Remembrance

      22 Comments on Remembrance

That was then…

When I first met the man who would become my husband, we were both very different people.  I was a month shy of 27, did not yet have my talisman tattoo, masturbated at least once daily (often as many as five times), had two semi-regular sexual partners, a job I didn’t like much, a libido I could barely satisfy, and a bank account balance that trended in the negative.  I was in a place of vulnerability – physically, mentally, emotionally, sexually – that I had never before experienced (and never want to again), and my views on relationships were jaded beyond my years.

.

This is now…

I have come to believe that we are always the same Self, but that different versions of that Self are constantly emerging.  So while, at the core, I am the same person I was back then – built from the same foundations – I am also a completely different person now than I was when we first met.  I have knocked out walls and expanded my footprint, renovated, reconfigured my interior, de-cluttered, and added a few windows from which to view the world.  My foundation hasn’t changed.  But sometimes it seems as though everything else has.

My husband has done some remodeling of his own.  He is no more The Same Person he was 13 years ago than I am.

We are not the same.

This isn’t a good thing or a bad thing.  Like most things, it is just a thing, and it is one that I choose to examine now and again.  Mostly because when something works – when it is still right, after all this time – I think it is important to enjoy that feeling, to let it settle in my chest, to smile at the mental map board and quirk an eyebrow at the big red arrow that says You Are Here.  To think for a moment about all the twists and turns that brought me to this place.  This here.  This now.

We reminisce.

“Remember when…” is one of those phrases that sneaks into your vocabulary with such stealth and subtlety that it comes as a great shock when you hear someone else say it and realize with a gulp that Oh my God, I sound like my mother/grandpa/neighbor/elementary school teacher/insert other Old Person here.

But I do remember when.

I remember when I told him I liked him too much to have sex with him.  When I did not feel capable of being sexually involved with a person I felt emotionally attached to.  When I was still re-piecing the jagged broken edges of my heart and was not willing to allow anyone – especially not him – see the damage that had been done by the one who came before, or to help me stitch the wounds that were still bleeding.  When he didn’t push and he didn’t leave and he said “Okay” and “Whatever you want, babe” and “You’re my friend, first and foremost” and “I love you” and it didn’t feel like cement bricks were weighting my feet, drowning me in an ocean of tied down misery.

I remember when he tasted my pussy for the first time, the way he devoured my flesh and lapped at my juices, licking and sucking and making delicious humming noises of pleasure.  The way he didn’t rush, but was full of speed and heat and persistent desire.  The time he took (and it took a long time), pushing through my tension, creating a safe place to let down my barriers, helping me relax, coaxing me to climax.  The look of sheer awe and satisfied appreciation on his face when finally, shaken and unraveled, I came against his ravenous mouth.

I remember the fears he tried to hide.  The conversation about his health.  His insistence that we wouldn’t be able to keep it up, that sooner or later I would need to move on, that he didn’t want to be in my way when that time came.  My own insistence that he marry me despite the odds, and both of our shock at the strength of my feeling on the subject.  I was, after all – or had been, until then – that girl.  The one who didn’t want to get married.  Who saw only misery in the lives of those who were, and wanted to avoid that state of affairs at all costs.

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Funny how things change.

I can no longer fathom being sexually involved with anyone I’m not emotionally attached to.  When I first met my husband, sex was a release; relationships, while not unimportant, were also not my priority.  The opposite is true now.  Sharing my body has become intensely personal.  The who and the how is more important to me than the what and when.

How often…  Well, I am still my own most consistent sexual partner.  Unless you count my friends Icy and Lelo.  And 1-5 times a day has moderated to 1-5 times per week.

I remember telling him, when he expressed concern about being able to keep me satisfied Til Death Do Us Part, that as long as his tongue still worked, we’d be fine.  It does, but our sex life has not played out how either of us expected it to.  Which, like so many things in life, is not a good thing or a bad thing.  It’s just a thing.

There was a time we were adventurous.

Not that we aren’t adventurous now; it’s just that we are adventurous in different ways.

“I remember” can be used to accuse.  People allow resentment to build in their relationships and they throw down the gauntlet of “We used to” to call out their partner(s).  To challenge.  To say “This is how it used to be and by virtue of it no longer being that way, everything about Now is bad.”

We don’t do that to each other.

People change.  Relationships change.

We have changed.

And for us, remembering is a way of reconnecting.  Of reminding ourselves and each other of the time spent, the labor of love employed, the effort we have both given to constantly build anew atop the foundations with which we work.

As I get older, I realize that I remember is a key element, not of aging, but of growing.  Of recognizing where I’ve been.  Of acknowledging where I am.  Of directing my forward footsteps.

