Burning Bright

here's nothing like some heavy socialising to perk me up.

Until the start of this year, I had no idea BDSM was so fucking *organised*, with munches, and clubs and stuff. Not that it's something I'd explored - I've always been a perve but when in a very long term marriage with a vanilla partner, monogamous, there's not much point in tormenting yourself with what you can't have. Until the pressure builds up to the point where you actually *have* to have it, and you find ways to explore what's out there without undermining the relationship that means so much to you.

Funny, when I began getting my kink on, I unquestioningly assumed it was all about sex. And yes, in the last year I have undoubtedly had some very fine sex indeed, the best I've ever had, in fact. But actually, the most positive experiences have been about friendship. If this was some bloody heartwarming novel, it would have some suitably sickening tag line on the back along the lines of 'she went looking for sex, but what she found was friendships deeper than those she'd ever known'.

And very very satisfying it is too, to make those deep, intimate, emotional connections with people, with or without sex. I'm not sorry. I don't regret doing all this.

So. Friday night, Club with No Name. Drank heavily, met some new lovely chums who were remarkably sanguine about me dribbling on them in an alcoholic haze. Backed up in the form of existing friends who dispensed cuddles, booze and listening as and when required. A good time was not expected, but had nevertheless.

Saturday night, under 35 munch in London followed by Crimson. My stated intention was to find and at least snog someone I found hot, regrettably this mission was not accomplished as the opportunity did not present itself. Never mind. I still got to bump into some very sexy people and say hi, and watch an awesome rope suspension done on our friend. So so beautiful - I LOVE watching suspensions. It actually makes me feel a little bit like crying, but in a good way. There were some slightly uncomfortable circumstances surrounding it, but hey, take the joy where you can get it, right?

I'm not quite back to myself yet - on a night out I can usually feel the energy, the excitement, the lust, sparking through me almost visibly. It's starting to return, slowly, though. Which in itself presents a little bit of a problem - as my libido returns to normal I MUST BE MORE CAREFUL - damn my attraction to bad boys. And bad bad women. There's nothing I find hotter than someone who looks as if they're waiting for me in a dark alley so they can rape me.

Change is the constant

PHOENIX, n. The classical prototype of the modern small hot bird ~ Ambrose Bierce.

Okay, enough of this lying around moping in a consumptive fashion. It's time to start looking outward again. The self-scrutiny stuff is all good though, it's part of my process and very necessary to keep me on track. I'm often told that I'm over-sensitive, and that I over-think things. I've believed that most of my life. Well, I've come to a conclusion recently about that.

It's BOLLOCKS.

Okay, so very occasionally it's true. But most of the time? No. The problems start when I *stop* listening to the inner voice, and plunge onwards, ignoring the build up of thoughts and emotions, sweeping them aside as 'inappropriate' or 'foolish', judging them as a product of over-sensitivity or over-thinking, burying them under a dizzying schedule, reacting to events, rather than understanding them.

If I'm spending a lot of time in a situation where I feel hurt and want to cry - that situation is problematic. And I need to address that, instead of assuming I'm 'just being oversensitive again'.

I find it hard to express my needs - add into the mix some very forceful personalities, and the intense emotion of d/s in whatever form - and I can end up backed into a corner, somewhere I really don't want to be. And THAT'S when, listening to my emotions, and thinking about how I feel, could stop me from going along with things I'm not comfortable with. Because when I get backed into a corner, and feel trapped, with no solutions in sight, I react very badly, and my temper can be very destructive. And in all probability I'll remove myself from the situation entirely, because things have degenerated to the point where they cannot be salvaged without further damage to everyone involved.

Baring my soul via blog entry? It's part of my process. I like the idea that I can look back and see where I've been, how far I've come. Look at some of the comments and see where people were right - or wrong.

On another note, R (husband) is off to meet a nice young lady tomorrow, who I've lined up for him. Think he feels a little bad that things are taking off for him just as I'm on my own extra-marital-wise, but I'm really glad for him. It was me who started all this, but I haven't actually shagged another bloke yet, which is the Big Thing, and all the other stuff he takes in his stride (he doesn't bat an eyelid if I have sex with a woman etc). So I'd rather he has sex with another woman before I have sex with another man.

