I had a session last Thursday, almost a week ago, a session with Luke. It was way over due, I ached for pain. We had planned this for a week earlier, but life interfered, as it does. But the day finally came, and Luke was here, with a cane and a sjambok.
When I got into position for the caning, leaning over the back of a chair, before the first stroke fell, I already was crying. With every stripe painted on my behind, I cried harder, and harder, and harder, while I wanted more, still more, even when I had enough I still wanted more.
But Luke refused to give me more, and the sjambok never got used. He stopped, told me I needed a friend more than the pain, took care of the few drops of blood, we had tea, I sat at his feet. We spent the afternoon together, went over to his place, watching silly movies on the computer, chatting, me crocheting, me crying, crying, crying.
The evening before I had been texting with Andrew. The exchange had unnerved me, not so much because of the news he gave me, but of the way it was delivered. So when Luke came that morning I was upset. That was why I cried even before even we started, that was why I was crying the rest of the day. It had hit me: I was not happy with the relationship between my Dom and me, and I had not been for some time.
When I came home from Luke, I took a look at the messages my Dom and I had exchanged over time. I realised that Andrew and I are mismatched. I felt all the hurt there had been, the hurt I had closed my eyes against, because I wanted, needed it to work.
But it did not work. No matter how much we both want it to, it does not. I have him under my skin, he is part of me, I have no idea how to go on without him, I want him, need him.
That evening I broke up with him.