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I remember.

I remember the time…

…we had a wordless, intense, zero-foreplay, mostly-clothed, fast, furious fuck against a rock on the bank of a rushing river.  My ass was bruised from balancing on the edge of the boulder and his knees were scraped from banging against the granite while banging into me, and we wore our wounds with good-humored pride for a week, each slightly saddened when the evidence of our illicit tryst had faded.

…he took himself in hand, kneeling between my legs while I ran my vibe along my slit, teasing my clit, swirling and vibrating and pulsing and pressing and coaxing my pussy to the edge.  Watching his face while he jerked his cock in swift, rough strokes until I could see all the veins along the shaft.  His skin, millimeters from mine.  Connecting, not through touch, but through sight and sound.  Hearing the change in his breath and losing track of my own, enraptured by the overwhelming sensations heightened by intentional sensory deprivation.

…the first time I came home from being with another man, still aroused from our unfinished pre-boarding sexplorations, and finding him, waiting for me, skin still hot from the shower, cock straining with need that had gone unsatisfied in my absence.  He fucked me deep and full, his hard stretching my wet, sliding into my slick.  He pounded me into the mattress, demanding release for us both, and with my head hanging off the bed and legs draped of his shoulders, I milked his cock with every clench and shudder of my too-long-delayed release until we both collapsed in a pile of sated sex and sweat.

I remember…  So many things.  The time I made him cum in the closet, with his roommate within hearing range.  The time I let him fuck my tits and he accidentally jizzed in my eye.

The time I said “I can’t go on like this.”  The time he crawled, shaken and shivering, into my arms after I gave him his first release in months.

The time I said “I do.”  The time he asked for something I didn’t think I could give.  The time we lost something precious.  The time we broke into a thousand pieces.  The time we could have given up, walked away, and never looked back.  The time we chose to stay.

The time…

I remember the time.

It has gone by in a blink.

I am staring at 40, and I have been with my husband for 13 years.  I can see clearly the sign that says You Are Here.

And all those twisted paths and rutted roads that brought me – WE – to this place, to this Now from that Then…

I remember.

22 thoughts on “Remembrance

  1. Dawn D

    This is beautiful. It touched me in a way that I am unable to speak coherently.
    I think it is a mixture of hope and deep sadness about what was lost, what could have been, where I was when I met that man 25+ years ago, hoping it would be for life, the difficulty I felt when I fought for it time and again, until I finally realised that I couldn’t fight for a now when there had never been a then, that the relationship had long been gone, lost before it even started, because there can only be a relationship if both people want it.
    I’ve been reading about my marriage and my divorce today, which is probably why this hits me so hard.
    What you describe, it’s exactly what I would have wanted. Not a walk in the park, but a hike where each is willing to slow down to wait for the other, to push himself a little bit to see where the road leads, even when they feel like giving up, a journey where each one accepts to share the load of the sustenance, the protective gear and the items brought for pleasure too so that no one feels weighed down by too big a backpack.

    Yet, when I read you, when I listen to the song, I know that there is still hope, that I still can find someone who is willing to share that journey with me, find a way through, or above or around obstacles, lending a hand when need be, moving forward together, as a team, rather than two individuals merely walking a similar path but so disconnected that there is no guarantee they’ll end up choosing the same one at the next fork in the road.

    I’ll try to get back to believing it is possible 🙂

    Thank you for this beautiful text.
    XO

    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      Thank you for your beautiful response, Dawn.

      There is hope. It is the flame that lights the path ahead, even if only illuminating one footstep at a time.

      Even in the dark we can keep moving forward. <3

      xoxo

      1. Dawn D

        🙂
        I actually have pretty good night vision. It may be the only reason I’m still standing 😉
        I have a lot of hope lately, and at times a little despair catches up to me. Most of the time I’m doing rather great, but tiredness was never my ally. So… good night! 🙂

  2. dualdrew

    That was a beautiful post and likely one that all of us in a marriage can relate to. It’s funny because tonight when we went to bed (I remember when I could sleep), Axel said exactly that phrase in response to something so benign I can’t even recall but we laughed happy that we have stuck it out together long enough to be proud of the phrase “I remember when”.

    Drew

    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      Yes, I remember when I could sleep, too. (And when I didn’t NEED sleep.)

      “I remember when” is just an older, long-term relationship version of “This one time, at band camp…” 😉

      Definitely something to be proud of. <3

  3. The Suburban Domme

    Quote:

    And all those twisted paths and rutted roads that brought me – WE – to this place, to this Now from that Then…
    ——————————————–

    Amen sister…..AMEN.

