The Fix

Wife: So I was talking to Tracy, and her husband is having problems with his ex-wife again. I said to myself, “Thank God that B doesn’t have an ex wife. Thank God I’ve been his one and only, and there’s no baggage.” I don’t know if I could handle it.

Me: Well, there’s baggage, but no kids. Or ex-wives.

Wife: I can’t imagine being with anyone else, or ever leaving you.

Me: I can’t imagine ever leaving you, dear.

Well, duh, of course not. Even if you strip away love and affection and companionship, of which there is plenty, there’s an 800 lb. gorilla in the room, and that gorilla is: You are the only woman who could ever dominate me. You are the only woman who has seen my naked need to submit and become a worm, to become dirt, to become nothing or less than nothing — if that’s possible. I could never find another you.

I don’t know how a slave could. I’m sure many have had to, but I’ve only read one blog that really ever deals with the collapse of that D/s relationship, and God help me, I don’t know if I could handle it. The flip side of the trust you put in a woman that allows you to open yourself up — to let her sodomize you, to let her bleed you like a side of beef, to let her punch and smack and whip you — is the vulnerability that comes with, “If this woman ever decides not to love me, she will have seen me at my meekest. My weakest. My most fragile. She will have compromised me in a way that I may never recover from.”

I don’t trust anyone enough to let them stick something in my ass, but I trust my wife that much. I don’t trust anyone to touch my neck with a naked knife, but I trust my wife, without hesitation.

And that’s the flip side — I don’t know if I could ever trust someone else enough to do those things. At least, not without my wife there, to watch over me. If my wife ever left me, I don’t know how the hell I’d meet someone and build up a relationship in a realistic amount of time in order to let them dominate and beat me. I don’t know who would want me. I don’t know how to approach a dominant woman, or how to make her see me as strong and simultaneously submissive. I think, if faced with putting all of myself out there like that, I may just give up on this wonderful life I live and recede into bored and tortured vanilla existence.

I mean, I read Unspeakable Axe talk about what it’s like to find that other half, and I think, “Jesus, that guy is good looking and clever, and he has a tough time finding a domme. I’m middle-aged. (Technically.) I’d never survive. I’d be forced to pay for it, and not from the expensive, pretty pro-dommes either — the cut-rate ones, who demand tribute in phone cards and gift certificates to Dollar King, and who look like a mean version of Flo from ‘Alice.’ She’d be saying things like, “Kiss my grits, slave,” and I’d have to say, “I don’t even know where your grits are, ma’am…” And it would just be awkward like that.

Which leads me to the final reason why I’m bound so tightly now — my wife has my fix. She’s the only woman I trust. The only woman strong enough. The only woman intriguing enough. She’s the only source for what I need, what I’ve learned I have to have. She’s my dealer, and I’m just a junkie, only my drug of choice is her: her power, her control, her domination and the pain she metes out. I’m dependent on her, even if we strip away the love and devotion and fact that we’re best friends — at this point, I’m hooked. If you strip away the romance and mutual respect, there’s still that left: my naked, hungry, junkie need for her.

Luckily, I can pay for that fix. With love. With devotion. And once in a while, when she sees how needy I am, with my fear. Those are all forms of tribute she accepts, and I gladly give them.