The Story of M- (a dystopian BDSM tale)
So, dang.
I was out clubbing awhile ago and ran into a friend from earlier in this century -- again from my more vigorous days of clubbing and playing in public. Or, at least he used to be a friend.
The trouble started with this chick. Cherchez la femme, the French say, and it's right up there with l'esprit d'escalier as far as useful things that can be said cleanly and elegantly in this language. Curiously, l'esprit d'escalier applies to this story, too.
My friend and I, I'll call him M-, palled around in our kinkster clothes and saw each other do scenes, although never really played together. I don't count the one time we went to Lair de Sade and I handed needles to him for a play piercing he was doing with his girlfriend at the time. He could just as easily have picked the needles up off a tray.
Anyway, he dated a few ladies in our group, but then fell madly in love with this other woman who was not only outside the group, but outside the scene altogether. Of course, this mean I didn't see him as often. But that was okay. He'd found somebody nice. Besides, we would still make time to hang out or go have lunch. And since he'd been a latecomer to BDSM, maybe it was just a brief phase for him.
Before long, M- told me that he was engaged. I was thrilled for him, particularly when he asked me to stand up with him as a grooms-chick. Getting to stand up for my friend and wear a tuxedo instead of a stupid bridesmaid dress sounded like complete fun.
But after a year of not meeting his fiancée I told him it was high time. C'mon. You guys live less than two miles from me. How come I haven't gotten to meet her yet?
Turns out, I never got to meet her. She didn't want to. And M- backed her up.
I was confused, panicked. Was it because M- and I had gone out on a couple of dates before we'd agreed to be friends? But we never kissed, never even so much as held hands. I had no romantic feelings for M-. Did he for me? No.
Was there something else about me, something weird?
Yes.
Clubbing. Parties. Public play.
But *you* did all those things. You just left them behind.
Yes.
And because I still do them --?
Yes.
So that was that. I yelled at him. Called him names. Wrote him a long self-righteous email about what a jerk he was, but that kind of talked about making up,if he would just try to convince her. But no. Needless to say, the wedding thing was off. And I had l'esprit d'escalier. If only I'd said this or that -- maybe I could've convinced him.
The next time I heard from him was a few years later. The marriage had broken up. He wanted to be friends again. Much more sanely, I outlined exactly how he'd hurt me and how he needed to get ahold of himself and get clean before I would risk being friends with him again. He also needed to be in a relationship that had lasted at least 6 months, and introduce me to the new lady in his life.
When I bumped into him the other week, he looked clean and healthy. He had with him a short and vivacious girlfriend. They've been dating for five months.
M- and I exchanged numbers.
Maybe there's hope?