THE SON KNOWS

I guess it was bound to happen eventually, but that doesn’t make it any easier:

The Elder One confronted me about my BDSM relationship with Dad, the Collector.

The Collector and I have been going through a rough patch. I left early and came back to my apartment to work in San Francisco. My regulars all wanted to see me again.

The Collector threw a fit and threatened to buy the house I live in.

“Please don’t make me buy real estate in that town, of all places,” he said on the phone.

“Why the hell would you buy this house? To evict me from my apartment?”  I couldn’t believe it!

“So that I have a legal right to be there.”

I hung up on him.

Well, sure enough, the guy flew across the country and dropped by my apartment unannounced.

And get this: he let himself in. Unbeknownst to me, he’d taken my keys out of my purse and made copies of all of them (except the car key. What would he do with a 20-year-old Toyota Camry?).

Here I am, sitting at the computer in underpants and a camisole, watching Game of Thrones re-runs, and a guy lets himself in without knocking and runs up the stairs.

The last time a man let himself into my home was the Surgeon, paying his final house call, and we all know how that worked out.

I freaked out.  I had to freak out!  What would you do, if you were a woman?  Besides being hostage in a Bosnian rape camp or living in Afghanistan, I think home invasion is every woman’s worst nightmare. A guy breaks into your house, and the best thing that’s going to happen to you is being raped.

Well, I freaked out and pulled my gun on him.  Yeah, I’m not proud of it, but can you blame me?  Legally, I could have killed him and gotten away with it. He’s not on the lease! I have every right to kill a home invader!

Abe was chirping and playing with his bell toys on top of the cage and he froze. Birds are sensitive. They feel the emotion in the room. When the Surgeon made his house call, all the birds froze and huddled together, and they didn’t play or vocalize for days afterward.

In the end, I couldn’t do it.  I like to think I’m tough, but I just couldn’t do it.

“Is this it? Are you going to take my life, Margo?”  I had a gun pointed at his head.  It’s only a .32, but it would do the job.  He averted his face, but otherwise he was completely unruffled.

I’m not going to lie: it was completely surreal. I carry a knife and I have a concealed carry permit.  In sessions at work, I have a sun gun that looks exactly like a cell phone.  I’ve never pulled a weapon on anyone in my life, though there’s a handful of bad apple “clients” who would have deserved it.  I’m a prodomme, but I’m not really a violent person.

I lowered the gun and went to lay it down on the coffee table.

“Do I need to unload this? Are you going to take it away from me and shoot me?”

“Of course not. I love you.  I just want to talk,” he said.

Yeah, I just want to talk is exactly what the Surgeon said when he banged my door down. If you just want to talk, you don’t have to say it.

“How did you get in here? I locked the door.”

“I made copies of your keys.”  He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I started crying.  I am not a crier–I cry maybe 10X/year–but this was just too much stress.

He picked me up and carried me to the bedroom.

“I don’t want to have sex,” I said.  Believe me, I was not in a sexy mood.

“Let’s just lie down.”

I am pleased to report that I did not have sex with him after that egregious boundaries violation. He went to a hotel that night. But, yes, we talked.

A few days later, the Elder One gives me a ring on Skype.

“I hear you pulled a gun on Father! I would have paid money to see that! You should have shot the bastard! Shoot him next time!  I’ll take care of you out of my inheritance!”  He was overjoyed.

“I’m not going to kill your dad,” I said.

“Dump his selfish, abusive ass!  What a loser!”

“Your father is not a loser by any objective standard. He wins at everything he does.”

“Well, he lost my mother, he lost his last wife, he’s losing you, and he’s going to lose me once I finish Law School. That is a loser to me.”

Readers, this is where the shit hit the fan:

This boy actually said, “I know that he hits you, and I don’t like it.  I see the bruises because he makes you wear skimpy clothes.”

I just sat there.  I was completely pole-axed.

What I eventually spit out was, “You don’t need to worry about that. Everything that happens between your father and me is consensual.”

“I am not a coward who hits women! How can it be consensual? How can you consent to being abused?”

What am I going to do, readers? I don’t want to give this kid a “birds and the bees” lecture about sadomasochism. My sex life is none of his business and I don’t want to gross him out! At the same time, how can I set his mind at rest?

He went on.  I really wanted to hang up the Skype and claim the internet went down, but that would be disrespectful. The young man had something to say. Maybe it’s my professional educator, but if they’re speaking from the heart, young people deserve a voice, and the Collector says constantly that we are a family. I can never be his Mom, but I can be his friend.

“I hate talking about this. It is awkward. I have heard people having sex. A lot of sex happens at (my boarding school). The noises that I hear coming from his bedroom do not sound like sex.”

What can I say? He’s not WRONG. If I wasn’t into BDSM, I’d think there was something abusive going on, too.  It still made me feel like a freak, and I was humiliated that I’d made that much noise. The boys stay in bedrooms in a separate hallway, and when they visit I try to keep the vocalizations to squeaks.