I'm in Extra Special Uber Protective Mode around R at the moment anyway, since he has started to be very poorly again. Needless to say, I don't think his failure to look after himself properly has helped, but I've chucked my hissy fit and forgiven him. So anything which makes him happy, I Extra Especially want for him, at the moment.

It's so very hard for us both when he has these seizures - he doesn't know his own name for anything between 2-24 hours afterwards, gets agitated and punches people in the face when they try and give him medical attention. He screams and swears, it's like he's had a complete personality change. It makes me feel so utterly alone. He's my stability, my centre of gravity. I often think of R and I as having an invisible elastic string attached to us, that pulls when we're away from each other. When he has these seizures it's like the band has snapped and is leaking bits of my soul into the ether. Sounds ridiculously dramatic but that's the only way I can describe the sensation. I think that's why I'm feeling the loss of the additional support from my other relationships so very hard, it's the loneliness that his fits bring, which lasts for a great deal longer than just during his recovery period.

But I have a responsibility to myself, as well as to him. And I need to take my happiness into my own hands. So I'm throwing myself back into the social whirlwind, taking every opportunity to enjoy myself, spending time with good friends both old and new, and giving myself some fun. And I'll be balancing that with time to think and time to reflect on how I feel. I'm still a little vulnerable, a little fragile, so I'll be taking my time and being gentle with myself for a while.

It happened again

n the early hours of this morning, my husband had another convulsion and ended up in hospital again. He's due out later, I've just popped home to clean the blood off the sheets, make stew and whinge in a truly pathetic manner.

I can't fucking believe this is happening again after at least five years of fit-free life. Looks like it's set to become a regular occurence, followed by the delightful 24-hour recovery period of him not knowing his own name, vomiting copiously and punching people in the face when they try and insert a canula.

Where this leaves me, and the pursuit of my own happiness and fulfillment, I really don't know. I could wait until this is all over - in another ten years perhaps - and explore my kinky side and sexuality then? Out of the 14 years we've been together, he had fits for 9 of those years. How can I put my life on hold until he stops being ill? He's diabetic - that's never going to go away. And how can I chase after any sort of desires of my own knowing he could fall ill and be in hospital at any moment? And who the fuck will want me while I'm all whiny and upset and worried, anyway?!

It's back into my cave for a bit for me, I think. I wonder if I can have my libido removed surgically? It would solve a lot of problems...

Edited to Add: I'm also a bit pissed off with him since he went out on saturday night and drank 9 pints and had 4 hours sleep, which I don't think particularly helped keep his blood sugar stable. So there's some additional lovely conflict there, ta very much dear husband. Grrr.

And we give ourselves away..

I'm a little faded at the moment. Normally, the sound of my raucous laugh, the bounce of my dreadlocks, and my sheer in-your-face enthusiasm for life gets me compared to a cheerful labrador. But right now, I feel more like one of those old and battered bull terriers with grey round their muzzles, struggling to do the things they used to enjoy so much, when they really just want to be at home sleeping and remembering better days.

I've given my heart away twice this year. Both times it's ended badly. The most recent loss has knocked me hard, draining away my joy in life, my energy, and my bounce. Much as it's correct to think that he/she/they weren't right for me anyway, losing loved ones - even if it's your own choice to walk away, because you know you have to - can turn everything into shades of black and white and grey. I'm colourless. I normally treat every situation, be it frivolous or serious, by throwing humour at it (usually grossly inappropriate sexual humour, often with embarassing results..). It's very unlike me to be unsmiling for so long.

Of course there's been a helluva lot of other stuff going on this year. Going from a monogamous, married for 14 years, vanilla existence, to discovering play, realising how much I loved and needed it, then opening up our relationship, a major operation with a long recovery time (me), and a recent serious episode of illness (for my husband) have drained the bottom of my 'coping skills' tank. I'm tired.

