You asked for a love story didn’t you, and I wondered which one to tell you. I should warn you this isn’t always a pretty tale. Don’t read this if you are in a long term relationship where you have a tacit agreement not to talk about what you really desire or if you instinctively know that opening that particular Pandora’s Box is not something you will do in this lifetime. The view from this side of that activity can be a hair-raising read for some, and for others it is merely a record of someone experiencing the consequences of their behaviour. Do read this if your curiosity is awakened however. It’s a tale about curiosity, courage and exploration in an ordinary life. It’s a love letter of sorts, one that doesn’t conform to the traditional ways, a love letter to myself because that is who I found here, more precious than any external love and it has left me more capable is giving love to others because of it. Anyway enough of these meanderings, pull up a seat, shall we begin?
I was at work, a perfectly ordinary day was happening around me, and yet I had a sense of something bigger than me happening at the same time. Has that ever happened to you? You know, simultaneously present in the moment yet at the same time being pulled out and into an expanding place. Somewhere you can feel yourself being pushed against the edges of normality where the status quo, all those unwritten laws about life you perhaps fought against when you were a teenager but accepted as part of the rite of passage into adulthood, is being stretched and pulled around. The close-woven fabric having to pull and expand, and the threads straining and gaping as it does so. A new space appears. A liminal space. A gap.
My phone and my attention to my phone was where that gap was happening. I had begun an online conversation with someone about D/s, and over the weeks as we chatted, he was asking me questions, and paying attention to the answers and in this space, this nowhere space that didn’t exist, because online relationships and interactions are not real relationships and interactions are they? I found I could explore what I actually thought and felt. Not what I felt was acceptable for me to feel as a wife and mother or even as a woman, but what as I felt as a person, a human being who had found herself in a female body and was sometimes perplexed by what that meant. I had been married 22 years to a man I thought I adored and who I had met in a flurry of sexual excitement and need – in those heady days we did things that I hadn’t ever considered possible before. We clicked speedily, completely, inexorably it felt. There was something so familiar and yet exciting about him. A world of possibilities seemed to be in front of us and yet over time I had struggled to continue to engage sexually. I felt … used somehow … I noticed that I couldn’t speak up, that his ideas, wants and needs seemed so much more present and pressing than mine which went deep underground and I realised with a growing sense of emptiness that I was not equipped to mine that treasure.
This happens, I know it does, because what I am writing about here is a literary trope, a recognised relationship cycle; one that the magazines and books created to tell us how to have better and more loving and long-lasting relationships speak about endlessly and the answer to this difficulty is always talk about it. But what if you can’t? What if at the centre of that relationship that all of your edifice stands upon is a tacit agreement not to speak of the places where you do not fit so easily? What if what you agreed to do when you said “I do” is to cover over and make do and to put up and shut up with it? What happens when you realise you don’t want to do that anymore? How does that even happen?
In my case the gap opened up in front of me like a moon path across the sea as I received a text telling me to go to my local supermarket and to buy courgettes and I walked onto it. A simple enough task, and relatively easy to complete. Except that it meant I had to have my own agenda for that hour. Not to be at the service of others but to take that time for me and do with it what I wanted which was, ironically enough, to place it in someone else’s hands. Some one who hadn’t been vetted and approved of by my husband. Someone he didn’t know, someone who I was giving direct access to me, someone who I thought of far more than I should be, someone who I bizarrely had to come to trust.
The time I was taking wasn’t for virtuous activities like buying food for me to cook for dinner that evening. It was selfish time, time for me, not so much forbidden as just plain unexpected. It was excruciatingly disruptive and so desirable.
I loved that gap, that guilty, illegal, stolen, seductive gap. and as it widened between my husband and me, between my persona as a good wife and mother, into it stepped someone I hadn’t seen for a very long time. Me. Cleareyedgirl as I thought of her, eye as He called her, stepped out with a shocking assurance. She looked around her with a slightly amused gaze. She saw the man she was married to with a clarity that astonished me. She recognised his bullying, sulky neediness and called me on what I considered to be love.
I remember driving to Sainsburys with a strange sense of elevation. Everything seemed brighter, more sharply contrasted. I noticed cats on walls, people out walking dogs, postmen on rounds,ordinary circumstances given an edge, a shine that the world did not have earlier that morning but in which I was bathing now. I wondered what would they make of my mission. Was this something other people did or was it as special as I felt in this moment?
The message asked me to park as far away from the store in the car park as possible and I found a space at the top that had no cars around it. As I strode into the store I barely noticed the people I passed and yet from this distance in time I have a sense of a man smoking as he leaned against a wall outside the doors that opened automatically to welcome me in. I had been asked to buy two courgettes and then to take them to the toilets and place one in my pants before I returned to the car. It seemed a strange thing to do, but as I paid for them I smiled a certain smile, something that has become to me now a kind of tell of being in a state of submission. It makes me smile.
The courgette felt strange as I touched it and even more so as I inserted it into my black pants. Shiny, smooth and cool to touch it gave a luxurious layer to my underwear and protruded cheekily behind me pushing out my trousers. I became so aware of my cunt, warm, wet and gliding around the slightly ridged intruder and my gait became extended to accommodate its bulk riding beneath me as I returned to my car. The next message came as a shock and I gasped out loud as I read it. “Lie your chair back and close your eyes and masturbate until you cum for me.” it read. Time stood still as my brain sought to catch up with the implications of this request. What if I was caught? What if someone saw me and reported me? What had I become? Into the flurry of mental activity stepped eye with her quicksilver responses and sure sense of priority – you want to do this, why not do it – she asked and so I obeyed, I submitted, I wound back the chair pushed my hands into my trousers and began to enjoy the sensations from my already primed clit.
The tap on the window startled me more than I can say. It abruptly called me back to the present and I turned to see a man I didn’t know, wearing a suit and smiling at me. I immediately locked the doors fearing that I had alerted the local pervert and reached for the car keys. His grin widened, I noticed his eyes seemed to hold a sense of recognition and assurance in them. He did not look like someone chancing his arm. He looked very sure of himself and completely delighted. This look intensified as he pulled out from behind his back an A4 brown envelope with eye written upon it. I gasped again and instinctively opened the window as He gestured to me to do so. “Open the door then.” He said, and I did, so disorientated, that as I exited the car I banged my head on the opening . He reached forward and pulled me towards Him, His hand on the back of my neck in way that spoke of ownership and felt remembered rather than new “Hello.” He said, and kissed me. I melted into this kiss until the moment I remembered that I was married. Really, I forgot everything for the longest time and then pulled back in horror at the ease with which I had committed this infidelity. Shocked at its sense of rightness and its inevitability. I was left dazed as He spun on his heel calling “Bye” as he did, and I watched Him bounce down the hill grinning like a fox.
Its hard now to convey the importance of this moment for me. I sit here nearly 4 years on from it and wonder if I hadn’t gone what would my life be like now? I learned later that He had made a 4 hour detour to execute this plan. That His determination to have me made Him plan such an audacious moment, His grinning was confirmation of His instinct that I would be His.
His message as He left the car park read – “Never pull away from a kiss from me again eye please.”
And I never have