Cold Turkey

It's important to know when to stop. In BDSM as in life. To realise the point where pain has gone from being just this side of bearable to being too much. To know when and how you can go past that point and when you can't. Sometimes you just have to down tools and step away, get a clear head then work out what's next.

So this is where myself and The Photographer find ourselves. A weekend shutting ourselves from the world is exactly that - come Monday reality bites. In more ways than one. The cold light of day does no-one any favours, we've all been there, watching the glow fade away only to have those same insecurities creep in with the morning sun. I'm a sad addict for the way his skin smells and tastes, for how strong his chest and arms feel when he wraps me up, for his kisses and his cock. Like any addict, feeding the need does not sate desire and neither does it ameliorate the situation - which is that the things we want, we cannot have and it's driving us both a little nuts with the confusion.

I can't wean myself off being in love with little samples here and there, I'll only end up feeling more denied. Which is where the decision comes in. To stop. To let go and try and deal with it by myself - no using him as a sexual prop or emotional shoulder to cry on, not least because there's got to be some sort of guilt-trip (not purposefully or cruelly) involved in that process.

It's strange. The first time I've ever been by myself without any sort of partner for about ten years. I feel panicked and also confounded - like I've thrown myself of a bridge but haven't actually plummeted down. It is bad, yes, it's horrible. But it's not as bad as I thought it might be. I'm still here and now that it's just me there's time to work out what that means.