guilt.

Spoiler alert: Long dreadful post ahead.

There have been many times in my life where I could look at one single event and pinpoint how that one thing I did triggered everything that followed. When I do look back like that, it seems to be an equal mix of good and bad, but it’s always fascinating to me.

Meeting Thumper is one of those moments and I still remember the day when he and I first talked. It was during that conversation that I remember feeling a little bit of my insecurities about sex and my kinks fly away because I was talking to someone who I had watched through the years send his flying too and he, an actual person, was listening to me talk about them out loud and he was doing the same thing. As he and I continued our boy/friend/sub/friendship, little pieces of those insecurities continued to fly away almost every day as this blog was started and as I continued to accept more and more about myself.

We will get back to how all of what I just said matters in a minute, but over the last few weeks I have walked around with a tremendous amount of guilt for some reason. I have wanted to take responsibility for everything and have allowed myself to feel guilt for the fact that I am never home and the projects that need to get done are not getting done, guilt for the fact that Axel and I have not had stellar sex in awhile, guilt for the fact that Thumper and I don’t talk baseball like we used to and even more guilt for allowing myself to miss that like I do, guilt for the American Express bill being double what I wish it was, guilt for looking at porn versus writing, guilt for being healthy while Axel continues to struggle, guilt for this, guilt for that, and, above all, a guilt for being kinky and time consuming and wanting more than what I have when what I have is so good in so many ways. Added to this is a weird guilt for shielding a side of myself from this blog and those who read it even though we all know why I use a fake name and never list my social security number. To be clear, it hasn’t been depression or anxiety nor has it been debilitating, but it’s just been there, like in that cloud that followed Pigpen everywhere he went, swirling around.

The funny thing is that I know when it hit me. It was one night when I was at home and Axel was still at work and I logged into Scruff to just look around and see who was where and who was showing their penis that night. On that app, like most, I did not have a face pic up but the typical Drew leg shot and saw a few people who Axel and I know socially, etc. One of them immediately started to give me shit about being on there instead of being with my husband and, despite my saying that it was fine, that Axel knew, and that my profile clearly said chat only, he didn’t let up and told me that if I were truly okay with things that I would have a face picture proudly showing – a fact I could not argue and win – because that app/profile has nothing to do with kink, doesn’t talk about my love of steel cocks, or even mention that I like to hurt people or maybe want to get hurt by them at the same time. Though it truly said chat only, as you know, the flirty, possibly naked line is one I would be willing cross for the right man and have permission to do so if I wanted, but I was not willing to admit this to those in the local community who, if I did use the word “open” would then know all about me and Axel and, gasp, might judge us. He called me a coward that night and, while I laughed it off, apparently it stuck because that was June and I have thought about it almost every day since then in some form or another. It’s just one word, open, yet I was so closed to it.

I am talking about this like it was a 300 pound weight shackled to my ankle and it really was and is not, but it was “there” and just being “there” had apparently bothered me more than I realized. It manifested yesterday when I was with my mother, who, fyi now has a proper diagnosis, setting up a new giant iPad for her to do memory games, read news, and do anything and everything that will help her mind stay in the present world and her hand/eye coordination in sync. As we played with it, I loaded an app that takes photos and turns them into giant, preschoolish jigsaw puzzles. I was excited about this because, as I was growing up, she and I would almost always have a giant 1,000+ piece puzzle in some stage of completion on the dining room table and many nights we would find ourselves in there just talking and working for hours on end on what seemed to always be a snowy scene with a barn in it. So, armed with those memories I launched the app and she was thrilled with it but could not get past an eight piece puzzle without help and, when she did, she was so excited that she had completed it that it was as sweet as it was sad. At that moment, something broke in me and I had never wanted to cry so much so badly but knew that I just could not at that moment (of course I am now). I made up some excuse to leave and quickly gathered my things and Stella (my rarely now mentioned dog) and headed to the car while smiling on the outside. I had almost made a full escape when she walked outside, motioned for me to roll down the passenger window (with that crank symbol that only those of us over 30 would know) and said, “Drew, thank you. Just so you know, the absolute last thing I will forget is how proud of you I am and how you have never backed away from a fight while always being true to yourself above all things”. 

She. Said. That. (or something really close to it, as I was wailing in my head and might not have heard everything)

I think even Stella was crying too as I backed out of the driveway because, well, just because. However, the help of hearing that actually overwhelmed the hurt of feeling it so much that I felt some of the guilt going away. The timing was odd, but last night I added the word “monogamish” (it’s good enough for Savage) to the Scruff profile at the same time I added a face pic too.

So, to go full circle here, that was one of those moments that I have absolutely no doubt I will look back and and remember what it triggered. This is getting too long, but that part of the profile was noticed this morning and I spent most of the afternoon talking with a friend who actually knows me, the real me, about my chastity device, my latex and leather and, get this, his kinks too because, apparently, other people have them also!

But, it’s late and that conversation will have to wait until the next post but it will be worth it cause it was fun.

9 thoughts on “guilt.

  1. Arrrgggh. I’m not crying, YOU cried!

    Your mother, man. What a gift she is *all the love hearts*.

    I feel guilty about EVERYTHING always all the time. It’s fucking terrible. I used to joke that I should have been a Catholic for all the guilt I carry around.

    I’m glad you got something going on to help lift some of it.

    *warm hugs*

    Ferns

    Like

  2. All the hugs.

    As a recovering Catholic, I get the guilt thing more than you know.

    And your post made really glad I told my kid yesterday how proud of her I am.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m not Catholic, and I have guilt troubles too, remembering everything bad I’ve ever done. I’m glad you were able to let go, even a little — your life is so stressful that any excess baggage you can set aside is helpful. Give both your mom and Stella a hug for me, please.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Drew, such a powerful and honest post. It hit home with me on so many levels. Thanks for sharing it with us.

    Your Mom is indeed a saint, as most Moms are! I still desk with guilt annually around my Mom’s birthday and the day she passed for chasing my career and not being there for her as she fought cancer. Sure my Dad, sister, and, brother were there but I feel like I should have been. Even though the last time we talked over the phone she told me basically the same thing! (Fighting tears in the Admiral’s Club) .

    Again, thanks for sharing!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Yeah, parents. In their old age, they can be a real surprise. I look at mine and wonder, “Who are you and what have you done with Bob and Edith?”… In a good way. It’s nice to know we keep growing.

    I’m sorry that troll got to you. There’s lots of reasons to not have a face shot posted, you *don’t* have to defend who/ how you are to anyone, much less a randomoid stranger like that. We love you just the way you are… And a little extra if you’re wearing one of those hot Ft Grunt Viper jockstraps.

    Like

  6. I’m with TSPD re the photo. You do not have to show a face pic. Too much is judged by a face pic. But I also support your decision to add one.
    I use my real name and my real e-mail account name, but then I think no one I know is kinky. But then you know, other people might be relieved to find out someone they know is kinky, too, and it is great to be able to talk about it and be open.

    Like

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