I like talking on the phone. I know most like texting better. Not me. When I get on the phone, it can be for hours. But I don’t want to talk about the weather. I want to learn something, either about you or about me, preferably we will both learn something.
It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m reflecting on my weekend as I sit here is my quiet house, which I regularly do. It’s funny, I rarely have the TV on anymore despite the fact that I am at home so much of my days.
I’ve not felt very well this weekend. I’m not sure what is going on with my body. I think it might be gallbladder, but that is irrelevant. The point is that because I’m not feeling well and I had a full weekend of events, I decided to cancel on a big day trip to Chicago today. I couldn’t take the risk of being that far from home and feeling like shit.
I came home in the very early hours after staying over with a guy I have been seeing regularly for about a month. I let my dog out and crawled back into my bed for a nap, figuring I might feel like still going to Chicago when I woke. Nope. I didn’t. But I did wake to a message from a friend who lives in another region of the country. He was just heading out on a 6 hour drive if I wanted to call him we could talk.
I can’t say exactly how our friendship happened. I only have my side. But he friended me on Facebook late last year. We had a lot of mutual friends in the sex geek world. I’m not very selective in my “friends” so the fact that I didn’t actually know him didn’t really mean anything. I’m one to jump right in and comment on things if I have something to say. So I remember commenting on a few of his posts. Other than that, it was at the very end of January that he sent me a private message telling me that he didn’t want to bother me but that he enjoyed my blog and videos.
He wasn’t bothering me. In fact, we struck up a really easy conversation. We could connect as divorced, atheist- or at least non religious, bisexual, kinky and poly. He became my go-to for guidance. This world of kink, especially, is so new to me. He regularly coaches me on how to be more dominant, a new muscles I am stretching, and more importantly accepting, about myself. He helps me navigate lonely, single life. He walks me through old baggage. Which is what he did with me today.
I called him early in his trip and we talked for the majority of the next 3-4 hours. Seriously. There were a few breaks but it was about 4 hours later that I tapped out and went back to bed, feeling crappy.
One part of our conversation that really stuck out to me was our discussion of humiliation and degradation, part of the kink world. I shared that when I recently was filling out a BDSM negotiation form that I wasn’t comfortable with humiliation or degradation at this time. I had other things I was interested in trying but that humiliation and degradation seems like something deeper that I wasn’t ready to make myself vulnerable to. In the conversation I continued to talk about words and how words can really hurt and stick with you. So the tricky part, that I am fully aware of which makes me hesitant to explore, of humiliation and degradation is knowing where that fine line is. Yes, call me a whore and a slut. That I know I wouldn’t have a problem with. But I recalled for him a conversation that I had with my ex husband, back when we were married about 10 years in, where I confessed to an affair. I thought it was best to come clean. In retrospect, that was a selfish move and I should have kept it to myself. But in that coming out process my then husband thought he was telling me how the guy I was with was using me. But what I heard was, “You don’t matter. He didn’t care about you. You aren’t worth any more than that.” That probably wasn’t his intention. I will give him that. It’s all about what I heard and how I processed that conversation. Those words, as I heard them, stuck with me. They stuck with me because as I shared that story with my friend, I started to cry. Obviously, I still struggle with being enough. While that conversation kind of sent me down a rabbit hole, those are the conversations that help us heal. They are the conversations that bind us to one another. They are the conversations that matter.
So when he reads this, I hope he knows how much he means to me and how much I value his presence in my life and most importantly the safe place he provides for me to be vulnerable.