The Good Pain

His toy bag was starting to resemble the carpet bag in Mary Poppins.  No matter what he pulled out of it, there seemed to be more inside – a never ending bag of toys.

“How long has it been?” he asked as he kept pulling toys out and putting them on the bed before me.

“Too long”

Yeah, too long.

Way to fucking long.

“Well, since it has been a while – I guess I should pull everything out.”  He went to his closet, dug around, and tossed some more things on the bed.

“Anything out of play so far,” he asked.

I declined the electrical play and clothes pins and a few other things.  But for the rest, I simply stated: “warm me up well, and we’ll see if it works.”

He warmed me up well.

We went through most of the toys he had out.  Hand to flogger to paddle to cane to leather belt to synthetic paddle to thuddy bat.

I laughed. I swore. I giggled. I swayed. I talked- talked a lot about the shit in my head….

….about him.

My friend pushed me a bit to play.  I tried to resist – I did. I wasn’t sure I could. I worried I would disappoint – which is so fucked up but a place I often found myself in.  Not a good enough bottom. Sigh.

I worried I would cry. Truly. Part of me wanted to cry – let it all out – let him break down the damn so the shit could just flow out – so maybe I could get rid of it.

But instead I got high. I laughed. I giggled.
And when I got to the other side, I sat there higher than a kite feeling good. Feeling tired in a way I haven’t in a while. Feeling energized in a way I haven’t in a while.

I’m glad he pushed me.

It was what I needed.

Or partially what I needed.

There was more that I needed but that is gone. The fun was fun but damn. It didn’t help the pain.

What I do appreciate is that he let me talk when I needed to talk. He listened. No judgement. I guess, that was part of what I really needed.

But tonight I will cry.

Cry because I got what I needed.

Cry because I wasn’t the wuss I was starting to feel I was.

Cry because I am still processing all that has happened.

Cry because I still fucking miss him.

What do you think?

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.