I don’t often talk politics in this space, but the announcement that hit the wire yesterday was too big for me to ignore. As sources told Politico, a drafting session by members of the party responsible for drafting the official party platform have included language in support of Equal Marriage Rights. Openly gay, married, retiring Congressman Barney Frank of Massachusetts reportedly said the vote was unanimous. This is a tremendously big deal for me, and not only because I identify as a member of the LGBTQ community, but also because I grew up in the Southeastern United States and have seen the lingering effects of willful discrimination all my life.
SINful friends, I had a different post entirely lined up for you today, in which I was going to issue my views on a subject that’s been running amok in the news and among bloggers everywhere the past few weeks. I had the first few paragraphs written, I had links lined up, and I was starting to get on a roll in my diatribe. It was becoming incendiary. My page views would have lit up, I’m sure, and many who would never find me otherwise would have stumbled here, likely to leave and never return. Halfway through the writing I realized that I couldn’t post it. It was too negative, too inciting, too destructive. It dawned on me in that moment that I cannot push such negativity forward. No, friends, I have a different responsibility here. In fact, I have several.
“So you want to ravage each other tonight?” Mrs. AP asked, a deep shiny gleam in her eye as she pounced me.
“Ohhh, that sounds delightful, ” I responded.
“What do you want to do?” She asked, sitting back a little, beaming down at me.
“I want you to flog me and fuck me.” I stated my intentions boldly, not giving myself time to think about how big a step this would be, or how much I would have to let go. I was letting my body and my needs lead me, and I needed to be Hers in ways people outside of BDMS just don’t understand.
She sat up a little more, looking at me quizzically for a moment, before leaning forward and asking “How do you want this to happen? What do you want me to use? This is our negotiation time; I want to make sure I won’t take things too far and hurt you.”
I looked into her eyes and held my voice steady as I said “Use your fingers, use toys, than take the strap-on and fuck me. I trust you. You won’t hurt me.”
“Good, ” She said. “Then go to the bathroom and when you come out I’ll have some tasks for you.”
I wish I had another one of my deep, meaningful, inspiring posts for you today friends. Instead I’m sitting here in my work vehicle, no A/C, at 5:30 in the morning. The temperature is 80F/26.7C with 81% humidity. The Heat Index moves that up to 87F/30.6C. It’s sticky. I’m sweaty. I go home in just over half an hour, where I will enjoy a lukewarm shower with Mrs. AP and try to find something to eat. The thought of the shower got me wondering, though, if my clean up routine is different from that of the many wonderful friends I’ve made here, so here goes:
The time had finally come. Her car was pulling into the lot, and I was finally going to get to meet her in person. I sat on my stool, eyes scanning the entrances to the lot until I finally saw her car pull in. Tracking it to it’s spot, I waited eagerly, nervously, knowing she would be everything in person that she was online and hoping I could live up to my own presentation. I had been myself, right? Surely I hadn’t exaggerated or overestimated. I adjusted my shirt again, checking my buttons, my collar, my belt, my pants, making sure everything was tidy and in place. Then her door opened, and I saw her step out…
It began, of all places, on OKCupid. My profile was honest; I was married, I wasn’t happy with the sexual relationship, I was trying to make everything else work, and I just wanted some quiet, NSA sex. I wasn’t looking much beyond the Orlando area for travel and time concerns. I’d had some success, meeting one or two people who were local or local-ish and with whom I’d played a bit, but nothing much had come of things. One day in mid December I received a message, which read, roughly, that while she didn’t agree with why I was on OKC she understood that shit happens, and that my profile interested her do greatly that despite her reservations she felt compelled to talk to me further and hear my story.
It was the most brutally honest, to the point message I’d received on the site yet. I fired back a response immediately, and only the paused to view her profile. I was instantly hooked. She wrote succinctly, with a controlled intelligence and a strong passion that matched the pictures of her brilliant red hair and red lips, both shining like rubies reflecting firelight. There was no way, I thought, that such a smart, strong, gorgeous woman would ever want anything more to do with me, but I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to find out.
I’ve not touched on Polyamory in my life here on the blog a great deal lately. It’s been over a month since I posted about realizing that a part of me wants the idealized Poly unit. At the time I was perfectly sincere, but I was missing a key component that has been preventing — and in fact, destroyed chances — for me to realize that dream. As it turns out, I’ve not been as ready for a truly Polyamorous lifestyle as I thought I was. I did not properly prepare myself, nor did I seek out the advice of those who have been Poly for years or decades. My own ignorance and inability to see beyond myself failed me and my partners. I failed Mrs. AbsinthePassion, while simultaneously being exactly what I thought she needed. Things I said and did were wrong, flat out, and here now is my confession.