Soul Submissive

"No matter what I say now you're only going to see me as defending her. Your mind is made up. You want to be the victim in this!"

S could never know how much those words hurt.

Since my 21 year old daughter came to visit last week she and I had been like two angry cats locked in a closet. S was in the middle, trying to stay unscathed. I was shocked when he continued to take her side, always trying to explain her behavior to me.

"I don't think that she meant to insult you. I think she just meant. . ."

"Why don't you care about me?" I shout. I could hear myself, and I sounded like a child.

When he remarked time and again to our friends how much she and I were alike, at first I found it complimentary. Later, when I saw the two of them laughing together, an unfamiliar pang hit me deep. Very deep. Jealousy had reared it's ugly head.

I'm rarely jealous with S. His devotion is so obvious that I just never have any reason to be concerned. Certainly he checks other women out, as do I. Being bisexual, women are beautiful creatures so me, and many times I fantasize about a stranger. So when S glances, or turns his head for a moment, I know he's just being human. The act of looking doesn't threaten me at all, because I know he's with me because he chooses to be. But this was different.

Soon the arguement waned, reignited, and the silence of frustration stood between us. I did all I could to find a resolution. I spoke gently, apologized, took ownership and responsibility for my mistakes. I tried to see things from his point of view. He was so hurt and felt so attacked, that I just couldn't seem to reach him. There we stood, after declaring my pain, curled inside myself and he silent in fear. I warned him I would reject him if he attempted to touch me.

At this juncture, my only weapon of defense was to withhold affection.

Giving affection would be submitting, rewarding bad behavior, succumbing, and perhaps needy and demeaning. I wanted to stay strong, in control, powerful.

He apologized over and over, but each apology came with the disclaimer that it was my fault, saying I had first attacked him. I tried to explain that true apologies stand alone and don't come with accusations. Finally he relented, and now we sit at the happy, lively taco joint, mired in frustration and fear, and the greatest pain of all, detachment.

How do I build the bridge?

In my mind I know what to do. Reach for his hand, reminding myself that he never means to hurt me. Remember all the arguements of the past and how he's really just a boy inside who desperatly needs love. Remember that I'm his Domme and I've vowed to be his love, his comfort, his peace.

I'm so frightened. What if this is a mistake? What if this is weakness, not strength? What if he sees this as a precedent to treat me this way again? What if he turns on me again and hurts me?

I look into his eyes, see his sadness, sorrow, longing and pain, and suddenly my hand doesn't seem so heavy. I reach out my hand gently to bridge the gap.