Love in the Scene
by Jack Rinella

The idea of love has been on my mind a lot recently. Enough that I thought to write about it, even though doing so poses a challenge that a Milton or Shakespeare might tackle but that leaves me somewhat word-short and mystified.

It's not that I am unfamiliar with either loving or being loved. On the contrary it's an easy admission for me to write that my life has been filled with both activities, even if at times I didn't perceive it that way. After all, some love is tough and demanding, as when my parents loved me enough to make me do my homework. At other times, love doesn't feel like love, since it lacks the romantic aspects of affection, joy, elation, and forgetfulness.

Love, too, comes in many forms and though we often use the same four-letter word to describe it, in reality one form may share only the vaguest of similarities with its kin. Parental love, romantic love, and love of one's country all use the same word but certainly name ideas that differ drastically.

We might, indeed, prefer to call the feeling of love by its other names but often fail to do so. Therefore we use the word to name lust, infatuation, patriotism, devotion, and faith, probably because they all, at one time or another, might share similar emotional effects on the lover. Likewise our vocabulary seldom distinguishes one stage of love from another, so that the love a child of six has for his mom is probably different than that same child will have for his mother when he or she is sixty.

Though love in its different forms is part and parcel of my life, for simplicity's sake, let me reflect on recent BDSM-related loves: the love of my slave, the love of my lover, the love of a close friend, and the love of relative strangers.

When Patrick petitioned me to become my slave, his letter was clear that he was seeking a relationship based on dominance and submission, writing that love might not have much part in our commitment to one another. In the early years of being my slave I would ask him if  he loved me and he routinely replied that he loved being my slave. I am sure that he still does. He didn't, though, admit to loving me.

Sometime near our third year together, I gave a series of workshops at the end of which the attendees challenged me to go home and tell Patrick I loved him. Since I did, I told Patrick so and the word “love” entered our lives.  I can honestly say that nothing changed by using that L word. Over the years that word has become a more frequent part of our vocabulary and, at times, romantic and highly emotional feelings of love have become ever more apparent. What sets us apart is that love, as real and present as it is, remains a secondary basis for our relationship, which is first based on my desire to control and his desire to serve.

Lest you think otherwise, in nearly 13 years our love has grown deeply, quietly, and usually without passion, though there is certainly both passion and deep intimacy in our relationship  as well.

Brian, on the other hand, entered my life with all the bells and whistles of romanticism. I “fell” into love with him after our first date, having been attracted to him by all sorts of wonderful characteristics, especially great looks, a nearly reckless abandon to enjoy life, and his amazing love for me. His love began the night we met and quickly grew into a passionate ardor. Even now more than 18 months into our relationship, he professes his love often and demonstrates it in all sorts of ways: greeting cards, great sex, spontaneous gifts, and by saying “I love you” in multiple phone calls throughout the day. His love reminds me of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's “Let me count the ways.”

The oldest love I share (in a BDSM way) is with Master Lynn. Since meeting in 1992 we have shared several different relationships including Master/slave, landlord/tenant, confidants, and best of friends. We have become long-time companions, looking out for one another, secure in our understanding that having passed the test of time, our love is solid, on-going, and unshakeable, even if it lacks the high-gloss finish of poetry or hot sex.

In contrast there is the new “love” of my current slave applicants: the first has begun to admit to being “enamored” with me; the second blurted out “I love you” in the heat of an intense sadomasochistic scene. It's interesting to note how whips and clothespins can arouse love in the heart of a confirmed pain slut.

Here I use the term love in its flimsiest usage. As of yet, it has no permanence, survived few tests of time, no demands for commitment or surrender, no entanglement of anything more than quickly-aroused feelings. Yet those words belittle the real possibility of what might be.

Though these present seedlings of love are delicate, subject to wilting and a quick death, still grow they may, transforming temselves from feeling to devotion, deep mutual trust, strong bonds, and solid commitment.

In each of the above and varied scenarios, love needs to be tended, nurtured, cultivated. It will change over time, if given the chance and the stuff that transforms acquaintances into long-term lovers. Now there's an interesting term: “lovers.” Though I use it of only one person, doing so ignores that love makes all of us lovers, even as its expression is diverse and its appearance confusing.

It will be, I think, ever thus, since love's expression is always based on wide variations in personality, in time and place, in what can, will, or should be. Love in the context of BDSM is no different than love in the world at large. Just as Patrick, Lynn, Brian, Matt, David, Bobbie, Joel, and my two applicants share unique, love-based relationships with me, so to do the members of my family, my close friends, and those who share my days in other ways.

Embracing the reality of love's diverse expressions is the beginning of recognizing and enjoying the breadth and  depth of love, even if we can't count the ways. Count we need not do, as even the most cursory look at love demonstrates it's inexhaustible power, its infinite accessibility, and the manifold and innumerable ways it lives. Knowing that, there needs be no room for jealously or fear.

As St. Augustine noted, let us “Love and do what we will.”

Have a great week.

You can leave me email at mrjackr@leathermail.com or visit my website at:

http://leatherviews.c.topica.com/maaml8XabK9YwaCIxGEb/

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Copyright 2008 by Jack Rinella, all rights reserved.