07) LIFELONG LEARNER

The one where Damian meets Cynthia… and learns more than he bargained about her… and about impact play.

Damian and Cassie, his dominatrix wife who’s asked for a divorce, are tentatively reaching out to understand each other better and figure out if they have a way back.

And there we are again. Cass and I walking through the park before sunset. Somehow it feels more natural every time. I still feel the spark: no matter how angry, hurt and betrayed I felt about her, it still feels like her. The ‘her’ I fell for in college. And in this quiet revelry moment, the ‘her’ that, damn it, I still love. I admit it to myself again.

And I want to tell her so many things. I want to tell her about my voyage of discovery. I want to tell her everything I’ve learned about communication and mature relationships. I want to confide in her about the twists I’ve been taking and the discovery about my openness to kinks: as long as they’re healthy and loving.

I laugh quietly. I peed on a girl yesterday.

“What? What are you thinking?”

I want to tell her all those things.

“Just a stupid joke I heard the other day.”

Chicken shit.

She stops me in my tracks. We’ve been talking about her journey again. It was finally appropriate to ask questions this time instead of just letting her put it on the table like last week. And her answers stung. I berate myself for not picking up on things. For not communicating. For shutting her down in my macho way when she was trying to find our way out of the disaster avalanche. For letting her get hurt. For causing her to get hurt. For opening the doors that hurt her worse. And I hurt for all the ways what she hurt me. And how much we’ve hurt the boys.

She stops, noticing my heavy self-reflection. “Are you okay? Really?”

“Honestly…?”

So many voices in my head. ‘Trust her!’ ‘Run away!’ ‘Real men don’t cry!’ ‘Communicate!’ ‘It’s over: don’t stick your balls out for her to trample again!’

“Honestly… no, Cassie. No, I’m not. I wish I was stronger. I wish I wasn’t so jealous. I wish… god. I wish so many things. Cass. It just didn’t have to come to this. Did it?”

I berated myself for not having communicated before. But am I any better now?

She looks in my eyes with that damn compassionate look again. I almost believe it this time.

“You’ve moved on, Cassie. You have a relationship. Unequivocally someone else you love. I can’t even tie my shoe with another person in the same room. You know me, Cassie. You know how I just don’t share. It hurts me to talk about Cynthia. And… it just galls me to talk about Lily.”

It still bothers me. There’s so much I don’t know anymore. And so much I want to. And I don’t know if I want to. But I ask anyway.

“What’s up with the Lily thing, anyway?”

All I get back is an enigmatic smile. She stutters a bit and says “I’m not really ready to talk about that yet.”

“We’re still not communicating, Cass. Damn it. OK… it’s not just you. I’m not either…” I kick a rock down the path like a petulant child.

Cass takes a deep breath and looks in my eyes. It’s her “this is important” look.

“Damian.” She holds my chin. “I need to ask you a favor. I’d like you to meet Cynthia. Really meet her.” She cocks her head at me. “I think it would be good for both our healing, Damian. I think you’d really like her. And I know she’d really like you. In fact, now that we put the affair behind us, I’ve told her a lot about you and I think she already does like you.”

This is really weird. Cassie has been saying nice things about me. To Cynthia, even? I didn’t think Cassie still thought anything nice about me.

“Damian… you’re caring, you put other people ahead of yourself, you’re smart, you’re funny as hell… you’re insightful. And about some things… well, you’re awkward but actually adorable in how awkward you are. You’re fucking charming… the center of attention for all the right reasons.

“I was…” She stops herself, breathes deliberately, and looks deeply in my eyes. “I… am?… proud to be your wife. Still.” That got awkward fast. But she’s looking at me like I’m supposed to listen carefully to that sentence. And I do. She acknowledged that she’s still my wife… but doesn’t really promise that will continue.

“Cassie… I’m not sure I’m in touch with that version of Damian anymore…”

“You are who you are. That’s fundamental, Damian. You’ve just trapped yourself behind shields. I want to see you find your way out.”

I nod.

“Okay.”

“Okay… what?”

“Okay. Let’s meet Cynthia. See if I can hold a candle to all that false advertising.”

Cassie laughs and it makes me laugh too.

