It’s Valentine’s Day, in case you hadn’t noticed. That day
when there are hearts and flowers and candy and whips and cuffs
and . . . oh, sorry. I kinda wandered off there for a minute.
But yeah, it’s that day of the year when UPS issues a notification about
extended pickup times and heavy volumes. It’s the holiday the US Postal Service
dreads more than any other. A whole year of sentiment concentrated into one day
is a logistics nightmare.
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| Thank you, Sir! You know how much I love pretty spring flowers. |
I got a huge bouquet of flowers yesterday. When I called Sir
to thank him, he said they wanted to know if they could deliver it on Friday
because Saturday was going to be so heavy. In our household, the holiday is
whenever everyone can be together, so dates don’t hold a lot of importance, and
he told them sure, deliver away. One extra day for me to enjoy them. How awful
can that be?
But since last Valentine’s Day, and particularly in the last
week, I’ve had some things happen that, quite frankly, have saddened me in a
way I haven’t been sad in a while. Because, you see, despite all the flowers
and candy and cards, there’s really only one thing Valentine’s Day is about:
Relationships. Without them, Valentine’s Day wouldn’t mean a damn thing.
In the last year, some amazing things have happened to me. I’ve
made it to the bestseller list. I’ve found a couple of people who have taken my
hands and guided me through the minefield of promotions, and they’ve turned out
to be not only a great help, but true friends. I’ve met some women who’ve
encouraged me and helped me spread the word about my books, but, most
importantly, become people I simply enjoy spending time with, albeit a virtual
kind of time. They’re busy people who’ve taken time out of their lives to
cultivate a relationship with me, and I, in turn, have done the same with them.
No, we don’t talk every day. Sometimes we’re all busy. But when we do, we have
fun and share and generally create a family where there wasn’t one before.
I’ve also made some friendships that have spilled over into
the world of BDSM, a world in which I thought Sir and I were alone until I
found this literary genre, its fans, and other people who practice the lifestyle.
It was liberating to know we weren’t alone out there. Fetlife has been an
eye-opener in itself, not always a good one, but still an eye-opener. I’ve
fielded a lot of questions, asked a lot of my own, and generally found people
with whom I’ve bonded because of our mutual love of kink. It may be about
individual preference, but we’re sealed in solidarity against a world that
refuses to understand. And that’s okay.
But I’ve had some dark days too. One day last year, I found
someone I loved and with whom I’d been close for 15 years doing something quite
illegal within one of my groups. And when confronted, instead of admitting
(because they know I’m a very, very forgiving person – I’d forgiven them
for hurting me over and over through the years), apologizing, and taking my
advice to get help, they vehemently denied it, pretty much told me I was crazy
and a liar, and have continued to this day to slander me and lie about me and about what happened. I was forced to
go to the authorities. I didn’t enjoy that. You haven’t lived until you’ve sat
in a sheriff’s detective’s office and cried. It’s been months and I’m still sad
when I think of how much I miss this person. It was like a death for me; still
is.
And just recently I’ve had people I thought were my friends
either accuse me of some pretty terrible things, or just simply disappear. I’ve
also had someone with whom I had been able to talk about pretty much anything,
and she with me, just kind of cut off contact with me. Oh, we still comment on
each other’s posts, say hi, that kind of thing, but she won’t answer my emails.
She’s gone from someone who said she was glad to have me to talk to, to someone
who won’t talk to me. And that’s pretty weird and painful.
I’ve made some friends with people because of the world of
kink and, unfortunately, some have made contact with me because they see me as
some kind of leader or trainer or guru or something. One even called me an “expert.”
Folks, there is no such thing as a BDSM expert. Let me say that again: There
is no such thing as a BDSM expert.
