There is something between us.
He felt it early on, some pull towards me, ghosts of our D/s relationship tugging at something in him.
You still have a hold over me. How? Why?
I hate it.
Is there something about submitting to a person that can never be undone?
He has never submitted to anyone else, so it makes sense that as he has unravelled past hurts and the idea of submission comes tentatively floating back, it would be tied to me. I’m his link to that part of himself. His only one. All of the intense emotions, the impossible intimacy of play, the angst of a boy in love, the vulnerability of his submission, they are all linked to me. I was his first. And his last.
It might be different if he had gone on to have multiple relationships where he was the submissive partner after me. Perhaps it might have diluted those feelings. I don’t know if it really works like that.
We have been emailing and chatting, old things, new things, feeling out possibilities.
I feel the pull of him also. It is difficult to tell how much is some kind of D/s muscle-memory and how much is the here and now. I see glimpses of the young submissive he was, now in the body of a mature man. I see him peeking out now and then, shy and curious, and have to fight myself not to crouch down and entice him into the light. To nudge at him to see what’s there.
I don’t though. I am cautious with him for reasons that are not mine to share.
I am impressed by the man he has become, not least because he is capable of unflinching honesty about himself, and he shares that with me openly. Fearless.
He mentioned that he was pondering sitting at someone’s feet, watching TV, collar on. I asked him how that felt to him. He said in his mind, those feet never belonged to anyone but me, that the thought made him feel calm, peaceful, empowered, strong. This melts everything in me.
We have had some long and frank discussions about where we are and what is going on between us.
He cannot imagine submitting to anyone else, ever, not even now. This is an honour I don’t take lightly, it makes my head spin, I am made messy by it. And of course when he called me ‘Ma’am’, I felt my brain scramble with the shocking power of it.
I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to push him up against a wall by his throat, to growl at him to kneel, to grab a fistful of his hair. But more subtly, I wonder if a gentle hand on his cheek would make him soften and lean in, if he would melt if he was petted, if a nod at an empty water glass would have him smiling happily and moving to fill it. I am curious what we might be like now.
There is something there.
I made him an offer. “Here’s the deal with our mutual curiosity: If you ever make your way up here on your world trip, now-me will meet now-you for a drink and we will see how it feels to let the ghosts go.”
“Deal,” he said.
So we will see.