It was Saturday night and I had nothing to do, so I grabbed a beer and headed for the den and turned on the computer. There were no messages for me, but that seems to be typical these days. I surfed the web for a while looking at my usual news sites, then a couple of favourite blogs, then went to my favourite hookup sites. Some were straight sex, some BDSM, a few very specialized. I’m not into S&M, but a bit of bondage can be arousing, and I like to dominate my partners. Bondage or domination are not ends in themselves for me. If it doesn’t end in getting laid, or at least a good blow job, I’m not interested.

I guess some explanation is called for. My name is John, I’m 38 years old, and at 5’-8” I guess I’m a bit on the short side for a North American guy, and I’m a runner so I have a wiry build. I have dark hair and brown eyes. When I’m not working or running, I like to draw and paint. I’ve tried selling some of my paintings, but so far it doesn’t bring in much money, certainly not enough to live on.

So instead of pursuing my art I work as a freelance graphic designer. I was employed by a large advertising firm until five years ago. We were bought by a larger outfit and I was a victim of the usual post merger reorganization. There was nothing personal or nasty about it, in fact they helped me get started freelance. My old boss passed on quite a few jobs, especially those related to contracts I was already familiar with. It did taper off after a couple of years, and when my boss was transferred to another city it dried up completely, but by then I had other clients and had established enough of a network to bring in a steady stream of work.

Vickie and I married in our mid twenties and decided to hold off on kids until we were established in our careers. She worked for the local paper, but wrote in every spare minute, publishing lots, but not bringing in much money. What she did earn went back in to writing courses and workshops. The night courses weren’t very expensive, but the workshops she attended were full weekend, and sometimes week long residential programs. She said they were designed to allow writers to focus totally on their writing in a creative atmosphere surrounded by other writers.

Once I was earning a reasonable income we decided to buy a house, and the mortgage put us right back into near poverty. That sure wasn’t what we had expected, growing up in middle class families, and it caused a lot of stress. If you had asked either of us we would have told you it was just the economy and the state of American society today, but somehow, deep inside I think we both felt some resentment toward each other for the situation. It wasn’t logical, but it was there.

A year after buying the house Vickie had saved enough for a week long writer’s retreat somewhere in the Adirondacks. There were lots of other things we could have spent the money on, but we had agreed that investing in our careers was our first priority, so she registered and started making plans to go. As soon as the money was spent the roof started leaking. I thought it looked fine when we bought the house, and the inspector we hired before the purchase didn’t see anything wrong, but every roofer we tried said the roof had to be completely redone. I’d have sued the inspector, but he had disappeared completely, leaving a lot of unhappy customers behind, so we borrowed the money and fixed the roof.

At that point our credit was maxed out; the bank wouldn’t have lent us a dollar for a coffee. Then the merger was announced. That had no immediate financial effect, but we knew the axe was hanging over our heads so the stress level became intolerable. We argued about everything and anything.

I was happy when Vickie left for the writer’s retreat; I knew I had a week of peace and quiet with no arguments. I also had blue balls; it had been weeks since we had sex. I hoped the atmosphere would improve after a week apart, but I had an immediate need. I went online and searched porn sites for a while, becoming progressively more aroused. I stumbled on a “hookup” site for married people. I wasn’t going to play around on Vickie, but I read some profiles anyway, getting even more worked up as I fantasized about illicit sex, then a link led me to some BDSM sites. This was something I had never considered before and it was very exciting, probably because it felt so wrong. Eventually I gave in and jerked off, relieving the pressure for the moment.

After that I held off, hoping for a happy reunion when Vickie got home, but I did return to the BDSM site, which led to a bewildering array of alternative lifestyle web sites. I don’t think I was overly sheltered or innocent, but I had a cliché image of BDSM: leather, whips, rope and handcuffs. While that did exist, it was only a small part of what was out there; it wasn’t a homogeneous group, but an array of different specialized interests; Bondage, S&M, Dominance/Submission, and a galaxy of sub-genres and combinations.

I found myself drawn to the D/s sites. In real life I think I am pretty normal, I’m no wimp but I’m not Rambo and I’m not a Casanova. I guess I still had remnants of childhood superhero fantasies, the big dominant male who in the midst of chaos steps up, takes command, and makes everything right. I didn’t act on it, but it became a bit of an escape.