I'm very lucky that my husband knows just how to help me. Frequent application of tea, cuddles, listening and occasional supportive comments, are the equivalent of handing me a paintbrush and pallet, letting me begin the process of adding a little glimmer of pigment to the outlines of the future stretching out in front of me. He really is a most amazing man.

BDSM was the key that unlocked the door. I'm just at the very beginning of understanding where that door can take me. I've just begun to touch the edges of what it could mean to be sexually fulfilled, after a lifetime of not being so. I'm a deeply sexual person, the passion and the needs built up in me after neglecting that side of myself for so long can be overwhelming at times, both for me, and for others.

Sometimes I wish the door had never opened. It would certainly be simpler that way. But now that I know what's there, what I could have - I can't live in black and white forever. I need pain. I do not want to give up control, I want it to be taken from me. I need to have the anger beaten out of me. I want to be loved. And I need to know what being fucked feels like. Preferably before I'm dead, thankyou.

But I'll take my time. Because I need to learn to shut some of the doors around my heart, and because it is quite possible to be TOO open, too honest, too loving. I don't think there's much chance I'll ever become jaded or guarded, but I need to grow up very quickly and grow out of the naivety that my inexperience with sexual relationships has burdened me with.

Phoenixes are colourful birds.

"The price of freedom is eternal vigilance"

Things fall apart, but the centre holds. But what happens when the centre falls apart?

My husband used to suffer from fits, related to his diabetes, and would usually be hospitalised while extremely agitated, vomiting, reduced level of consciousness, for at least 24 hours, then kept in or discharged depending on whether his blood sugar was stable. Extremely distressing for all concerned, so naturally we’ve been delighted that this hasn’t happened for four or five years now.

On sunday morning I called him and realised quite quickly he’d had a fit, as he was only able to speak a little, and after I called the neighbour who broke into the house, they found him vomiting and near unconscious. He was kept in overnight, and is nearly well again, although blood sugars are a little unstable, he is home and I’m looking after him. We don’t know why it happened again after so long. We don’t know if it will happen again, or when.

While this was happening to him, I was with B & O and had been since wednesday, partying and being a whore. The fact that he knew where I was and had his full understanding consent, doesn’t change that I wasn’t by his side where I should have been. I could have done something and I wasn’t there. I feel sick every time I see the bruises on my body; a visible reminder that I wasn’t where I should have been, when it mattered.

I know I’m not thinking straight. I know I’m exhausted because I haven’t slept. I know my judgement is skewed. But taking care of R is WHO I AM. I’ve failed him, I’ve failed myself, and I’ve failed everyone else who believed I was who I said I was.

The Black Wolf and the Red [story]

[With quite starting presentiment, I was about three quarters of the way through writing this when my relationship triad took a turn for the utterly shite, and ended...]

We are safe here, in our den. Group scent combines with turned earth, musty and thick. She sleeps, her back to me, fur glimmering with russet lights. I imagine that I smell oranges, persimmon, cinnamon and rust. A noise from outside enters our space and her muzzle lifts, scents the air, then returns to light sleep. He is curled around me, my alpha male, my black wolf. He stirs in his sleep and re-settles, nuzzling my neck and sighing heavily, loudly. His breath ruffles the fur on my neck, my jaw opens and my tongue peeks out, a wolfly grin. His paw lies heavy over my belly, I wriggle slowly and silently away from his side, trying not to wake him. I make several attempts before I succeed, but finally I slip from his grasp and he turns over, sleepily searching for me. I lick the fur behind his ear and he settles back into deep sleep.

I pad over to our lair's entrance, and sit on my haunches, alert, watchful, but calm, centred. I sense something is coming - a change - but I'm not sure yet what kind. I slip outside and decide to Change; in this interim state, this transition, perhaps I can catch the scent of the future. My mind traces patterns and possibilities. I slip between one state and the other, floating, lightly touching the weave, using my gift to follow the strands to the different places they might lead; this place or that, I don't know what's to come, only that something has begun.

