He attacked me in the bathroom and we had a bit of a showdown. The entertaining kind that was mostly arm-wrestling and glaring. Then I got in the shower to wash off both the sex and the fight, and he followed me, and kept talking. Unable to get over it while it was still being poured on my head, I shut down and refused to talk, and finally started crying while trying to explain that the shower is not an okay place for this conversation.
Once I was dry and clothed again, I was together enough to thank him for pushing me and for opening up and admitting that he was nervous, and reiterate that it was not the wrong thing to do, it was just the wrong place to do it. He said that we're still learning, which is an attitude that I should use more often myself.
And we are making progress; I shouldn't overlook that fact. On Saturday evening he pinned me to the bed and started biting my side, digging his teeth in and tickling me with his tongue until I was shrieking and flailing. Shelby came in from the shower to see what all the commotion was about. I yelled and gasped and beat the wall until I couldn't deal anymore and yelled for him to stop. And he didn't. He kept right on biting me while I kicked and screamed and laughed, and it felt so good to be ignored.
When we were first falling unexpectedly into a relationship many years ago, he pulled me into an experience of BDSM that I hadn't had before. I'd played with handcuffs and hot wax and what have you, but I'd never felt what I've come to think of as the "real thing" - the power exchange, the intensity, the shift in perspective that comes with trusting someone so completely, even when you're scared of where it all might be going. I don't remember how the subject of BDSM ever came up between us. I don't know how he sensed that it was where I needed to go. I just remember him asking if I wanted to call him Sir, and answering, "Yes, Sir" without hesitation, because there was no other answer.
From that experience I learned to follow him; sexually, at least. He had more experience, and a mysterious but thrilling way of knowing what I wanted even when I didn't. He led me into things, told me how it was going to be, told me his deliciously twisted plans for me, and I ate it up. It was thrilling, and terrifying, and beautiful.
Even after we broke up and didn't speak anymore, I couldn't fill in the hole he had carved for himself in my psyche. Kevin ordered me one time to call him Sir, and I flat-out said no. When he asked why not, clearly sensing a storm behind my refusal, I told him that was Aiden's name. And he apologized, further cementing my knowledge that he wasn't worthy anyway.
When Aiden and I got back in touch last year and and were spending lots of time chatting about this and that, getting to know each other again, he mentioned that I should remember what it looked like when he took the leash off the Dom side of himself. I brushed it off with a demand to know why he would want to remind me of that. From the other side of a computer keyboard, it was easy to feign a screen of disgust over what was actually a powerful wave of, Oh god, yes please.
We've gotten to go many more places, play with many more things, and take our sweet time doing it over the last year, more so than we ever could have the first time around, when both of our lives were in uproar. He's made good on a handful of his threats, and proven that he knows a thing or two about how I work, both physically and mentally.
Apparently we've now explored enough that we're reaching some of his untested boundaries, instead of all of mine. Knowing that's the explanation, the grumpiness is giving way to a desire to hold hands and go exploring. Sometimes even I need to be reminded to look for the silver lining. I do love a good adventure...
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