outside his truck at the end of his driveway to scoop me up, and I watched this 6 foot plus man cry actual tears as I ran towards him with my arms outstretched. His voice was cracking as he told me how happy he was that I was back.

 

He asks me every day to marry him and his schedule consists almost solely of catering to me. I would say I am second only to his 16 year old daughter and to be honest, I feel equal to her and not less than when it comes to his love and affection. That’s pretty monumental and it shows the unending effort he puts forth, much like Roger once did.

 

For my birthday in June, he researched and made a list of every old fashioned general store within a 3 state radius, because he knows how I love to roam the crowded little spaces and touch the history on each dusty old shelf.

 

He has made good on his promise, like always, to take me to each and every one, via Ryker or in the 15 foot cargo van he had made into a personal traveling tiny home so I didn’t have to get up to pee in the night or walk to the bathroom wherever we were lodged.

 

This. Man. Reveres. Me. If he could walk a few steps in front of me to pave my way with rose petals and glitter, he fucking would.

I hesitate to commit to a forever relationship with him because I know that there are things about him that do not align with my beliefs. He studied theology. I’ve got a naughty streak and was raised by two liberal hippies on a farm where freedom was celebrated along with dirt bikes. Him? A strict baptist home rife with discipline and order. His wild streak is me.

 

Despite all of that…

 

I trust him with all of my being and can say that I believe he is and will always be 100 percent faithful to me. I believe this because he has spent the last three years MAKING me believe, not by his words, but by his unfailing actions of love and sacrifice.

 

He promised me that he would take all the pain away and replace it with a deep sense of adoration and security. And he has.

 

He promised me he would show me how it felt to be sexually fulfilled and to know true, non sacrificial pleasure. And again, he has. He is my pleasure Dom, now and always.

 

He is my SAFE space and in his arms, nothing can hurt me. He is my protector. His touch is always tender.

 

It feels natural when he says, “come over here to Daddy”

 

So no, Vickie, to answer the question you posed to me last time we spoke that I avoided, I DO NOT miss wondering if I am the only one or if betrayal is waiting just around the corner. No ma’am, I do not.

 

And I also don’t miss the feeling of fear and inadequacy as your lover stripped me naked and beseechingly wondered why I struggled to bare my body to him. It perplexed him to NO end that he could not make me believe he found my naked body sexy.

 

It physically hurt me to drop my arms to my side and uncover my naked body for him to see, with all of its flaws and imperfections. I think it actually bothered his ego, knowing he could not make me comfortable.

 

What he failed to understand is that I could never believe him because it is hard to feel sexy to your lover when they constantly prove to you that you are NOT ENOUGH.

 

It is hard to share the most vulnerable part of yourself when someone is telling you that you’re not enough to fulfill their desires. How? By never being satisfied with JUST you. By making sex a public spectacle. By putting you on display and encouraging your deviant behavior like his own personal porno. By asking to have others join. By carefully denying you pleasure and putting his own first. By texting you messages repeatedly, for YEARS, that were not meant for you, but for someone else he found more appealing than you, until he could no longer deny or explain it away.

 

What started out as “fun” slowly became me being coached into a role that stripped me of any pleasure of my own, only to be deemed emasculating and “too domme” when he no longer felt like he could turn me on. The truth all along was he definitely could have, because I was still crazy attracted to him. He did not want to put forth the effort to do so.

 

I understand fully what Vickie meant when she asked that question, and even though it is wrong, I derived some kind of satisfaction out of hearing her tearfully accuse him of having someone else.

 

I guess you gotta be careful of what you wish for.

 

A few nights ago, my lover walked in the bedroom where I was naked and bent over, putting a fitted sheet on his bed.

 

He came up behind me and wrapped me in his embrace and as he was nuzzling me, he told me how sexy he found me. I had no doubts about that as his instantly erect penis was poking against my backside.

 

You didn’t break me. You gifted me with a great and powerful love.

 

I will just leave this here.