RAF: The True Evil

It’s Name: Jealousy

So here it is, the truth about the pain I’ve been in recently. It’s a difficult thing to explain because it has been a difficult space to inhabit. I never imagined my relationship with Master J could take such an intense dive. But it did, and I’ve only recently come back up to the surface.

Day One

It commenced on New Year’s Eve. The severity of this jealousy, that is. I went to sleep at ten o’clock, disappointing him. I’d been exhausted. This season, a rollercoaster of intense emotions. Depression being a surprising culprit.

I’d woken up just as the clock struck midnight, for the fireworks and cheering crowds refused to be ignored. He stood there watching from our window, before gently crawling into bed. He hadn’t noticed my break in slumber. After a minute or two, when he settled under the covers, illuminating the screen of his phone, I turned to him to say, “Happy New Year.” That’s when it happened, the very subtle, yet sudden reflex. He turned his phone away from me, and abruptly asked, “you’re awake?” I felt my heart sink, the acid in my stomach make its way into my throat, blood draining from my cheeks. I’d only ever felt this once before in my life, when my ex had finally admitted he’d slept with one of my friends while we’d been separated. I felt the same loss of control, sheer desperation; all of the horrible, terrifying feelings that led me down a path to self-destruction in that previous romance.

I was losing myself. Anxiety was taking over. My breath hitched, my body stiffened, I had to regain some ounce of dignity. And all of this because he turned his screen away. What is he hiding? That was the critical question; the underlying cause to these severe, physiological responses. He’s speaking to her, and he doesn’t want me to know! I was convinced.

I couldn’t hold back the eruption: the tremors, the tears, the inability to articulate. I crumbled, and he threw his arms around me, startled by the sudden outburst. I had to calm myself before words arrived. He waited patiently, although petrified. When I was finally able to form a complete sentence, and push my ego far enough aside to expose my vulnerability, he pressed further into my body. His warmth soothed me, but not as deeply as his words.

Turns out he had not been speaking to her. He told me I could look at the conversations any time I wanted. He turned the phone because he was worried the light is what woke me. He was dumbfounded and hurt by my accusations. He reassured me that betrayal would never be on his agenda, and that jeopardizing our love is not something he’d ever risk. And somewhere within me I knew this, yet I was so profoundly triggered that all practical thinking disintegrated. But we spoke. We spoke for hours. And he held me, and worked his way back into the place where security and longing resides, and all was well. At least for a little while.

One Month Later

With every forward step I take into my Cuck fantasy, the Universe slams me with an obstacle. As you know from Lexi, My Husband’s Sex Friend, Master J has been interacting with this woman for some time now. The truth is, so have I. We have a three way group chat we all speak to each other on. As well, Master J and I send her naughty images during D/s scenes. I’ve been enjoying it, in fact, it’s been quite thrilling. That is until we decided to invite her to visit us for a weekend in May. It was my idea, as Master J and I have a Dungeon B&B we have enjoyed thoroughly on numerous occasions with one another. I thought, how awesome would it be to go there with another woman?

So, I gave him permission to get the ball rolling, and she’s been planning her travels. And as much as the initial idea had been exciting, slowly by slowly it turned into dread. It all came to an emotional head three days ago as I laid in Master J’s old bedroom at his parents house, when I returned to his hometown to renew my visa.

I called him to say goodnight. He asked how I was doing. He knew that the jealousy had been a shadow, following me around for a little while, but I hadn’t quite expressed how dark it was. Whether it was the distance that made me feel less vulnerable, or the fact that I missed him terribly, the monster ripped out of me; I confessed everything.

I admitted that I felt I could be easily replaced. Not necessarily for love, but that our sexual relationship was becoming redundant as sex was becoming more available to him. I worried that maybe I was no longer exceptional.

All of the dread I’d been repressing since New Year’s Eve flooded violently into my consciousness, and I sobbed relentlessly. He wasn’t there to hold me, but just as he’s done a hundred times before, for a variety of reasons, his words saved me.

“You’re the only person I want to fuck. You’re the only person I want to cuddle with. As terrible as this may sound, what turns me on about Lexi – or any woman for that matter – is that they turn you on. Q, if you wanted all of this to end tomorrow, I’d do so happily. Because without you in all of this, it doesn’t make sense to me. Even more, it just doesn’t work. I love you, like, really fucken love you. I wouldn’t have married someone I felt I could just replace. That’s not me. You have to learn to trust us, me, and even more, yourself. You’re irreplaceable.”

Behind the Mask

His words, one at a time, diluted my fear. And that isn’t to say it won’t resurface as I continue to navigate this unfamiliar terrain, but at least for now – with this temporary, yet authentic clarity – I can keep inching forward with him by my side, understanding his love and reasoning.

It’s easy to pretend this is an easy ride for me. Of course, the pros outweigh the cons; each step forward is a battle against my own baggage and the heteronormative-monogamous-patriarchal messaging I’ve received all of my life. I understand there will be pain due to uncertainty, insecurity; however, I have a partner who is willing to hold my hand through it all, ready to wave the white flag at a moments notice, all so I can explore this road that I believe, to my core, will lead me to my authentic sexual self.

Jealousy is a biproduct of the shit script I’ve been handed as, not only a woman, but a human in this society. I’ve been made to believe my sexuality is limited, my capacity to love is limited, and that this potent and devastating response to potential partners (beyond my relationship) is as natural as my eye colour.

I know this world I’ve built for myself doesn’t fit the desires of everyone; I also know that it isn’t always going to be beautiful. But it’s one hell of an adventure, and it’s worth every experience and every misstep. So, there you have it, the sometimes slow torture I experience as a consequence of this pursuit for deeper connection, deeper pleasure.

Until next time,

Fuck well, friends & remember, the ups and downs don’t just happen in the bedroom.

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Author, Sex Coach, Creator & Writer of Call of the Quean. For more about me, visit page: Meet the Quean.