When I got home from work last night, the house was empty. I didn’t know what my husband hoped for, I thought he was staying away because he didn’t want to see me. I hurriedly packed my rucksack with enough clothes for four days, then wheeled my bike over to my piano teacher’s (he lives about two minutes walk from me).
We do a lot of talking before the lesson (when he makes a cup of tea); just about life usually, but today I explained (in part) the presence of the bike and bag. He was sorry that things had gone this way. The lesson went well: the part of Moonlight Sonata that I have learnt so far is now sounding decisive and passionate, and I can identify for myself the areas that need work – it is a shame that I won’t be able to practice for a few days.
Midway through the lesson I got a message from my husband: he is ok with me coming home for my tea and that he had been with a friend. I cooked tea (a kiddies meal of chicken nuggets and chips). We don’t talk much, but we do hug before I left.
The hotel is in the centre of the city, almost opposite the main theatre. Inside it’s a warren of corridors. My room is at the front with a bay window and twin beds. Whilst it’s a crowded room, it’s not unpleasant.
I spent the evening reading and messaging friends. The current affair in the eunuch community with journalists is causing quite a stir: it seems that there have been a number of unethical approaches made: cat-fishing on kink and dating sites. Such underhanded methods undermine any hope of trust with our persecuted and embattled – and consequently underground – community. I hope that one day we are approached by somebody who is absolutely transparent and straightforward in their dealings and works with us and for us on their production.
I don’t sleep well. Stress over my marriage, wound up over this journalist thing, the strange bed (not uncomfortable, just strange), the duvet that is at the same time too think and too narrow, the curtains that don’t completely cover the windows, and my body’s favourite stress response at the moment: hot flushes!
I try reading some. I try hypnosis. I don’t get telly – I don’t really know why. I didn’t know what to watch. Maybe tomorrow I will have to risk a sleeper.
On the plus side: a cooked breakfast!
Work is getting tough; not because the job is difficult – what I am working on is deliciously complicated – but because I am starting to feel the pain of my home life. I really want to cry; I can feel the tears there, just behind my eyes, and the tension in my throat.
I’ve started looking for a sex positive/kink aware counsellor to help me. I’ve reached out to one chap (it’s ok, his pronouns are “he/him/his”) after reading his website; I really like him and I hope that he will be good as he sounds!
Why do I want another therapist? My original plan was to find a nice Dom and experiment with my kinks, see how far and how deep they actually go, and talk about and discuss them. I am actually afraid of my “dark fantasies” because a) they could destroy my relationship, and b) they could get me into trouble – not the arrested and locked away kind, but the injury/death kind. My husband suggested that I try therapy first (or instead of); it’s worth it to save my marriage.
Eunuchorn 
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