“Your father and I are sexually compatible. I’m not abused. You don’t have to worry about that,” is all I could think of to say.

“Everyone is bribed or abused.  Call me any time.  I have classes, but I will call you back.”

“Well, thank you. You know I am happy to proofread any of your papers.”  It was an idiotic statement, given that he has the best education money can buy and he’s completely fluent in English, but I wanted to offer something.


8 thoughts on “THE SON KNOWS”

  1. Margo. You ARE being abused. Not because he hits you and you like it, but because of literally everything else. Re-read this entire post as if it were a story being told to you by a friend and try not to be concerned.

    Your boyfriend’s son knows his father is abusive, he sees the way his father treats you, and he sees that you have bruises. Under normal circumstances he’d probably believe you just fine about the consensual BDSM, but he doesn’t, because he knows you’re being abused (and he’s right about that) and that’s exactly the kind of lie an abused woman might tell. Just because he’s wrong about the bruises doesn’t mean he’s wrong about the abuse.

    This is a man who threatens to evict you from your apartment if you leave him and sneakily makes copies of your keys so he can break into your apartment. That’s terrifying. His son is absolutely right.

  2. If I knew the answer to the question of how you should handle all this, I would tell you. But I don’t. One thing struck me though. The son said he heard you pulled a gun on his father. Who told him about that? Why would your boyfriend tell his son about this? Very strange.

    Your relationship with this man has a very high level of emotional violence. This is not the first highly charged conflict you have described in your blog.

    John

    1. He told his son because he weaponized his children against me. when I threatened to leave him. The Younger One Skyped me in tears in the middle of the night saying YOU PULLED A GUN ON FATHER? No, it wasn’t like that. He invaded my house, and I panicked. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.

  3. Dear Miss Margo,

    This is bad. Really bad. So sorry for you. Hope you are OK, but this needs to change. Deep down I think you know but find it hard for some reason. Stockholm syndrome comes to mind. Sorry.

    Very few comments. Likely most readers have grown weary by now. “Again?” “Why can’t she see it’s not about the kids?” Something is holding you back from seeing things for what they are. You are in an abusive, very dangerous relationship that has nothing to do with love or BDSM. It can end only one way and you need to get out of it now!

    The Collector is a psychopath. He doesn’t have a conscience, lacks empathy and has no moral qualms. He is constantly manipulating, violating and pushing your boundaries, every single time worse than the previous one. If the backlash is too severe, he dials it back for a bit, only to try it again later.

    I’m really sorry if I sound harsh or uncaring but I know of no other way to get the message across. I don’t know how you feel, but it must be incredibly hard. What I do know, is that you are in a dark place and whatever you decide, make sure you don’t go it alone. Reach out to those that care about you and talk to them. Just don’t carry this burden all by yourself any longer.

    Above all remember: this is not your fault, you are not to blame. Not at all. Absolutely zero. Remember that. Always!

  4. Over the past two years many readers have left comments on your blog, fearing for your safety and urging you to break up with him. From early on you are afraid of him in a non-kinky, dangerous and unhealthy way. You very well see the kind of man he is, your writing is testimony to that, but when it comes to acting on those conclusions nothing happens.

    This man is an evil predator. I’m hesitant to write about this, given your state of mind. I imagine your are in some kind of shock even if you think you are fine. I’m very much worried about your safety and believe the pro’s outweigh the cons many times, so here it goes:

    You need some perspective. No matter how hard it is, talk to the people that love and care about you. The Mathematician is the first who comes to mind. If you love someone, a year apart means absolutely nothing. In “No One Leaves The Table” you comment: “Heinrich and I aren’t together right now…” That was September 2016. Maybe you are already talking to him, after all, he knows about your blog.

    Think about what makes the Mathematician different from the Collector and why. Get some perspective.

    If you can’t talk to Heinrich, talk to your brother. After all, he is your brother. I can only go by what you write, but let me stress once more, you cannot do this alone. The last two years of your blog are one big cry for help, which is actually very good. Now take the next step. The biggest danger here is you being passive, doing nothing. Reach out to those who care about you, friends you haven’t spoken to in a while, former co-workers perhaps. I do understand your need for privacy, but your safety comes first.

    Simultaneously contact a women’s abuse hotline. I’m sorry, I don’t know what they are called in the USA. You are a longtime victim of domestic violence. What’s happening to you has nothing to do with kink and you know it. Even better, go to one of their locations and talk to someone in person. You may think it’s not that bad, but they deal with this every day and can help you gain a better, more realistic perspective. Tell ‘m as much or as little as you want about your double life, but talk to them. Please.

    These are steps you really need to take. You are in a dangerous situation and need to get out of it. Still, I’m worried you’ve entered a state of apathy. Here’s an idea. Print out all your blog posts of the past two years and think of them as an unpublished novel. Choose whether you are the author’s editor or her teacher and analyse the story, the main characters and how they interact, focusing on why they do what they do, and then advise the author on how to write the next few chapters.

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