It is not easy for me to be emotionally honest. In fact it is one of the hardest things for me to do. So when I told a friend I needed to have a conversation with them, I knew it would be difficult. My inner pessismist thought it would go horribly wrong, that our friendship would shatter, and that things would never be the same.
So as I took a shower that evening, washing away the sweat from our setup work for the day, I was more than nervous. My stomach was actually in knots.
I got through it by reminding myself how much I worry, how much I often am not right about the percieved ‘bad things’ that will happen in my life. I reminded myself I was talking and spending time with a friend.
I reminded myself this was a good thing, a very good thing. I was owning my shit. I was being honest with my friend and myself.
Clean and ready for the hard talk, I met them at their cabin and we took a walk.
I had a plan all made. I even wrote it down.
The goals of the conversation were to continue our strong friendship, to inform my friend of my current headspace, and to understand why my actions after Fusion were going to change.
The conversation would have three parts: first I would talk about my swirly brain, then I would explain the meat of the issue, and last we would have a question and answer back and forth.
I started talking about my sessions with Doc. I talked about my parents as models for love. I talked about distance and accepting the little that you get because that is what my mind thought love was. That was the background.
As my friend sat on a bench outside of the Dungeon and I paced slightly, I then got to the meat of the issue. I told them how I cared for them as more than a friend, but our interactions were predicated on us being just friends.
And that is when my friend stopped me.
“You’re not just a friend to me.”
They used the example of Google+.
They talked about how people fit into certain circles. Some are acquaintances. Some are friends that they never fuck. Some are friends that they want to get to know more.
And there is this one circle. It’s small. The circle with the people with which they can be emotionally open. The circle of people that, looking at their life in the next five to ten years, they can see those individuals there. I was in that circle.
So no, we were not just friends.
And so my perspective on our conversation changed. Because apparently my friend felt as I did. We were important to each other. Not partners, but important. Special. Not just friends.
With the third portion of my percieved plan thrown out the window, I pushed myself still further. I asked for three things. My friend was able to agree to one, would try to accomplish another, but would have to think on the last.
When I finally sat down, now relaxed, jitters competely gone, our conversation took yet another turn. I found myself talking about the life I wanted. I talked about wanting a Daddy, wanting to be married with children, but also having the freedom to be my slutty kinky self.
And then my friend cracked my brain.
“You know, every time you choose to come to these events, every time you choose to work so many hours so many days in a row, you are choosing a life that is not conducive to finding your Daddy, to starting a family.”
I wanted to argue with my friend, but I didn’t have a good response because part of me knew they were right.
We came back to this very subject on the last day of camp, in our last conversation over breakfast before we parted with a hug, a RopenSpace pin, and a knee in the ass.
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