Fifth Anniversary

Today marks the anniversary of me officially owning N for five years. I owned him before that really, but this was the date when we made it official, with collars and official promises and all that jazz.

These five years have been quite the roller coaster in some ways, we’ve experienced so much together - some quite amazingly wonderful times, and some moments when we have just bloody despaired. But underneath everything, my owning him also often gives our lives a wonderfully peaceful quality that we both revel in.

We’ve created a new family. We have moved to a new home in a new area and he created me things I really wanted. Our careers and lives have changed unrecognisably. We have run around going ’Wheeeeeeee!’ having adventures, with serious down and dirty, very bad, but utterly fucking awesome fun, causing trouble, and generally laughing and growling a lot.  We’ve fucked each others brains out, and remarkably, despite prediction have managed not kill each other. Quite the achievement.

He’s been reprogrammed mentally to think and respond in all manner of new ways that are miles away from where he started. He’s been isolated, then been thrown back into the world and I watched him blinded by the light and the noise of it out there, desperate to return to my side. He’s been dragged through some trials as only I can do (it’s a talent). He's dealt with me having other lovers of both genders, despite believing for a long time that it would break him if I had other men. He’s acquired a lot of scars, screamed, bled, collapsed, been pissed on, begged, cried, been arse fucked relentlessly, been scalded, been fitted with plugs for long periods of time, been given enemas, been  kicked, punched, slapped, scratched, restrained, face fucked by men and arse fucked by men just because I say so, been caged, been the subject of porn, been beaten excessively, been chained, been humiliated in the extreme, had sharp things stuck in him... and I must have drunk litres of his blood in this time. When I'm too ill to move my head he cuts his wrist and tenderly holds it to my mouth for me because he knows blood will give me a boost.

Five years today

The bad times have been pretty dark, some of our own making, and some just what Life has thrown at us. We’ve both had very significant bereavements and propped each other up through them. We’ve both had surgery. He’s been injured looking after me. I developed a chronic health issue that really blew our fucking lives up, and despite the mayhem that caused we held on by our fingernails and somehow staggered through intact, taking it in turns to drag the other one as needed. He’s wanted to throw the towel in and discovered just what ‘can’t leave’ means in reality when you're mine, and afterwards he’s been glad that I’m such an awesome bitch at the head tampering and the violence.

We love each other deeply, passionately, primally. We looked at each other six years ago and sort of went ’Oh it’s you. Actually I don’t officially know anything about you do I?’ There is a connection based on recognition as much as anything else, a bit like two predatory animals recognising each other through pure instinct and trying to decide whether to try and take each other out, or pair up and form a pack (being natural thrill seekers we initially sort of tried both simultaneously, you know, just for kicks). He doesn’t get all kinds of things about me, but he gets some of the bits that other people freak out about. So ok, yeah, he’s bemused by my flashes of uber-camp, my faith, some of my relationships, my cultural circles – but I don’t need him to get those things,  I have other people for that. His place is to be mine with all that that entails. There's nothing he wouldn't do for me and owning him feels like home for both of us.

…. And with all that and pages and pages more besides, what is the one thing that other people always remember? That I sold his bloody Ducati.

Happy anniversary N xxxxx