I touch the space in my mind where my pack lives - my Dark Wolf lies sleeping still, my Red Wolf is troubled by strange dreams, but she is safe. I sense this coming change means no harm to them. I can leave them for a little while, explore this interesting but odd anomaly. I walk naked and unafraid through the forest. My muscles flow with each movement, utterly and completely under my control. In this Form my hair is long, blonde, dreadlocked, reflected the ruffled and tousled fur in my other Form, which never seems to shine or lie flat no matter how thoroughly it is licked into place by my Alpha Female.

Now.

There it is.

Events spiral into alignment - I recognise their shape from the feel, the same sensation from my earlier foreshadow. The world breathes in, pauses….explodes into action. A chase…running figures…shadows in grey passing behind the flickering green woods. The change I sense centers around the figure in front - an older man; he's going to become connected to our pack, somehow. This is the important event, as he intersects with Us, and I realise something very significant is happening. But there's something in the way of that Event, and this angers me. The stranger is being chased by two hunters - they have guns. Furious, I leap forward, as I call my Pack - but it will take them a while to get here. In the meantime, I need to keep this person safe until I find out why he's meant to be here.

I'm so much faster than the hunters, I reach and overtake them in moments. I don't know why they're chasing him - all I know is that he is weaponless and they are not. The stranger stumbles, grey with exhaustion, just as I reach him. He falls to his knees and puts his hand to his chest. His lips are blue. The hunters slow, bring their guns up to shoot. I know my Alphas won't make it here in time. And I've run out.

The decision is easy, weightless, and I smile as I move in front of the stranger. The first shot hits me in the shoulder, the second clips me in the neck, and blood spatters the man I'm protecting as he falls to the ground, gasping for breath.

The pain hits a few seconds behind the shock, but my mind is moving fast, skipping ahead of both. I can't heal the damage to my body on my own, I'm too young and untried. I need my Alphas to lend me a little of their strength for that. All I need to do is keep this man safe until they come for me. I am torn between two choices - the threat from the hunters, and the threat from the man's own body. I can heal him, given time and space to work undisturbed, but the hunters are coming for us. I make a decision impulsively, and reach out to the man. I put my hands on his forehead, and his chest, and lean down to kiss him. My lips brush against his, my breath warm against his mouth. My blood drops from the wound to my neck, and I rub my fingers in it and smear red on my lips, pushing my fingers in between our flesh as I keep my lips against his blue and breathless mouth.

He gasps, breathes in noisily, then exhales. Another breath. Pause. Another. Pause. Then he breathes normally. His eyes open. They look directly into mine.

We keep eye contact even as I'm pulled back, thrown off his body and to one side. The hunters have reached us, I smell their sweat, angry and afraid. My face is pressed to the grass, I've lost too much blood, I'm cold. A blur of red and black passes me - my Alphas; the sound of tearing, cries - human and high pitched - the wet sound of something hitting the ground. I need them to help me heal some of the damage I've taken for our Pack. I call out - there is no response, no voices from the hunters, only the sound of feeding. I call again - I know they can hear me. I call out - whimpering, questioning now. I'm so very cold. Two figures walk towards me - my Pack at last. My red wolf in human form crouches down. “Thanks for the meal. We don't need weakness in our pack. You look broken now. Don't come back to the den”.

They walk away. Even my dark wolf walks away, they don't look back.

Somewhere inside me there are ashes, with only a tiny flicker of heat, a burnt ember, a fragment, glowing. One last shape where there might be a flame, a chance, the beginning of a new fire. I am deep inside myself now, retreating to that last place, the most hidden. There, in the place where I first found out who I could be, I breathe on the embers, willing them to burn. They glow, then turn to ashes too. Again, I breathe, finding the will to make fire where there wasn't any before. Not fuelled by anger, but the need to endure, to survive.

My eyes flicker open. The hand curled into my neck wound is sticky, but there is no new blood, the bleeding has stopped now. I sit up, and the forest moves too much. A hand on mine. “Steady”. His voice is exactly like I expected it to be. I look at him. “Who are you?”

“I'm your friend”. And for now, that is enough.

