Why I am his and he is mine…

I came home tonight and things went from pretty fucking great to pretty fucking horrible from 0-60 in roughly 12 parsecs. I fought the urge to scream and throw things and walked out of the room having said one of the most horrible things to the man that I love to the core of my being.

Roughly 10 minutes later he asked me to come back into the room to talk about things. Suddenly I found myself telling him things that I have only told two other people (outside of my therapist) ever. I cried uncontrollably as the words poured out of my mouth before I could think to stop them.

Then he said something that made me laugh. A deep soulful belly laugh; as I hugged him. He asked me to cuddle with him and I just let it go. I sobbed uncontrollably as he held me and ran his fingers through my hair and rubbed my back. I told him about almost being raped (vaginally) and about how I was raped orally. Realizing that as I told him about how I responded that I had only ever told one other person that story and we laughed about how I thwarted any continuation of the rape escalating.

I cried some more and I wept over the person that these horrible atrocities have left me as a person. Then he told me he loved me and assured me that none of these things changed how he felt for me, but that they allowed him to have a better understanding of my nuances. He told me everything I needed to hear, and simply held me as the tears slowly stopped flowing.

This. This is why I call him Daddy. This. This is why he is the man that I want to marry. This. This is why he is the person that I will to my damndest to spend the rest of my life with, as my primary, my best friend and my lover.