The sign of a good play partnership…
…and friendship: When you can recover from a scene gone south and come out even better connected.
It’s been a rough couple of months for Mr. D. First the illness and passing of his dear friend and neighbor, and then his mother. For the past month while his mom was in end stage, he has been dealing with family (and he has a lot of it), hospitals, funeral homes, legalities. We saw each other once in a month and it was a snatched few hours. Then last week, he had to cancel.
I have been out of sorts too. I was sick for a lot of the past month (and John has been too), so we weren’t really having much fun together. I’m still having stomach issues and I have no clue what’s going on. I need to see my primary doctor, not let them stick me with whomever’s on call that day, and insist that I want tests, not just throwing pills at me that are going to screw up my system even more. But for now, all I wanted was some good quality time with Mr. D. I was feeling selfish and needy, reminding myself over and over how much he had on his plate, but I still wanted what I wanted.
Yesterday was a long wait. He was due at 6:00, but it ended up being 7:30. He’d called me in the afternoon; he’d reached into a box that, unbeknownst to him, had a sheet of glass in it. And he’d sheared the skin off two of his knuckles. It was on his left hand, so he could play, but still… the pain and the blood were intense. By the time he arrived, I was in tears. I felt like an idiot, but I couldn’t help it. It had been too long, I guess — I was feeling disconnected.
We talked. He filled me in on everything that’s been going on, assured me that I was as important to him as ever, and he promised things would get back to normal, now that he could have his life back. I could see the exhaustion and pain in his eyes and maybe, just maybe, I should have said at that point, “Hey, you know what? We don’t have to play. You don’t have to do a thing but relax with me. We’ll watch some TV, go to dinner, talk, hang out.” But I didn’t. I needed to feel that connection, and I know he needed to also.
The OTK hand spanking was lovely, as always. I was tender from the start, since it had been a couple of weeks, but I welcomed it. His sliced fingers were wrapped with gauze and tape, so they were protected, and I think his own endorphins took over — he said he didn’t feel them. But when we moved to implements, it went wrong, somehow.
Everything hurt. I couldn’t suck it up, couldn’t absorb it. Blows felt off — too high up on the cheeks, too close to my hips. I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t want to orchestrate the scene, or make him feel like he wasn’t pleasing me. I figured I’d muscle through and share my struggle with him later.
We were almost done. I was tearing up the bedspread with my fists, keening into the mattress, gasping for breath. Almost, almost… then it happened. A stray shot with the wooden paddle, striking hard on the side of my left cheek. And I lost it.
He knew. I heard him mutter, “Oh no… oh @#$%,” and he stopped immediately, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Oh Christ, it hurt. I cried and cried, shaking all over, my limbs jerking. It was a release, and yet it wasn’t, because I felt distress. “You’re OK, you’re OK, I’m here,” he crooned to me, rubbing my back, smoothing my hair, But I didn’t feel OK. I hurt, but it wasn’t a good hurt this time.
He used an ice-pack on me, which cooled down the heat and the ferocious biting sting, and I calmed down a bit. But as soon as he stopped and I curled onto my side, I blurted, “I’m sorry… but that wasn’t good for me.” And started bawling again.
“What are you apologizing for?” he asked, holding me close. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was me, it was all me. I was off. I don’t know why; maybe it was all the stuff that’s been going on. Maybe I was overzealous because it had been so long. But it was me. I’m so sorry. I promise you, things will get back to the way they were. I don’t want to lose you — please forgive me.”
Anyone can have an off night. Tops are human, even though sometimes we expect them to be super-human. But it takes a big, big man and the best kind of top to know when he’s a little off his game, and to acknowledge it. And I don’t have to forgive him; there is nothing to forgive. He’s a good man, and a good top. My top.
We went for a late dinner. And he gave me another hand spanking, just to reconnect in our most intimate manner. All was well.
Today, at last, I feel at peace. The rough edges, like overgrown hangnails, have been smoothed once again. I feel clean and connected and cared for. My left cheek is marked, but it will be fine by the time we head for our special weekend on Thursday. More on that later. For now, I have much to do. But I wanted to get this out first.
I don’t have any pictures this time. He did take one photo before we started with the implements, but I don’t know if it came out. If it did and he sends it to me, I’ll post it. I was smiling in it. As I am now.