And then he was gone

Stewart has finished with me. It was very sudden, but not unexpected.

I knew that once I said I didn’t want to go to clubs and I didn’t want to see other people anymore that this would happen. I knew it and I put it off for months.

I told him and within 10 days he was gone.

To be fair, it wasn’t just about these issues. Our relationship was far from simple. He met someone new (or rekindled or started something with someone from an earlier time, I’m not sure and it doesn’t matter).

But before then, there was bliss. My sun, my moon, was Stewart. We had four months of crazy adventure. We went to a sex club and fucked other people. We had incredible experiences together.

I had the best time of my life with Stewart. It says a lot that the best time of my life was four months with a man I could be my true self with. Kinky, sub, me. We were intrepid sexplorers. We took the emotions that swinging and non-monogamy require and discussed them at length. We fucked and we ate (as above) and we laughed and laughed.

The first time I laid eyes on Stewart I knew I was punching above my weight. Stew is a stunner. Tall and striking, with full lips and excellent cheek bones. Thick hair. Brown eyes that were always clouded by something, I never figured out what.

When I met Stew he made it clear he would never love me and that if I told him I loved him, he’d run a mile. About two months in, I dropped Stewart off at the train station and as he got out of the car, he said, ‘I love you.’ I was so shocked I said it back. I thought it was a slip of the tongue; I took it as a one-off gift.

It wasn’t that. He did love me. It was a selfish and often careless love, but love no less.

Before I met Stewart I had not had passionate sex in years. I’d not cried in years either. I’d not had many orgasms, as I just couldn’t be bothered to masturbate. Stew was the hammer that broke me open. Like this:


With Stew I was a sexual goddess, fucktoy, sub, slave and confidant. He made me a better person by providing experiences that broke bits off me. He gave me confidence. Made me feel sexy and desirable.

We pushed boundaries together – our own and each other’s. We tested D/s relationship dynamics to learn what we liked and didn’t like.

I loved Stew fiercely but held him loosely. I knew he was not and would never be mine. He loved me but was not in love. I always knew our time together would be finite.

But – every Wednesday for four months I drove the 50+ miles to the pretty, rather posh village where Stew lives. I loved the stretch of road that leads to his house, bordered by farmer’s fields, always beautiful in any weather.

I loved parking and walking down the little footpath to the main road. I always hoped I would look up and see Stew coming towards me, to meet me. Of course, this never happened. Stew is just not built that way.

I loved walking up the hill, and then up the stairs to that house. Loved the smell of the porch where the coats hung – comforting and perfumed. I loved coming in and making the coffee.

I loved that every week was entirely different. Stew told me that sex with his ex-wife was ‘samey’ and I prided myself on the fact that fucking me was anything but this. We fucked and sucked and beat and held and pleasured each other beyond anything either of us had ever had before.

We never had a destination, but we certainly took the scenic route.

On the day we finished I went to his house to get the things I’d left there. It was gut wrenching, knowing that this was the last time I would drive along that road, walk up the hill and into that house to this amazing man.

We hugged and cried. Stewart was was wearing his red jumper and I told him I wasn’t leaving without it. He thought I was joking but I wasn’t, and made him take it off and give it to me. Even then, standing there, I breathed deeply from it the scent of Stew. I had mended that jumper and loved the man inside it. That jumper belongs to me.

And so I left that house, down the stairs and down the hill, down the footpath, back up the road. Last time, last time.

That night I slept with the jumper, breathing in the Stew smell. I cried a lot. In the morning it occurred to me that I could hold onto that jumper forever but it would always just be an empty, Stewartless jumper.

So. Stewart has finished with me. I’ll miss him forever and I’ll never be the same. Stew hit my life like a tropical storm, causing huge surface change, some damage and washing away years of pain and emptiness.

My unforgettable, incredible Stew.

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