A Slut, A Wife, or Both?

So – my husband had a serious health crisis while I was miles away being a slut. I also had a horrendous ding dong with one of my sweeties just before I got the news about him. Both things look to be settling now, but while the immediate shock has passed, I'm feeling very strange indeed – up one minute, down the next, and permanently afraid of loss, afraid of losing the things which make my life worth living, afraid of losing myself. I'm always so afraid of everything – I hate that about myself. It makes me want to pull back and declare a moratorium on any fun and happiness in my life. I'll go back to being the perfect Wife, sit on the sofa knitting, bake, clean, sew, iron, leave the house to go to work and that's about it. Go back to living in shades of black and white, just in case any colour, any vibrancy in my life, any delight; that shining shimmer of joy - well, in case it attracts the attention of something which wants to destroy it, eat it all up, take it away. Because if I don't have it in the first place, I can't lose it.

I need to remind myself why I'm doing this. I'm feeling my way through a morass of sensations and emotions at the moment, I'm finding it overwhelming, and I need to claw myself back up to the surface before I lose myself and fall back to sleep at the bottom of the ocean again. Seems these days as if I leave a trail of destruction and chaos behind me wherever I go. I've got to shake off this dark shadow before it takes hold, before I drown in it. I need to remember that I know how to swim.

To this end, I'm forcing myself to write down ten memories from the last two weeks which contained moments of pure joy. Here goes (in no particular order):

1) I'm on the dancefloor at Brighton Rock. I'm wearing platform heels and a red dress, and I hear the opening chords of Aerials by S.O.A.D. My heart starts pounding, and I know my friend is DJing – he'd asked me what song I would most like to hear, earlier, and this is the one I chose. It feels as if he's playing this song just for me, and I feel the power wash over my own body as I dance like a slut, dance like I'm alone in a field in the sunshine, dance for R as he watches me and I know that he likes watching me, and most of all I dance for myself, as I dance my life.

2) ...and about ten minutes later, and now I'm dancing to NiN's Closer with R, kissing him, looking into his eyes and knowing he's remembering all the other times over the years we've danced together, to that song: so many places, so many nights in dark clubs together, what we were then and what we are to each other now, still so very much in love after all this time.

3) I'm walking to work with my ipod on, my dreadlocks bouncing, anticipating the fun and excitement of the next few days, listening to Wolfsheim and relishing that sparkling effervescent feeling of happiness and sheer pleasure in being ME, because my life is GOOD, in this time and this place, right now.

4) I'm at the Club With No Name in Eastbourne on Saturday and enjoying watching the glow, the radiance of personality and simple goodness emanating from my much loved friend. She's discovered how to stand on her own two stilletos and I watch, watch and smile as the whole room becomes absolutely entranced with her, and I experience the joy that comes from sharing how wonderful someone is, with other friends, with strangers.

5) I'm meeting someone very special at long last – my beloved's cat – who is every bit as delightful as I've been told. I realise she likes me too, this treasured and precious bundle of slightly wobbly four paws and a purr like a pigeon cooing.

6) I'm lying in bed next to my two sweeties, as they make love – not just fucking – for the first time in my presence. I realise that something very special is happening. I feel honoured - honoured and privileged to share in that – to be included; as they look into my eyes and then into each others, their arms around me, my arms around them. Dust motes shining in the air, little falling stars, so many possibilities, potential, the world opens, breathes, turns over.

7) There is no guilt, I'm here with the full permission of my husband. After months of lusting and restraint, at long last, I get my lips around the beautiful cock of the other man I'm in love with. He feels the warm breath from my open mouth, he thinks I'm teasing him as usual, then my head is suddenly pushed down fully over him by our mutual beloved, hearing his intake of breath, the gasp of someone who can't quite believe that a long anticipated event is happening, the surprise, then his pleasure, tasting his come, my eyes watering, gagging, I need to be here, need him inside my mouth desperately, now I can have him, so so happy to be getting what I want, and at the same time knowing he is taking pleasure in it, and knowing she is taking pleasure in it too. I can please both my sweeties at the same time, by doing something I love to do. The simple, uncomplicated joy in this single act is immeasurable.

