The Story of M- (a.k.a BDSM Friendship Hell)

So, get this:

A few years ago I ran into a friend from the time I used to play in public every week. My friend, I’ll call him M-, and I met on Alt.com. I felt closer to him than many of my other kinkster friends at the time both because he was sober and because he was someone I could talk to outside of the scene.

We never actually played together, but saw one another play plenty of times. I don’t count the time we went to Lair de Sade and I handed him needles a play piercing he was doing with his girlfriend at the time because he could just as easily have picked the needles up off a tray.

The trouble started with this chick. Cherchez la femme, as the French say. The phrase is right up there with l’esprit d’escalier as useful things that can be said cleanly and elegantly in this language. Cherchez la femme implies that if a man is behaving in an uncharacteristic way, you’ll find the answer if you find the woman involved.  To find out what, l’esprit d’escalier means, read on.

M- dated a few ladies in our kinky circle, but then fell suddenly, madly in love with this femme who was not only outside the group, but outside the scene altogether. This meant I didn’t see him as often. But that was okay. He’d found a lass who was by all accounts fantastic. Besides, he would still make time to hang out or go have lunch. It’s okay if my friends aren’t practicing kinksters — just as long as they accept that it’s part of my life.

Before long, M- told me that he was engaged. I was thrilled, particularly when he asked me to stand up with him as a grooms-chick. I’m not all that butch, but getting to wear a tuxedo instead of a stupid bridesmaid dress with an enormous bow sounded like complete and utter fun.

But after a year of near misses in fiancée I told him it was high time we all hung out. “C’mon,” I bugged him. “You guys live less than two miles from me. How come I haven’t gotten to meet her yet?”

Turns out, I never got to meet her. She didn’t want to. And M- backed her up.

I was confused, panicked. Was it because M- and I had gone out on a couple of dates before we’d agreed to be friends? But we never kissed, never even so much as held hands. I had no romantic feelings for M-. Did he for me? No.

Was there something else about me, something weird?

Yes.

Clubbing. Parties. Public play.

But you did all those things. You just left them behind.

Yes.

And because I still do them –?

Yes.

So that was that. I yelled at him. Called him names. Wrote him a long self-righteous email about what a jerk he was, but that hinted I’d still like to  make up, if he would just try to convince his fianceé I was a decent human being. But that never happened. Needless to say, the wedding thing was off. And I had massive esprit d’escalier. The phrase literally means “spirit of the staircase”. It’s about a state of mind after an argument — all the things you wish you’d said, but you were already on the staircase, on the way out.

If only I’d said that — maybe I could’ve swayed him.

The next time I heard from M- was a few years later. His marriage had broken up. He was sorry. He wanted to be friends again. By that time I was married to Mr. Tungsten and in a much more secure place, so I took great pleasure in laying out exactly how M- had hurt me. I also set a condition for any further contact. He needed to be in a comitted relationship that had lasted at least 6 months, and he needed to introduce me to his girlfriend first.

I didn’t expect anything more to come of this and nothing might have if we hadn’t bumped into each other at Das Bunker one night. The industrial disco was so crowded and the hallway outside of Das Noise Room so narrow that we literally bumped into each other.  We got somewhere better lit and he introduced me to his vivacious girlfriend T-. They had been dating for five months.

Close enough, I thought.  M- and I exchanged numbers.

Fast forward several more years. M- and T- got married. We tried getting together as a pair of couples, but this was is problematic because T- is not a full-blown geek, merely, in M’s words “geek adjacent”.  Still, she’s learning our dorky ways. Also, M- and I keep trying. Earlier this year they invited us over for a zombie gaming night. We also keep meeting for lunch — sometimes just M- and I, sometimes more.

I’m not sure if T- knows about my kinky side. Most likely not. But that doesn’t matter because she knows me. She knows I’m not going to mack on her guy when we’re alone together. She knows Mr. Tungsten. We’re cool.

The takeaway message is that true friends, if they’re not kinky, will work to accommodate your differences. And if they are kinky, they’ll also do vanilla things. They’ll go see a movie with you, or play fetch with your dog in the park. They’ll see you as a whole person, not just as a collection of fetishes that may or may not overlap theirs. That’s a real friend. And that’s hard to find.

 

3 responses to “The Story of M- (a.k.a BDSM Friendship Hell)

  1. This eventually is a post on friendship….just so important, in all its beautiful forms. And in all of it, brave you. Love this post with all its details!

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