    ——————————————————-
    Quote:

    The time I said “I do.” The time he asked for something I didn’t think I could give. The time we lost something precious. The time we broke into a thousand pieces. The time we could have given up, walked away, and never looked back. The time we chose to stay.

    —————————————–

    It hurt to read that for both of you…… because I (we..yeah we…not just I…….we are always…we…aren’t we? LOL)know the pain that comes with all the above.

    I also know the relief when it passes and you look up and see….that yet again……you survived…..went on to thrive…in something you thought was going to break you in half…you would not survive it…but somehow…you do..and you look across the path see he made it thru also…and he is still standing there…on that same path…gingerly reaching out…..making sure you made it thru also.

    I would not be who I am, without the twisted paths and rutted roads if he hadn’t been there with me……and frankly….I have no interest in knowing who I might have been…without him.

  4. The Suburban Domme

    Lawdy I need more coffee, a proof reader and editor…

    The “we digression” as in me and him…or you and your him.

    It is WE.

    The WE you wrote about.

    It’s not a very “strong female thing” to own up too..but the idea of not being a “WE” with him…terrifies me..but hell we are looking down the barrel of 38 years together….one thing I can’t “remember when”…… was when I wasn’t part of WE.

    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      I understood perfectly. 🙂

      “Me” as a part of WE… But also apart from WE. That’s the balance so many struggle to find, I think. Maintaining individuality while simultaneously functioning inside a cohesive unit. And it takes a damned strong woman to do that.

      And I think *wanting that* for yourself – and, after so many years, still wanting, actively, to be with him – is a Good Thing.

      Looking down the barrel of your 38…

      Congratulations! 😀

      {You’re still loaded.}

  5. The Suburban Domme

    Still loaded

    *snort*

    OH OH OH……ooooooohhh to go back to “back when” of the days when I worked back shift and coming home and pouring a shot of Jack in my coffee just as daylight was breaking thru the window…..wasn’t a sign I might have a problem :p

    Thank you for the congrats. 🙂

    That CONGRATS needs to go the other way.

    13 years of being that “WE”…isn’t chump change!!

    There does seem to be a “mark” where we get more introspective and pensive about that “WE” stuff.

    I think it has to do with taking stock of where our “You are here” sign get planted right in our path

    (Looking at 40…yep…..that will put the sign square in your face…for what it is worth….50 probably won’ feel so…well…like it is screaming at you to look at that “You are here” sign.)

    I think some of it has to do with settling into who we are as that “WE”.

    Not settling…..but grasping the cause and effect of being “we”…..getting more comfortable in being the person that grew up while traipsing twisted path and rutted roads…..being with the person who did the traipsing with us…..seeing their growth…..looking back and seeing:

    “WOW….you–me…..we were really headed somewhere!”

    So here is to MORE years of traipsing….introspection……..and thriving when you think you won’t survive!

    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      Thank you. 🙂

      I think, with my birthday coming, I’ve been reflecting a lot because… Where did the time go???

      Not in a “WTF happened to my life?” kind of way. More like, “Wow, it’s been a really good ride” kind of way. 🙂

      And all that traipsing through the woods has me picturing Pepe Le Pew gallavanting through a field of flowers to the tune of Tiptoe Through The Tulips, in search of Penelope. 😛

      (What can I say? My brain works in odd ways. But at least it still works!)

  6. nbratscott

    THAT was beautiful…..it brought me to tears…..I want to read it with my wife tonite…..

    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      I am truly touched to have invoked such an emotional response, and honored that you would want to share this with your wife. Thank you for reading, and for leaving such a lovely compliment. 🙂 <3

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  8. Jayne

    That brought me to the edge of crying for all of the feelings you have gone through that staying married takes out of you but also for that sweet reward to be able to carry on and remember together. You’re a testament to all things that are worth staying married for , imo, and it takes two people to want the same thing and somehow hove that added magic to get through. xo, J

  9. exquisitedungeon

    Wow. Sometimes… it just happens that when one is down and feeling bad someone (you!) comes along and just turns things around. You show me great perspective. You show me potential. You show me that I’m not the only one going through such things in my head.

    And it’s delightful that it’s YOUR comment on my own space that led me here to read this. This very post. Just days after you wrote it. Damn it, but ain’t that fortuitous!?

    Thanks so much. Very appreciated. I’m not sure why you’re not already in my feed.

    1. Mrs Fever Post author

      We may each experience life uniquely, but there are many experiences that are, simultaneously, universal.

      You’re not alone. 🙂

      Thanks for reading.

  10. foresterinthewoods

    This was a wonderful post. As an older person, you have described the changes in my life to the T. Looking back there is so much absorb to make the mature, wiser person I am.

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