When Vickie returned she didn’t seem angry or combative any more, she was withdrawn and uncommunicative. When I asked about the retreat she told me about some activities, and said she spent a lot of time in isolation writing. I asked about her writing and got a lot of non-committal answers, she seemed preoccupied. Normally I would have let her work through whatever was bothering her until she was ready to talk. Maybe it was the effect of escaping to the D/s sites, or maybe I was just exhausted from months of relationship stress, I decided to confront her.

“Vickie, we need to talk.”

Her eyes turned to me with a worried look, “Why?”

“You know why as well as I do. We have both been stressed out for months, arguing over nothing, and making life miserable for each other. I hoped a week apart, with you focused on your writing and me chilling out would help. Instead you have been sulking since you returned. We can’t go on like this.”

She looked at me with a deep haunted look, like she was in pain, but didn’t say anything.

“Vickie, I love you, and I can’t stand seeing you so unhappy. I know we have a lot of stress in our lives, but we will get through it eventually. We enjoyed ourselves in the past when we had nothing, we need to take a step back from our problems and enjoy the little things, enjoy being together.”

A sad smile flickered across her face for a moment, “I love you too John. I guess I’ve been withdrawn this week because I knew we had to talk, and I’m not sure how to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

“Like you said, we have been unhappy for a long time. Until I went away I was just hanging on, hoping that getting away for a while would help. I spent every minute I wasn’t writing thinking about us. Thinking about what has happened and where we are going.”

“What do you mean, ‘what has happened’ is there something I should know?”

“No, I mean between us, how our lives have progressed, or rather how they haven’t. When we met we had dreams, me about writing, you about pursuing your art. My writing has gone nowhere, and you seem to have forgotten your dream of being an artist as you advanced in the advertising business. Now we live in a house th really belongs to the bank, while we wait for the inevitable restructuring at your job. We were better off when we had nothing.”

“But we have each other Vickie.”

“Do we?”

“What do you mean? Of course we do, we have always been there for each other.”

“That was true at one time, but that time has passed. We need to move on”

My stomach dropped. It felt like somebody had just cut the elevator cables.

“How can you say that Vickie? I love you. You just told me that you love me. We can get through this if we try together.”

“John, did you enjoy your week alone?”

I didn’t want to support her argument, but I couldn’t lie to her, “Yes, it was a nice break. I hoped we would both come back refreshed, with a better outlook and ready to make our life better. What about you?”

“I felt like a huge weight had been taken from my shoulders. I was content when I was writing. I was less happy when I thought about our problems, and I became anxious return home.”

“I felt apprehensive too, but hopeful that we could make a new start.”

“A new start may be possible, but I think we need some time apart.”

“Vickie, no! We can’t work anything out if we aren’t together.”

“I’m sorry John, but I can’t take this anymore. I could see this was necessary before I went away but I couldn’t accept it. Now I see that it is the best for both of us. I know it will hurt, but maybe time on our own will allow us to find ourselves again and then fix our relationship. If not, maybe that is for the best.”

A dark thought crossed my mind, “Vickie, did something happen during your week away? Is there somebody else?”

An unreadable expression crossed her face, “No John, this is about us and nobody else. What happened while I was away was that I finally faced the facts, this isn’t working for us.”

“So do you want a divorce?”

“No ... I don’t know. Not now John. If you want a divorce I will cooperate.”

“Vickie, I don’t want a divorce. I don’t even want to separate, this is your idea. I think we can work this out if we stay together.”

“We need some time on our own John, at least I do. We can talk again after I’ve had some time alone.”

I felt disoriented; my whole world was crumbling as we spoke. Two weeks ago I was only worried about losing my job, now I was losing my wife.

She moved into the spare room, and moved out of the house a week later. I knew she planned to leave that weekend so I went fishing with a friend. When I came back her stuff was gone, along with a few things we had bought together, there was a note on the kitchen table.

Dear John,

I have taken my things and what I hope is a fair share of our common possessions. Try to find that contentment you felt last week while I was away and I will do the same, then we can work on our relationship from a happier start. I’ll let you know when I have a new phone number.

Love,
Vickie

I felt like crying over my loss. I also felt some hope because her note spoke of starting our relationship over, but she never did call.

I heard that she was living on the other side of town, but none of her friends would tell me where she was, or even admit that they had seen her. Much later I heard that she moved in with a guy who had been an instructor at that week long writer’s retreat. Did an affair while she was away trigger the breakup despite what she said, or did she just turn to a friend for support when our relationship was over? I don’t know, and I don’t really care. As they say, it is just water under the bridge now.