It started with a quarrel – Part 2

Saturday morning, 02:45 am.
We hung up the phone, well, actually she threw it down and I can’t blame Princess. Sometimes I can be a raging bull. Like I mentioned before, I am not the prefect guy.
Never pretended to be one.

Just before the click that precedes a broken telephone line I heard her cry. Just some tiny weeping but it was enough to bring reason back. I felt like a huge motherfucking asocial asshole and I felt a deep pain in my heart. Had I gone to far?
I dialed her number once again but she didn’t answer.
Called Princess on her voicemail and told her at the end I was so sorry. Told her I wanted to grow old with her. Told her how much I loved her.
Finally I texted Princess and half an hour later she answered, writing me she still loved me. Deeply. Life had not ended.

I spend the biggest part of Saturday feeling bad sad and depressive. Wishing I could turn back time, take back my anger, my fears and my verbal abuses.
Finally the kid’s stuff doesn’t matter, we are together and we enjoy so much the privacy we have at my place. At the end place isn’t important, time is though.

Princess came by later that evening and it was not more than normal that we felt a little uneasy.
We talked some more, then our arms met and after some hesitation our lips and one kiss later everything that happened the evening before was covered under a quilt of forgiveness.

Princess and I enjoyed some Cava, I introduced her to the Piano Guys, a group I had recently discovered. Served my love smoked salmon and some more Cava.

“Listen,” I told her. “Listen and don’t argue. Okay?”
Princess nodded.
I looked in her eyes, her beautiful eyes. O boy, I can forget everything.
“On Xmas eve you are with you family?”
“Yes.” I heard her swallow ‘Milord’.
“Good. I will be with you.”
“Yes. I will be with you, on you and everybody will see and know I am in your life.”
She remained silent, smiling though. Then she whispered, “that you own me?”
“No Princess, I do no own you, I can only hope you give yourself to me. And as a matter of a fact, 100% will do.”
We laughed and then I told her I wanted to give her my Xmas present.
“Sure?” Princess asked.
“Yes. I want to be with you even when I’m not able or allowed to be physically present.”

Princess took her time unwrapping the gift.
She smiled when she held it in her fingers and she smiled ever more when I took it and fastened it around her neck. A fine silver chain and a silver heart, covered with Zirconium stones.

“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I replied and kissed her. It looks awesome on her and it is a beautiful symbol, stylized, not the traditionally (broken) heart youngsters buy.
I’ll post a picture of it one of these days. Maybe I’ll include a nipple for you to enjoy.

The fight was over but completely forgotten. Everything leaves its traces.

It started with a quarrel – Part 1

Last weekend started with a terrible quarrel and I’m the one who started it. Worse, it was by phone so there was no conciliating body language and when I start it keep on going.

Princess and I have our rucksacks and we have both managed to pack our past without too much loose ends.

The few disputes we have are always during a phone call and always about the same topic and always, I’m sorry to say, my fault. Hell, I never said I was perfect.

To use a euphemism, our main loose ends are what other people would describe as kids.
I have two kids and Princess has three times as much and 99% of them are girls and they come in all sorts, aged between 13 and 22.

Princess and I are both divorced but the father of her kids was killed almost two years ago in a terrible car accident. For her kids this is unfinished business, there are so much issues, they have to coop with the divorce, the death of their father. Ingredients for a novel Dostoyevsky could have written with great panache.

I am aware of their grief, their feelings of being lost. Trust me. I lost my dad 40 years ago and although I know that I’m idolizing this man when I look at one of the few photographs I have of him, it still hurts. Deep down I know I have only good recollections of this man, memories covered with the soft golden patina of time in which everything is healed.

So our quarrels are about the kids.

Princess has the keys to my apartment, she has space in my, no, our bathroom cabinet and in the chest of drawers in our bedroom. She sleeps over one night a week at my place, we end the week, on Sunday, together and because I have Little A. only two weekends a month, we enjoy lots of privacy and we do have more quality time as a couple than most people I know.
That’s okay, no?

Yet sometimes something pinches me viciously in the balls and I get mad. Fuck, I have no idea how the interior of her house looks like. I have never slept in her bed; I have never held her in my arms in front of her fireplace nor have I been able to help her gardening or whatever couples do. Never showered at her place.

50% of her kids are against their mother’s relation and the house they live in is their safe haven and they won’t accept me entering this space.
They don’t know who I am, they have seen me briefly, but their home is something in which their father is still present. I must respect this but boy; sometimes this is so hard as I wish to be a full-time partner for Princess.
To keep up the math 98% of the time I understand this, and I am aware we, Princess and I, are privileged as we have complete privacy at my place. I can whip her and nobody will be alarmed by the sound of leather on bare flesh.
No one will be alarmed when she screams ‘please Milord, hurt me more.’

It comes with a price though and I’m very happy to pay.
I’m alone this Xmas evening, as my presence in her family would only create anger and they would not understand and they would not enjoy a real Xmas.

99% of the time I understand this.

Sometimes I get mad.

I’m so sorry Princess when I hurt you. Emotionally that is.
I love you more that I can express in words or body language.
Sometimes I can be a stupid jerk.

Forgive me, Princess, for these few false dissonants in our relationship.