Pathology

We've been talking.
Seriously.
About safety.
Physical safety.
Mine.

What happened this weekend wasn't all that bad.
But it scared me.
Not just what he did.
What scares me more is this.
Sometimes I don't know who he is.

It doesn't happen all the time we're together.
It doesn't happen all the time he hurts me.
And sometimes, when he hurts me,
he takes me to that place,
and then we are closer than ever.

But not when the beast shows up.
The beast knows only hunger.
The beast doesn't give a shit about intimacy.

It's an illusion, of course, to speak of the beast. It's a convention when we use that other name he has for the predator within. Even to say "within" is softening the truth. Which is the man and which is the mask? Or do both of them constantly wrestle inside him?

I've spoken of this before. Of how this isn't a game. When I say "we don't play," I'm not being snobbish about those who use that term for their S&M interactions, or those who go to clubs and do their thing in public. (Well, OK, maybe a little, which isn't worthy of me and for that I apologize.) I've tried to give you the truth of it. Of who he is and what I am risking, without another incident of people rushing in, trying to interfere, wanting to track me down, call the police. Wanting to protect me.

Don't even bother.
This is my life.
This is our relationship.
And we're trying to find away.

He is trying to protect me.

There's a sick irony to it all.
It's because he cares for me that he wants to hurt me.
Really hurt me.
But because he cares for me,
really cares for me,
he doesn't want to harm me.

The problem is, he can't always stop.
The problem is, he doesn't always know he's crossed the line.

So we talked.
Seriously.
By e-mail.
Which makes it easier for me to be honest.
Though it's so hard to be honest.
Because how do you tell someone you love,
someone who cares for you,
that sometimes you don't recognize him?

Because of course the underlying message is obvious:
when you don't recognize him,
you don't love him.

He likes to hear me say I love him.
He says: "Say it."
And I know what he means.
This time, there was something different.
"Say it," he said,
after I had.
"But this time, without the 'Daddy.'"

So I said it.
Not: I love you, Daddy.
Just: I love you.
No honorific.
No obscuring title.
Just a naked declaration
and his desire
for a naked declaration.
There was a statement in there.
But already, he was going into his dark place.
It was like a werewolf movie,
watching him change,
watching the hair sprout.
And soon it became very hard to honestly say the words.

So we're talking.
And tonight he made an offer.
Trying to find something that might help.
Something that might make problems less likely.

Of course I've read all about it.
Because this isn't just a matter of enjoying kinky sex.
And as far as I can tell,
there's no effective treatment
and there is
no
cure.

But there's a difference between this man and what you may read about in case studies. He does have a conscience. He does have regrets. Once he realizes, once the obscuring fog clears, he does have regrets.

He likes to pride himself on being a predator.
A master manipulator.
But I don't feel that's what he's up to here.
He's offering a sacrifice.
Whatever I feel is right.
And the sacrifice entails another sacrifice.

No more overnights off-site.

Does that mean he would ever spend the night here?
I doubt it.
He never has.
Can't see it happening.
And maybe it's safer that way, too.
Maybe those very long visits present more time for going off-script.
Because of course he plans his visits carefully.
Not that he can always stick to the plan.
But there's not that much room for improvisation within a couple of hours.
Not like having all night -
and then the next morning
for a quick rough fuck
with a crack-of-dawn hard-on.

But can't you see?
Can't you see how this man of the masks
is tearing at my heart?
Because he cares that much
that his dreams make him sick,
his fantasies make him worry,
and his deeds
make him curse
what he is.

And even given who he is,
what he is,
the limits of who we are together,
he has done more for me,
does more for me,
more to show me that I am cared for,
more to prove that I am treasured,
than anyone -
ANYONE -
who has ever said in so many words that he loves me.

And so we struggle on.

Because there's one pain I'm not ready to face:

the pain of walking away.