—

We meet for dinner at a quiet Japanese restaurant on Tuesday night. I am really uncomfortable about this… this is a woman who my wife (my wife?) is having an affair with, whom she loves. This is also a woman who worked with Cassie, artuklu escort somehow, on my humiliation. Cassie says she’s… what?… forgiven me for my affair? I don’t really need her forgiveness. I don’t want it. And I’m not sure if I can forgive her for the life that she’s pulled Cassie into.

Cassie comes to the restaurant first: I think that’s planned to settle me. She’s bright and cheery and tells me how excited they both are for me to really meet Cynthia. And she reminds me that her sub is still in a bad place emotionally. I think she’s asking for me to be nice.

Then Cynthia comes in about five minutes later. She’s actually really attractive in a MILF-y way. Not as hot as Cassie, but well put-together with a sharp gleam in her eye. She’s tall and willowy. She seems older than us… I’d guess late 40s or early 50s. This is a person who knows how to command, but there’s a softness about her – Tara would call it her aura, I think – that is worn and sad. I don’t know how it is that I feel like I see that. Maybe it’s just what Cassie told me. But it’s there, in every line on her face, every twitch of her muscles. She’s a living dichotomy.

What’s the protocol? I don’t think Ann Landers ever wrote an etiquette guide on “how to meet your almost ex-wife’s lesbian submissive lover.” I stand (dorky, I know) and project my best kind smile and start “Cynthia, it’s really nice to finally meet you.” But Cynthia reacts elegantly to my awkwardness and comes very close to me, leaning in, and offering me a chaste hug. It’s really charming, so I go for it and we hug, then she kisses both my cheeks like we were in Europe. I see Cassie over Cynthia’s shoulder smiling and almost tearing up to see it. To see us.

Cynthia pulls back, her arms still lightly around me. Her lip quivers and she says, “Damian Hayes. I am so sorry.”

Well… let’s cut to it quickly!

I smile awkwardly and stammer “I don’t think you owe me an apology, Cynthia – please sit!” and to my surprise, she sits next to me, not next to Cassie. Cassie is still smiling: I think this is choreographed too.

“No, I do. I owe you an apology. Look… I hated you for what you’d done to Cassie, so I goaded her on… I told her to make her legend. I helped her concoct that… scene… and supported her before, during and after. I am also to blame in what we all now know was cruel, heartless and largely misplaced. In retrospect, it was one of the worst things I ever did in my life. And I have a lot of regrets… and I’m an expert in bad stuff, Damian. Ever since Cassie told me what you said – what happened at the custody hearing – and we unpacked it together, I have lost sleep about what it did to you. And it got worse: we’ve both cried when we learned of your diagnosis and the harm of what we did. I have no excuses, Damian… just regrets.”

Cassie is biting her lip, pleading with her eyes for something. That I would be gracious? That I would be kind? That I wouldn’t throw the table over and run out screaming?

But this was important. In a very real sense, they were both asking for healing. From me. I see now why Cassie needs this to happen with Cynthia and me: we all need it.

I smile a half smile and try to defuse the tension “Nice to meet you too… how about them Yankees?” They both laugh and seem to appreciate me taking it down a notch, breaking the nervous tension.

It’s amazing to start an entire relationship from this degree of intimacy. She knows everything about me and my whole life, and I know a lot about hers. In a way, it’s like we’ve been pen pals our whole lives and are just now meeting in person: only even more intimate than that.

“Cynthia… that was the most intense greeting I’ve ever had in my life… but I truly appreciate it. I believe you mean it. And I… of all people… know how we can be… I don’t know…” I shrug “…blinded to one truth by the power of our beliefs in other truths. I know… I know… I have ownership here too… and all around, this whole thing is a… shit show.

“I don’t think either of you truly realized how hard I’d take it. I’ll give you that. To be honest, I’m ashamed of how badly I took it. But… Cassie was my everything. She was truly my other half. It was as bad as losing my legs and arms… I can’t describe it. My world disappeared. That’s not your fault… That’s my weakness…”

Cassie can’t take that talk anymore “Damian, please, please listen to me. Discuss that whole answer with Anne. That perspective will drown you… your reaction was, actually, something that could be expected. And in a strange way… it’s really sweet that you were… were? …as deeply invested in me as I was in you.”

Cass grimaces a bit. “I was blind to that. I thought you’d already moved on and that I was just slamming the door at your back.”

Fuck. Is that what happened? Fuck. Fuck.

