I really don’t like admitting vulnerability on here; while it helps readers relate to me, it also opens me up to ridicule from haters who have nothing better to do. But sometimes, in the process of letting go, one has to first admit there’s something they’re holding onto. I know this won’t be relatable to those who only play with their spouses/mates, but for those who have known the unique connection of a play partner who isn’t your primary, hopefully you’ll get this.
In 2019, I was in a bad place, emotionally. In the second half of 2018, I’d had a friend/play partner I’d let in and trusted completely, who ended up hurting me so badly I dropped out of the scene. I deactivated on FetLife and stopped going to parties, so I fell out of contact with a lot of people I was once close to. And then, in the summer of 2019, I met the man I referred to on here as D. He had answered my long-standing Alt ad.
Mind you, I was in a fog of depression. My spanking libido was nil. My confidence was even lower. But this guy tweaked my deadened nerves. He was warm, friendly, full of questions about me, open about his own experiences. We exchanged copious quantities of email. And yes… he was gorgeous, if I could go by his pictures.
We met for coffee… from the get-go, the attraction was mutual and intense. I remember the way he looked at me, the sparkle in his eye. I remember sitting at the table with him, staring at his face, his big hands, his beautiful physique in a suit. I felt that old familiar stirring, one I thought was long dead and buried. That click. That chemistry. That elusive, indescribable something that’s either there or it isn’t. And daaaaamn, was it ever there in this case.
In the following months, we had three incredible scenes at my place. He brought me chocolate each time. He was fun, sexy, good with his hands and with implements, great with the talk, and very eager to learn and improve. Very caring about how my experience had been, how I was feeling. And the attraction? I am not ashamed to admit that my physical attraction to him made our scenes all the more amazing. I can’t explain what it was or how it was happening, but I was like a teenage in hormone hell around this man. My legs would tremble so hard, I could barely stand. My body came alive in every way. No, we didn’t do anything sexual, just played very intensely and I wept in his arms. But yeah. After feeling rejected and horrible for so long, it was pure joy to feel this alive and sexy and wanted again. Plus, I liked him. I liked talking with him. I saw this as something that could be a real friendship that lasted for years.
But it didn’t.
As you guys may remember, he slowly slipped away, got more distant, wrote less, texted less, told me again and again how busy he was. I knew he worked two jobs… but as I’d said then, he’d always had those two jobs and he still found the time to write and text before. And of course, all the old insecurities kicked in, wondering what I’d done or said, blah blah blah. And then, in a moment of weakness, I posted this blog entry.
And he read it. Shit.
He wrote a long email, apologizing, saying he didn’t mean to make me feel that way, that it wasn’t me, it was him… and then admitted that he was back with an on-again, off-again girlfriend. Our play had been great, he learned a lot, I’m sexy and beautiful, and anyone would be privileged to play with me.
I read between the lines. I reread what I had posted and cringed. More than likely, he thought I was a neurotic, needy nut job and he was backing way off, as kindly as he could.
And I was heartbroken. I couldn’t believe I’d found this kind of special friendship again, only to have it yanked away. It took me a very long time to move past it. I’d see his profile on Alt still, and I could see that he had looked at mine. Several times, long after he ended things. But then his profile was deactivated.
Life went on. I played with others, eventually went back to FetLife, and went back to parties. The person who had broken me in 2018 was no longer around. Then Covid hit and I didn’t play with anyone for 15 months. I found C and reunited with Mr. Woodland, and kept up my search for someone regular. I had moved on, or so I thought.
Last week, I had a coffee date with someone who had been giving me the runaround for, quite literally, months. He was interested, he wanted to meet, then he’d disappear. Then reappear, and start up the correspondence again. He told me one name, and then another name. We were writing on Fet, and then he gave me an email address… that didn’t work. We made a plan to meet… and he stood me up. And then apologized profusely and pleaded for another chance. I said okay… and then he disappeared for seven weeks. By then, I’d said screw it, this isn’t happening. Until he contacted me again. I was skeptical, but he seemed sincere this time. He gave me a proper email address. He sent face pictures. He answered messages in a timely manner. And I thought, what the hell. I was curious. After all this, I just had to see who this was.
Long story short — we met last Wednesday. He was 40 minutes late. The pictures he’d sent me were of a much younger man. And the vibe was all wrong. When I said I was sorry but I just wasn’t feeling what I needed to feel, he abruptly got up and walked away. And I went home.
And on the drive home, D flooded into my mind unexpectedly. I couldn’t help but compare the difference between this coffee date and the one I had had with D in 2019. Oh my God, I wanted that again.
When I got home, before I could talk myself out of it, I emailed D. Kept it brief — just said I didn’t know what his situation was these days, but if he should ever want to play again, my door was open. I also said that if the answer was no, that he didn’t have to reply, and I’d have my answer.
Of course, he didn’t reply. I knew he wouldn’t.
I wish I could talk with him one more time. I wish I could tell him that I’m really not a needy, neurotic nut job, that I’m an independent woman with a partner I adore, but I have specific spanking needs and they are hard to fulfill. That he came into my life at a time when I was at a very low and vulnerable point, and that I developed an attachment to him probably too quickly. I wish I could tell him that I don’t want anything from him except play now and then, friendship, and that lovely bliss from great scenes with someone who gets it, who gets me. But I can’t. And I have to let this go.
It’s disconcerting, to say the least, to have all these feelings come crashing back three years after the fact. I am not sure why last week’s encounter made this happen. But I gave it one last try, and now I need to let go.
The other night, feeling defeated, all I could think was, “I am just so fucking tired.” And then, out of nowhere, a lyric from an old Electric Light Orchestra song, “Hold On Tight,” came into my head.
When you need a shoulder to cry on
When you get so sick of trying
Hold on tight to your dream
I guess that’s all any of us can do.
Have a good weekend, y’all. Be safe. ♥