Once upon a time, I was in love. I was in love with this person for many, many years. In fact, this person was my very first love, so I was particularly stupid over him. Always have been from my earliest memories of our time together.
Several years ago, we reconnected after decades apart, coincidentally near the beginning of my outward kink journey. He was a Dom, and I wasn’t surprised, knowing the sway he held over me, the resonance I felt whenever he asked anything of me.
Over the years, we exchanged text messages, emails, a few phone calls now and then. Both of us still claimed to love the other, but this love didn’t keep us from tumbling into and maintaining other relationships. Nor did it inspire in us a blind urgency to see each other in person.
After all these many years apart, we had a chance to come together. Well, more technically, he invited me to visit his state while I was in the adjacent state, which was many states from my home state. With the anticipation of finally consummating our decade-long youthful romance, enhanced by sizzling hot sexts describing the decadent plans, how could I not go?
Sure, seeing him required driving several hours round trip. But, this was lovvvvve… a “forever” love that had spanned years. True love certainly; it was meant to be. After all, I watch movies and read on the internet, so I know how it is supposed to be. (/end sarcasm)
Finally, the big day arrived. I showered, shaved, and sweated in the 100° Midwestern heat. I checked into an inexpensive (read: seedy) hotel he recommended. The desk clerk handed me two real keys. I swear she smirked at me.
FirstTrueLove managed to break free to see me that evening. We clung to each other, embracing, holding each other, as if time had not passed. Finally, we could be alone. Naked. Together.
Which, admittedly, was nice. I am a fan of the male body, and he is a handsome specimen with beautiful eyes and dimples. And, fortunately for my addiction to him, however, he was not wearing his (then-?)trademark Drakkar Noir.
The evening passed quickly, mostly without words on the less-than-luxurious bed. So quickly that going to dinner together wasn’t an option. Then, before I knew – or expected – it, he jumped up to leave (though, not before I brought a smile to his face). He informed me he would be back to the hotel bright and early (very early!). I smiled happily, imagining a long, lazy day, when he’d finally fuck and spank me silly. mmmm, how delicious…
My excitement (and/or being over-tired from driving) kept me from sleeping more than an hour that night. The not-so-dull roar, and accompanying window pane rattling, from the nearby airplanes didn’t help either.
Before the sun, he arrived, kissed me, and immediately informed me, he wouldn’t be able to be with me that evening as he originally planned. In fact, he would need to leave by 4 p.m.
I swallowed back my disappointment. After all, years have gone by between us. Sure, it’s less time, but more time than we had had for ages. I should be happy.
More snuggling and being together ensued. He caressed my head and my hair, and without words, I drifted in and out of the consciousness that eluded me all night.
The times when I did open my eyes, however, he was texting. A lot. (And coming from me that says a lot!)
He did manage to put his phone down a few times, but I could hear the very distinct clink tone when he got a new text. Every time, he’d roll over on the bed, and immediately read and reply. Every time. As always, I kept my eyes averted to give a degree of privacy, especially from the screen, but it didn’t keep me from seeing his eyes light up, his deep dimples crinkling into a smile with every message.
I lazily caressed his bare chest, and let my fingers trace him as I stayed in a quiet, not-quite-there state. I wanted to be able to distract him, but didn’t want to disturb him. I kept hoping he’d pull my hair, yank me into a happy submissive pose and pillage me. After all, he promised me some rough treatment, mixed with tenderness. I didn’t realize his sadism extended to focusing on someone else(s) at the other, more electronic, end of his fingers.
Looking down and catching my eyes open at one point, he informed me that he would now need to leave by 3.
Way early morning turned into almost lunch, and neither of us had eaten. I asked if he wanted to grab a bite. Sure, he says, but he’s tapped out on cash at the moment. “No problem,” I tell him, gladly offering to pay, partly to calm my own growling belly. Since it’s his home town, I ask if he minds driving to whatever restaurant he’d like to eat at, but he needs a bit of cash for gas. I invite him to ride in my vehicle instead.
We arrive at a seldom-visited favorite of his. We’re seated in the center of the restaurant, where almost all patrons and staff pass by to their tables. Conversation drifts to our children, and other less-than-erotic topics. He opens his phone, and shows me picture after picture of the friends-that-are-girls in his life. A little after noon, we finish, and he asks, “So did you have something else in mind?” I don’t know what to say to this, so I reply going back to the hotel for a bit longer might be nice. I hoped this would finally be “it”; but, by this point, I didn’t really expect or want it, or anything much, anymore.
Insert another hour on the hard bed. With clothes still on. With the phone still within the stretch of his fingers. Before 3 comes, he prepares to leave. As he slips on his shoes, he looks at me, expectantly, like a bellman expecting a tip. And, feeling even more awkward, I pull out a bill and give it to him. He mutters something about paying me back, but I know he doesn’t know my Paypal or home address. I just nod, a few tears falling down my face.
He leaves. I cry. Big, hot, stupid tears. I blubber to a friend, this time being my turn texting. I tell my friend how I feel like this brought back all the feelings I had worked so hard to fix, especially feeling like “not enough.” Why wasn’t I “enough” to inspire him to follow through on his sadistic and sensual plans? to keep him from leaving (early)? even to keep him from texting?
I texted First-but-no-longer-Love, sharing my sense of hurt, disappointment and self-doubt, thinking I should be able to express how it made me feel. He snaps back that I got it wrong, and about he didn’t need to apologize for his “normal behavior.” I try to explain I wasn’t looking for an apology, but sharing my reaction and feelings.
His last “word” to me? “K”
I haven’t heard from him since.
Ah.. true love..
This writing is, in part, a reminder to myself that I have the right – and responsibility – to share my thoughts and feelings to people with whom I am involved, that I am “enough” regardless of whether or not someone else sees or enjoys me that way, and of the many other lessons that came from that too-long 24 hours.
Frankly, the fact that I gave him money embarrasses me almost most of all. I couldn’t seem to stop myself from just giving – and giving in, to just find a way to make the bad feeling go away. Instead of holding firm to my power, I simply caved, taking the relatively easy way out. Making this post is also my attempt to take away that sense of shame.