8) Realising I was coping, realising I was actually having fun, in a huge crowd next to a terrifying bonfire, because I was there with two of my loved ones, knowing they would keep me safe, knowing that I would keep them safe, because we were together, a pack of three, bonded. And it was my choice to be there, with them. And I could leave, but I didn't want to.

9) Sitting, drinking tea and cuddling, hugging, chatting, under a blanket on the sofa with the prettiest of my loved ones. Then the contrast of lying tied into a medical chair, legs apart and on stirrups, skirt flung up, her fingers inside me, in a public space, vicious bruises on my thighs given from her. The look on her face so different from earlier, enhanced by the more intimate moments between us, the knowledge of each other outside of these, our play personas.

10) After spending most of my life believing I couldn't have orgasms at all, and then at a very late age, discovering I could have clitoral orgasms, but only this kind, and only under very specific circumstances... Well, let's just say there is a certain satisfaction to lying in the arms of two people, both of whom have made you come in a variety of different ways, spectacularly, so many times you've lost count. He held me down and looked into my eyes, I watched the pleasure in his face as he brought me to orgasm. She did things to my body no-one else has ever done, showed me I could come in so many different ways, so many new experiences. Did I just wake the whole house up screaming while I came?

These people make my world worth staying shiny for.

Snapshots

A few moments of time standing still, from the last few weeks:

A very intense, slow and sexually charged scene between B and I, watched by O - lying in bed next to him, I was pushing against his control, physically, with a battle of wills on a sexual level, as I pushed and pulled at his skin very slowly, digging my nails in, staring intensely into his eyes, as he gave me a little bit of power over him, let me get away with it for just long enough for it to mean something when he took it back again. Then the kiss which followed: passionate and frantic, after controlled and restrained energy.

It's only fun when you know you won't be allowed to get away with it for much longer. Which is why I enjoyed slapping and kicking at him, knowing he was holding himself back and finding it amusing, only retaliating with spanking, until he'd had enough and they both pinned me down for a thorough smacking and whipping, and his arms held mine behind my back as I lay face down with red welts across my bottom, struggling and crying and pleading, as she forcibly brought me to orgasm.

_______________

B and O kissing, the light streaming in the window, dawn breaking, draining the colour to a sepia photograph, so beautiful, so perfect, making my heart turn over.

_______________

His hood falls over his face as he pushes me back on the bed, towering over me, his eyes meeting mine, a sense of menace, a dark stain, holding me down, I struggle slightly, meeting with such utter resistance I am still with prescience. He pulls at my clothes, fingers digging in to flesh. He picks me up, deposits me in such a way that my pussy is presented to her. She's fucking my pussy while he pushes his cock between my breasts, they are both straddling me.

_______________

I'm drunk...I hit him in the face. He sees stars. My eyes are terrified when I realise what I've done. He's going to fucking beat the shit out of me. He holds me down, I beg, 'sorry, sorry, please, don't' over and over. He's got me so wet, now he kisses me, and I'm not sorry at all.

_______________

Struggling so hard as B and O pinned me down, trying to get the cuffs on me, that B's thumb got cut on something and bled all over the place, meaning we had to stop so he could get a plaster. He only had one of those jaunty blue catering plasters which amused me no end. At least it didn't have Mr Bump on it or big purple dinosaurs or anything.

“You have no power over me”

I’m back, and better than before. I’ve re-activated my profile on IC and fetlife, re-activated most of the old weblogs, and I’m getting to use it again like I wanted to, like I enjoyed so much before.

Within half an hour of doing so, I got a nasty memo on ic from my ex, followed by a very emotional harassment email. I’ve set my ic profile to block her, and instructed my email programme to dump future emails from her straight in the archive, but it’s still a bit worrying. She’s still calling - phonecalls, texts, emails, memos - and I’m genuinely concerned for her that she’s having so much trouble moving on. She seems to be under the impression that everyone on ‘the scene’ is out to get me now, following my ‘crusade’ against her. Since I haven’t actually contacted her AT ALL since we split up, apart from texting her to say ’stop contacting me’, and deliberately took down my profile for two months to help her stop obsessing over me, it’s all a bit odd. Oh well, I guess everybody has had a ‘difficult ex’ situation at some point in their life. I’m more interested in getting on and living my life, the way I want to.