“If I had just known…. If I had just… trusted… then I might even have predicted what it might do to artvin escort you. You call it weakness, Damian Hayes… but I think it’s actually your greatest strength.

“You are a man of true passion and depth.”

We’re interrupted to get our drink order. We all smile with our best “nothing to look at here” faces and the interruption provides a kind reset.

“Thanks, Cass.” I smile at her with my most comforting smile, then turn to her lover “I’ll do my best to forgive you, Cynthia, if you’ll forgive me for setting off this mess.”

Then it hits me. She has nothing to forgive me for. If I hadn’t set this off, then she wouldn’t have met Cassie and been able to steal her from me. I try to calm myself before that telltale vein sticks out on my forehead. This is not productive, I chide myself. She doesn’t look at it that way and neither should I.

Too late. Cassie saw the vein. She reads me. She knows how close I was to going nuclear. Control, man! There are three life stories at this table and not just one. Make Anne proud. I smile at Cass to reassure her that I’ve already wrestled myself and it’s okay; I think she’s grateful for that nonverbal.

So, we got through the hard part. We ratchet it down about ten notches and have a “just friends” kind of amicable dinner. We talk about movies, current events, history – turns out Cynthia is almost as big of a history nerd as I am – and a couple of topics that go deep into existentialism. I realize that Cassie is not participating much in the conversation, which is not like her. But instead, she’s mostly greasing the conversation between Cynthia and me. Clearly, it’s important to her that we like each other. We talk about the Lost and Found – mostly the business end – and we bat around ideas for what her next business might be.

It was a nice conversation. It was even fun! And I realize with Cassie’s grease that I had found that piece of myself in the interchange: The Damian who knew how to rule a room. He’s still in me. But she may have been the only person who would know how to draw that out of me.

After dinner, they excuse themselves to the ladies’ room. Of course. What goes on in there? But they’re not gone for long. When they get back, they sit down just as our ice cream mochi is served and they both have the weirdest smiles. Cassie seems really, really nervous.

“Damian.” She takes a deep breath and bites her lip in that way she knows melts my heart. “We have talked about… this… a lot before dinner tonight and that’s totally unfair to you since you’re as big a part of this conversation as anyone.”

I think ‘uh oh. Here it comes. Smash my balls now?’

“We… Cynthia and I…” she looks at Cynthia indicating I should too and I find her looking back at me, smiling and nodding “…we’d like to invite you over to her place. We’d like to… mmmm… test the water a bit…”

“Test the… water?”

She bites her lip again and cocks her head to the side. “yeaaahhhh… mmm… maybe it’s not as bad as you might think it is. Maybe it could be… good… if we’re all careful and sensitive…”

“What ‘it’?”

“nnnggg… just think about it, big guy. I know you’re picking up what I’m putting down. We’re not proposing much. But maybe a bit of a… baby step.”

“Let me know. Maybe we could get together again same time next week…? Dinner and… conversation and… whatever…?”

I’m stunned. Is Cassie suggesting some sort of ménage à trois? Surely not… especially with “baby steps” language… but… is this happening…? I thought we were totally over and done with… but Sunday, Cassie said she still likes me and she thought Cynthia would too. And their powder room break… it was awful fast. That must’ve been Cynthia agreeing to this… whatever it is. That means that Cynthia finds me somehow interesting?

But this would mean I’d have to deal with… Cassie plus Cynthia… do I have that in me? Ugh. I need to think on this.

“Thanks… can I let you know…?”

“So it’s not a ‘no’?”

“No… not ‘no’…” No! Maybe? No but… god, I still love her…

I see Cynthia smile at me… I don’t know how to read this woman yet. Is she just going along with Cass? As a submissive, does she automatically support whatever her Domme wants? Or does she want it too… for her own reasons? She lost her husband… she’s hurting. Or is it a pity thing… an elaborate sensual apology. I just don’t know…

“Good answer.” She smiles her most charming smile. “I’ll get a babysitter for the boys again. Can you let me know on Sunday?”

“Okay…” What just happened?

Then… just to throw me completely off balance, they each kiss my cheeks – one on each side — and leave.

What the fuck?

I guess that sticks me with the check.

I pay and walk out, trying to unpack the last ten minutes.

—

“Why don’t you get someone to fix that damn stained tile?”

“Then, what would you have to bitch about, Damian?”

