Potential submissive: I’m married, is this a problem?
Me: Yes. I don’t want to get into something with someone who cannot dedicate the time to submission that it requires.
PS: But with me it’s different.
Me: How so?
PS: I’m different.
Me: Orilly?
PS: Yes, it’s a shame you don’t know me. I’m not like everyone else.
Me: Maybe not, but you’re still married, your wife doesn’t know, and this will put extra stress on your time, plus I will have to dance around when you can and can’t speak. This is not acceptable to me.
Let’s face it, I have known many men. Biblically and otherwise. At this stage of my life, as I settle into the groove of blessed singledom-with-committed-open-relationship, I feel the need to purge myself of the negativity that lingers from throughout my previous life – even if some of it was prior to my even being a grown-up/married et al.
Many many years ago, when I was young, fresh-faced, and idealistic, I was involved in student politics. One of the leaders of the caucus with which I was affiliated was a brilliant tactician, razor-sharp in his understanding, with incredible strategic capabilities.
He was also a complete shit. If he liked a person, he fawned. If he didn’t, he made it no secret. He was rude, offensive, insulting, and arrogant. He was obnoxious to women in every regard, and while I cannot claim that he sexually harrassed me (I was “too fucking ugly” for him), I’m fairly certain that his demonstrated faux-feminist behaviour was a front, with his well-known track record of shag-and-avoid.
Somehow, though not attracted to him, I was enthralled by him. Charisma he did not lack. Manners, basic humanity, kindess, compassion – he did. My youth, my naivete, my foolishness at thinking I could ever do something laudable in his eyes all led me to years of self-doubt and fear. Not that ever have done anything right as far as he was concerned. He was just that sort of person. And I, in my feckless and inexperienced youth, believed that he was right, and that I was utterly incapable.
I was wrong. Very very wrong. And now, with a reunion of sorts looming, the old feelings crept back and ran around my brain. The obsessive overthinking, uncertainty, anxiety, and fearfulness that I got rid of way back then. Oh yes, I did. When he and I parted company, I wrote him the most sophisticated “fuck you” that I could muster. On first glance, no one would have thought the letter anything more than a polite “thank you and goodbye” missive, wishing him “everything that he deserved”. How friendly. How heartwarming. How generous.
No.
I wished him everything he deserved, because he deserved everything rotten in the universe to collapse in his hands, and soil him with its putrefying oozing sludge. He deserved to fall in love, and have his heart smashed into smithereens. He deserved to be treated with the contempt that he used ambivalently at those around him who did not match his exacting, arbitrary, and discriminatory standards. He deserved to be humiliated in public, shown up for the malevolent, mephitic and unpleasant little fucker that he was.
I find it quite incredible that just by allowing the thought of this person to sully my thoughts, the vitriol and hatred spews forth from me once again. However, far better that I spew it here, and allow the miasma to dissipate, than continue to carry this poison in my soul. He was not worthy to criticize me then, and he’s certainly not worthy now. What’s more, I am now, and likely also was then, not worthy of such abuse.
English Delicacy 