All BDSM really is, is a simple thing: A relationship. Yes, it may only be for
play, and it may be for only an hour or two, but it’s still a relationship. It
involves trust and time, two of the greatest factors for a relationship, and,
as such, is fluid. It’s different for every person and the person with whom
they’re involved. I’m not an expert in ANYONE’S relationships except mine, and
I’m not even much of an expert in my own sometimes, at least not as much of one
as I think. There may be BDSM practitioners who have particular talents or
skillsets in which they’re proficient, but they’re not experts by any means. If
they tell you that they are, they’re pretty damn arrogant. But make no mistake:
The people with whom I’ve made friends are still friends, even though I
sometimes have to answer their questions with, “I don’t know.” At least I’m
honest.
One of the positive things that has come of this last year
is a deepening of my relationship with Sir. We’re closer than we’ve ever been,
and he’s still my biggest fan and most ardent supporter. Sometimes I think he
wants me to succeed even more than I do. That means more to me than anyone
knows. Sure, we’re still separated a good deal of the time by circumstances we
can’t control, but when we’re together, we’re really together. Twenty-four seven. And we love it. Because we’re
no longer alone and actually have people to talk to about the lifestyle, we’ve
been able to make some real strides in trust and skill, and our time together is
even more meaningful and exciting. After thirty-three years, he’s still the
one.
Another positive thing is the women who support me. A day
doesn’t go by that one of them doesn’t contact me and say hello, or send me
something in the mail, or just generally go out of their way to make me feel
cared for. When you’re alone as much as I am, no one knows how much that means.
I don’t watch TV unless there’s an imminent weather event, so some days go by
without me ever hearing a human voice. It’s those times when those women, those
amazing, busy, family-oriented, hearts-brimming-over-with-love women are
precious to me. To them I send a big hug, kiss, and thanks for finding me and
loving me.
I hate Facebook – I think I’ve said that before – but being
here in this little corner of nowhere that’s so fucked up as to think it’s a
big city, the book of face has become my lifeline. It’s easy for people to hide
and be things they’re not, or pretend to care about you and not really give a
shit. It’s easy for them to reach out and hurt you unnecessarily, or treat you
poorly, or wound you casually, because they figure, hey, what the hell? They’ll
never really meet you in person. You’re not a real person, right? You’re just a
name on a computer screen.
That’s so wrong. Behind every one of those people is a real,
breathing, beating-heart person, someone who laughs and cries and hurts and
sings. Yeah, I know, some of them are scam artists. Guess what? Scam artists have families too. They have
friends, albeit probably not very good ones (because what person of any decent
caliber wants to be friends with a scam artist, right?), but they still have
friends. They scam us because no one loved them enough to teach them right from
wrong, or that others are important. They’re to be pitied. Yes, they’re to be
exposed and reported too, but pitied all the same. They’ve chosen a way of life
that leaves them lesser creatures.
Yes, book pirates, I’m talking about you too, you rat
bastards. You’re pathetic. I wish for you now that you’ll find someone who
loves you enough to tell you that you’re rat bastards and that hurting others
is wrong. But that’s unlikely. It’s hard to love a rat bastard too.
So today, I’m thankful for the people who do actually love
me, and yes, there are a few. I’ll look at the cards and plaques and notes I’ve
received, not a lot but still enough to change the topography of my thinking,
and I’ll be glad. I’ll read the pretty card with the note in it again, I’ll
look at the Christmas card with the pictures of the family, and I’ll think
about those women, people I’ve never met in the flesh but feel a sisterhood
with. I’ll think about the ones I have met, who’ve come to events, supported me,
encouraged me, and created relationships with me. I’ll think about my fellow
authors who’ve come to my aid, who chat with me and encourage me, who give me
tips and ask me for my advice, which I freely give. I’ll think about my friends
who’ve talked to me about bondage beds and floggers and wax play.
As I do, I’ll look at the pictures of my kids and think
about how lucky I am to have them and their significant others in my life. And
I’ll finger the charms on the collar around my neck and remember that I’m never
really alone. Someone loves me.
And that makes me the luckiest woman in the world. Happy
Valentine’s Day to all of you. May you feel the love today. Regardless who else
sends it your way, you’re getting it from me.