I’m ataköy escort laying down again. My head is pounding with emotion. I’ve rendered myself bare to Anne and she’s doing open-heart surgery. This is getting to be a habit.

“I don’t understand, Anne. Why does even the thought of another person in our relationship…”

I stop to consider that word. ‘Our’ relationship. Is it ‘ours’ now or is it theirs? Am I even in it? They talk, scheme, dwell, plan and I’m now the outsider. But it seems like Cassie might want to see if I could rejoin that inner circle. Digression.

“…in the relationship… it tears my heart out. To share. Why? If it makes her happy…?”

“Damian… there’s a whole theory about that… a primal imperative. If the human animal is about preserving and passing on genetic code, the male has to be possessive of the female. When a child is born, the maternity is clear, but the paternity can only be preserved in advance. When a cuckold – and I mean that word in the genetic sense – is forced to waste his life, resources and energy preserving another man’s genetic code, it is brutally unfair… in this theory. So, men are preconditioned not to share their mates. The theory is that that’s genetic – core to the human animal.

“Some men enjoy the cuckold experience… just because it is so primally wrong. Others see relationships differently. And in the age of birth control and planned parenthood, the genetic risk is not the same. But you’re perfectly normal to reject it. It’s the most mainstream response.

“But the thing to consider here, Damian, is that you, like many others, have imprinted that same imperative to females as well as males. Is it still applicable?” When your wife is with another woman, there’s no genetic risk.”

Now, that’s a challenge…

“There are other perspectives on this question… like that a mate enjoying another is a personal affront to their love and attraction to their prime mate. In this case, it would hurt you, Damian, that she might get something from another person that she doesn’t get from you.

“But look…. You have friends outside your relationship. You get things from them… a love of football… a hearty joke at someone’s expense, a confidence only another man would understand. Cassie had friends even before your break. You can bet they talked about all kinds of stuff before… even about you, Damian. You share things with your friends that Cassie wouldn’t have understood… She shares with hers. No single person is everything to another. We all need a community.

“Damian, can you… can you think of Cynthia like a special friend? If this goes where you think…” What does she think I think? “…you still retain the core of your relationship and meaning with Cassie. You also develop a new link, maybe, with Cynthia. And they share theirs. It would be a triangle, but not genetically… primally… threatening.

“There are men who would salivate for that opportunity, Damian.

“But you also would be perfectly justified to call it off. Call it ‘too weird.’ You might not be wired to accept that. That would be fine too…. Just move on…

“What do you think you want?”

The question hangs in the air for the requisite uncomfortable silence. I am processing hard. The relationship discussion keeps short circuiting, but inside all my thoughts, I see there is a common thread.

“I still love her. Damn it.”

“Then maybe, Damian, you owe it to yourself to accept their invitation and try a baby step. ‘Something.’ Whatever they have in mind. Cassie is well-regarded in the community. I’m certain she’ll see the way to make it an acceptable experience for you.”

I sigh heavily.

“Think about it…

“Now we need to discuss your next lesson with Tara. Impact play…”

My eyes grow wide at that…she knows I really don’t want to hurt anyone! And I really don’t like being hurt…

…I don’t think?

“It’s important, Damian. If you’re going to explore these corners, you need to understand them before you’re alone…”

I nod. I need to learn. “I guess you’re right…”

—

I’m super nervous as I’m let into the garage. This guy has created a full rental sex dungeon and lets it out for special occasions. Tara has helped me rent it. As I enter, I’m first struck that there’s both Tara there, dressed in her usual department-store sexy wear, and also a naked woman kneeling on a padded mat on the floor in the slave “display” position. She’s on her haunches, has her legs spread, her hands resting, palm-up, on her knees, her back straight, breasts pressing outward and head bowed. She seems attractive. She’s a bit more curvy, like Tara, and plain of face, but I admit that her pure submissiveness makes her sexy as hell.

In the back of my mind, I start to inventory the room but look at Tara. There’s a Saint Andrew’s cross, an actual pillory, a bar with chains hanging from the ceiling, a whipping bench with straps, a gynecological examination chair, a bed, a hanging cage and walls of toys, whips, paddles, leather, straps, dildos, gags and way too much to take in.

Tara starts “Master, we have no names here. You are ‘Master D’, I am ‘Mistress T’ and I’d like to present to you ‘Toy’ for your pleasure. And hers.”