Trial by Fire

When I started playing with people, and having a relationship outside my marriage, back in February, there were some very hard limits which R and I agreed between us of what I could and couldn't do with men. Those limits have become much more fluid, they are changing, and I can eventually see that there might be a point where I have full sex with both men and women outside of my relationship with R. This is the product of a HUGE and constant amount of communication, negotiation, loving give and take etc etc etc. I'm not ready for it NOW, but I have come to accept it is a possibility in the future.

I've come to realise that I am truly not able to be fulfilled, to live happily, loving and having sex with just one person. I love deep and wide, and I've got an awful lot of love to give. My sexuality is similarly HUGE, I've got a libido the size of a small universe, and I want to be able to give love and pleasure, where and how I choose to do so, to be in control of my own sexuality, my own heart, my own body. But I also don't want to fuck up the incredible relationship I already have.

I've not been a very actively sexual person in a long (very very long) time, until recently. I've not had that much fun, either. My world had retreated down to my R, my house, my cats and my job. I was mostly content, interspersed with feelings of utter sadness, for a good few years. Being a sexually fulfilled person has brought me back to life. I've regained interest in all the things I used to enjoy doing, years ago.

But I'm not used to this. I had a bit of a wobble recently because my identity is based on sacrificing my own needs for the needs of others, looking after people, being a Good Person. Having Integrity. Choosing to become fulfilled at what I worry is at the expense of R's happiness, made me question everything - who am I? What sort of person do I want to become?

What I have to remember is that I, and my relationship with R, is growing and evolving and changing, that these things can't happen without some upheaval and struggle. I'm in the process of finding within myself the courage to make this leap of faith, where something wonderful and new waits for me on the other side. And if I fall into the cavernous hole I'm afraid of, then I'll bloody well climb back out again, dragging R with me by the hair.

Something else that's come out of our discussions is the suggestion that R could try and explore his own needs for love and affection through polyamory. He's registered on a website and we'll wait and see, and if it all works out it will bring big changes too, but I'm shocked at myself; I just don't feel any concern, or jealousy, when I think about him loving or having sex with another woman. I feel pleased and proud. Is that weird? My only worries are practical things like - don't give anyone our landline, and I don't want anyone turning up on our doorstep at 3am having a personal crisis. It IS strange, especially when I consider how IMMENSELY jealous and possessive a person I was when we first met. But R has loved me so generously, so deeply, and for so long, that I do feel secure in his love. And I love him back in the same way, I adore him, I want him so much to be happy and to find the same pleasure and joy that I've found, for himself.

I have a couple of very special people in my life at the moment who I've just had an outstanding weekend with. I feel very safe, very protected, very loved, and very content and happy. R is happy because he would prefer me to have a few deeper relationships in my life, than many superficial ones, perhaps because he realises this is much more in character and right for me.

I feel cocooned in a secure place where nothing can touch me. It's strange how someone can terrify you in a very sexual way, looking like pure evil, as if they're just going to fucking RAPE you, do all sorts of incredibly hot, painful things to you, and then cuddle you close to their chest, stroke your face, tell you you're a good girl and they're proud of you. And how someone so drop dead gorgeous and glamourous that you can't BELIEVE they're holding you in their arms, can belt you in the face so hard your jaw hurts the next day, reduce your pain threshold because they've made you come so hard and so many times, then beat you so hard you cry; but also give you a place to be so safe in, so protected, so secure that you're able to cry in their arms, cry as they hold you, and you know - you just KNOW, that when they tell you it's okay, that it really IS okay, as you let some things go, and get some things back. Because they just took the time to listen, and to HEAR you. It's very strange indeed. But I like it.