I’ve heard from a couple of friends, wondering where I am, if I’m well. I am. Well. And thinking about writing all the time.
But then…I don’t.
I get busy with school and work and life and the urge to record the doings of my life just isn’t there. I don’t know what to say anymore. I don’t know what to talk about. My life is good, my relationships are stable, I’m “rolling the ball forward,” as V says. But I don’t have anything very interesting to write about.
I loved writing about sex. And it’s not like we don’t have good sex. Some pretty spectacular sex. But I don’t often find myself driven to talk about it here.
I loved writing about kink. It’s not like we don’t have our brand of kink. Sometimes it’s kinky as fuck. But, again, I don’t often find myself compelled to share those details.
It’s like my life has settled into this other routine, and it’s one that doesn’t include baring my heart, soul and body here.
Most of what I think about these days is shaping my life into what I want it to be, since the life I had wanted is gone. That version of me, the one in that other life? She’s gone too, and she was the sexy, sassy, kinky-as-fuck Jade. Now I’m…
I’m V’s kitty. I’m an owned submissive. I am a single woman with two partners, but the configuration of those partnerships is vastly different than what I had before, even with Ad, who I have been with since well before Warren.
I’m a student. I’m a woman with a damn good (if occasionally dull-as-fuck) job. I have beautiful, loving children, people who love me, friends and wonderful coworkers. I have a home of my own and another I occasionally share with Ad.
I wish I could step outside my life and view it from the outside. Would it look like it made sense? Does any life?
It’s a couple nights past Christmas and I am alone. I was alone Christmas night, too. The first Christmas I have been alone since…damn, before I was married. Adam went over to his place in the building next door after we had a pleasant evening having dinner with my kids and opening presents. He went home to be with the dog, who has spent a lot of time by himself while Ad’s been over here helping me recover from my latest surgery. Christmas was the first night since my surgery that I felt comfortable by myself.
I’m laying here now thinking I should feel lonely, or sad…but I don’t. I like my space. I wonder if this will be the new shape of my life. Me, alone, Adam alone, V with his family, yet all of us connected. Sometimes, I feel disconnected. Sometimes I resent that V always has me or E, but I spend nights alone. Then I remember: this was my choice. I could be living with Adam. I chose this curious half-living-together half-living-apart situation. I don’t want to live full time with him again. I like my freedom. But I don’t think this exact space is where I want to be for the rest of my life. I needed the security of its tiny space. I needed this place while I rediscovered myself. But now…I don’t know. Where would I go, how would I live? It’s a mystery to me. I don’t know how to do those things. Maybe it’s just easier to stay put, to be here, to float.
My relationship with V is so different than mine with Warren. I know, I know, of course it is. But it’s hard to even look at them side by side at times, like when I am thinking about writing here more. My relationship with W was founded in kink, and that – probably because of his website, my blog and both our interest in photography – was a huge, huge part of it, right up to the end. V came to me via kink, but what we settled into is much more about D/s than kink. There’s a lot of kinky sex, and every few weeks there’s usually some kind of actual BDSM play, but mostly our relationship is about D/s routines, daily rules, control. When I was with W I longed for this kind of D/s relationship; now that I have this (which I love, which I crave), I also long for some of the things that made me so eager to write before. But then when they do happen…I don’t write about them.
What’s up with that? There have been plenty of great scenes. And yet…no writing here. I think…they feel…strangely…more private.
Maybe that’s it. Even when W and I scened at home, it was still for an audience. For his website, for my blog, for my fiction. It was always recorded in photographs. There was always a hidden narrative. Which didn’t make them any less hot or brutal or soul-searing. In fact, oftentimes, it enhanced our scenes, knowing there was an unseen audience – you all – “watching.” Oddly enough, when we scened in public, our scenes were somehow more intimate. No camera to distance us. Just he and I, locked together in this fierce lovemaking, breaking each other open and finding what was inside. The public, somehow, became more intimate. I wrote about the first types of scenes, because that was partly why we did them. And I had to write about the others, because how could I not?
But V’s scenes with me in public are both less intimate but more private, somehow, in that I don’t feel compelled to write about them as I did with W. He has a different style, certainly. Less…visceral? Even in private, unless it is kinky sex, there is a…detachment? That sounds worse than I mean it to sound, especially as many times I crave that kind of corporeal punishment feel. Maybe it’s because he really is sadistic in that he enjoys causing pain, not solely because it gives me pleasure, but because he enjoys it. So our scenes are less often about forming a bond and connection, and more about feeding a need, on both our parts. And so often, when I write about my scenes, it’s not about the blow-by-blow. It’s about who we are to each other, what we discover about ourselves, about each other, in those moments. It’s about the way our kink bonds and connects us. But those moments with V…feel too intimate to share.
Perhaps in public it feels less connective also because there are always people around as we come out of it, and I always feel he’s moving on to checking in with E, or looking around for her before I’m ready to be through with aftercare, and it loses the bubble of just us two. Neither of them have the kind of need for aftercare that I do, so oftentimes I’m bounced out of the place-of-no-words before I’m ready…but I’m learning to bounce pretty well. He’s more Topping me in those spaces, I feel. Getting the job done – which hey, needs to get done, and he does it well! – but not exactly creating connection. When we are alone, when we have the opportunity to actually scene, I feel more connected to him after, but, quixotically, those scenes feel too intimate for me to share.
So, what else do I write about?
I frequently wish I could come here and parse through all the thoughts I have regarding being poly. How it works – and when it doesn’t. But I am keenly aware of local readers who are friends with all of us, and, unlike with my blog with W, I don’t feel that same sense of safety writing here about those things. There are too many people that know us all, and I don’t feel comfortable making those thoughts, concerns, joys and frustrations public consumption, even when they are issues of my own making. Even when I own and take responsibility for my (many) failings and flaws as I try to navigate this new relationship structure.
So here I am, stymied.
I’m alive and well, truly. I just don’t have much to say at the moment.