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RnLeather 62F
1 posts
5/26/2016 3:52 am
My Mistress, My Lover, My Partner, My Friend


The last week of December 2016 will mark my twenty year anniversary. Twenty years with the greatest, most consuming love of my life. Twenty years of joy, of pain, of giggles and of tears. Twenty years of sorrow and suffering, pleasure and personal growth.

For twenty years my Mistress and I have travelled together. We have been around Australia, to Brisbane and to Sydney, to Canberra and Adelaide, to remote towns and to the heart of Melbourne. We have walked the beaches of Fiji, the streets of London, the palaces of France. We have been to museums and plays together, gone wading in the ocean together, sat in hot tubs together, stayed over at friends’ homes, camped out in the bush. We have gone grocery shopping, visited Bunnings and the $2 dollar shop, the marine and camping supply stores together. We’ve shared great times with our friends and family and spent other times alone together, pondering, thinking, planning, resting.

For twenty years we have never been apart. Not one day. Not one place. Not one activity.

No one knows me better. No one understands all the things that I am so well. No one has ever touched me as deeply, woven into my life so far that I cannot imagine a day, a night, a moment without her.

The ring I wear on my left hand signifies just how much she means to me. She is my marriage, my till death do we part. She is a seductress, beckoning me on constantly to new pleasures. She is my friend, holding me when I am down, counselling me when I need to make decisions, holding my hand in silence when no one is around. She is my partner, helping me make plans for the future, holding me to the tasks I need to complete, infusing me with new ideas for extraordinary things that I can do or make or be part of, reminding me of my values and commitments when I am in danger of forgetting. She is my muse, my inspiration. She is my lover, filling my sexual life with constant and ever changing delight. She is there, always at my back, giving me strength when life saps my energy and wearies me, reminding me of all we have been through together, of where we are going and that there is always hope and another tomorrow.

She is never stale, never boring, never old, tired or weary. She is forever beautiful in my eyes.

She IS demanding. She requires my attention, my commitment, my time, my energy, my imagination. She is never one to sit on the sidelines of life. She wants me there, in the thick of things, beyond mere existence. When I falter, she drives me on, constantly whispering seductive things in my ear until my strength returns to me and I turn to her and thank her for her persistence, for her patience, for the strength that is lent until I again find my own.

Because of her, I have grown strong in myself. I can stand unaided and unafraid, facing a world that is in turmoil, confused and frightened and I, myself, can put out a hand to steady others. Because of her, I have no fear and I know myself at levels most people never approach. Because of her I have been tested beyond what I ever thought I could endure and I have come through that fire a better person. Because of her I am immersed in everyday life with an appreciation and pleasure I cannot describe.

She is never static but ever changing. Wearing a thousand faces, ten thousand bodies. But she is there, in eyes that are sometimes blue, sometimes brown, sometimes green. She is there, in a million tears, in cries of pain, pleasure, frustration and sadness that come from a hundred eyes and throats. She is there, in leather and in latex, in high heels and in combat boots, in darkened rooms with loud music and in quiet rooms with soft moans. She is always there.

Sometimes someone will come who says they know her. They admire her. They respect her. They want to be part of our lives. I listen and I weigh. I check in with her. We ponder and we accept. They come and they join our dance because for that time, at least, they hear the music.

Then something changes. They want more of me and less of her. No matter how many times it’s been said that we come as a packaged deal, they grow jealous, demanding, manipulative. They try to separate us. They say we are not so close as we believe, that surely I can live without her if I really try. Surely there is more to life than this love of mine, this temptress, this seductress that fills me with love and energy and joy.

Sadness comes into my spaces. I look out at this world without her and I see greyness, a greyness I remember from before. Before I met her. Before she swept through my life and swept me away. Before she showed me all the colours that exist beyond the rainbow. And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I can never leave her.

Eventually they go, these mortal ones that do not understand that I am not alone and apart and separate from her but that we are hearts that beat as one, the blood in each other’s veins, the breath we share between us. To strip her from my life would be to strip life itself away.

And I let them go. By this time I have already mourned the passing of the mortal relationship, the “love” that was shared and then lost because they would no longer willingly share the life my Mistress and I have woven through the years. I understand. She is not to them what she is to me. It was me they wanted, but a me without her. A me that would be as obsessively devoted to them as I am to her. Something I can never give. That I said so in the beginning seems to make no difference. They don’t understand. They rage and they rale and they are angry. She and I, we can never part.

Nor do I want to. In the early days, there was strife, there was grief, there was anger sometimes and fear. But that has long passed. We are comfortable with each other, as couples become when they weather the storms of younger years. We understand each other, our weaknesses and flaws as well as our strengths. We have tested each other and found each other worthy of our devotion.

So please understand. I am married. I have been married for a long time. I will be married until I die. You may struggle to understand this. You may look at the ring on my finger while traversing my empty house and wonder at my conviction. You


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