ok I was gone for six months, and I returned in heartbreak. A relationship more important than words can encompass had become -- after years of attempts -- impossible. I think it was obvious. One friend told me vulnerability was all over me; /ike a scent, I thought, and wondered if Richard could smell it. In worse shape than ever, I saw Richard and laughed with an edge to my voice. I gave him doe-eyed looks, but deflected his interest with doublespeak and icy tones. I wanted him, and I felt the rage returning. I hated and sheltered behind the unclear verbal games we played. Furious and despairing, I refused to chase him, yet I felt him everywhere. North. I had to do something. My identity had somewhat solidified: I was into BDSM. I believed it, I even accepted it, but I couldn't go on feeling like I did. In looking around the Internet, I came upon a directory of Kink Aware Professionals, including therapists who provided their names for people who needed to talk about BDSM but feared judgment. I visited two. One listened to me silently, with a vaguely sorrowful expression; he offered no feedback, and left me wondering why he'd listed his name in the directory. He obviously didn't know what to do with me, and I got the uneasy feeling that I worried him. Naturally, that didn't help at all. Luckily, the other was everything I could have asked for -- open, patient, clearly knowledgeable about BDSM. He looked straight at me and nodded understandingly when I confessed the whole trail of events; he explained how common my experience was; he gave me ideas about where to look for more information, but didn't try to put his own preferences into our talks. "Most people in your situation feel that they've broken a major taboo," he said. "A lot try to get away from BDSM. But I'm not hearing that from you. You want to adjust, not escape." I nodded, and arranged to see him regularly. Still, I don't think I could have put myself together again without two other things. My close fri