Sunday, May 3, 2015

Translation

I love you, I say.
I know, he replies.

Translation: I love you, too.

I miss you, he says.
I understand, he replies.

Translation: I know.
Translation: So do I.
Translation: I miss you, too.
Translation: I love you.

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Beneath the carapace

He thinks a lot of himself.
Or so he says.
He wants me to know that he thinks a lot of himself.

Such a mammoth ego.
A mammoth ego needing so much support.
Wanting constant massaging,
like his lovely cock,
hungry for attention
from hand and mouth and more
to keep it smartly hard.

Such vulnerability.
Such beautiful vulnerability.
Does he know that's something I love about him?

He tries to hide it.

And now.
As we sort things out.
It took me ever so long to see.
He had to say it nearly straight out.

He needs to save face.

He does know he triggered it.
He knows the beast escaped.
He knows he didn't protect me.

But what he focuses on is what I did to him, how I left without a word, how I tossed away 7 years (actually 6 and a half) because of half an hour (seemed more like an hour), how I waffled about whether it was over or not...

Because.
Because he knows what he did.
He knows the effect it had on me.

But he needs to feel - to pretend - that he was the one who was wronged. Like when he has trouble cumming because of too much to drink, and he says it will be all my fault if he can't cum even though he knows - and I know - that it's not my fault at all. Sometimes, after, he has even said that, reassured me, that he knows it wasn't my fault but he needs to act like it was.

So I'm being good and doing as he says and accepting that he has doubts. And he has always had doubts, it has always been hard to fully believe that I do love him, do want to fully give myself over to him, even though I do sometimes fight it and run scared because really, given issues I've always had with authority even as I've so badly needed someone to take control, is it any surprise that some sense of rebellion remains?

In fact, he's got a plan that seems to be working. He's wise for us to ease back in. And what he so badly needs is to feel that he's back in control.

Which is also why he won't let me masturbate.

I love it that he won't let me masturbate.
Just as I love how sweetly he stroked me
as I even more sweetly sucked on his cock.



Sunday, March 8, 2015

Sexual healing

There were tears in his eyes.
No other words were needed.
And were probably best left unsaid.

Friday, March 6, 2015

Seeking solutions



Tantrums, tears, negotiations.
The tantrums weren't mine.
You can guess about the tears.
Negotiations? Or something like.
He always said he doesn't negotiate.
Meanwhile, as offerings, two poems.
Blue snow beneath a bright full moon.
Beyond that -
who the hell knows.
I need some sleep.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Outcome uncertain

The writing team is hanging out in the break room, awaiting instructions from the show runner, who is contemplating alternate directions for the series

Tune in tomorrow.
Meanwhile, you might enjoy some reruns.

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Monday, March 2, 2015

A moment of weakness

Well, it was more than a moment.
It was all day.
I was coming apart.

Damn, I was coming apart. I hurt so much inside, I couldn't imagine not belonging to this man who is truly extraordinary despite all his faults and weaknesses. It got worse and worse all day until finally I decided that I didn't care.

I knew that if I were smart and responsible and self-respecting I would stay the hell away from him but I didn't care. You know the song. Love has no pride. But it wasn't just a matter of love.

So I sent him the following:
Subject: I can't do it, Sir. I can't walk away.

I tried, Sir.
I really tried.
I tried to do the smart thing.
The safe thing.
And I just can't.
Because, Sir.
Precisely because - this is not a game.
It would be so much easier if it were. I could say sorry, I don't want to play with you anymore. I'll find someone else to play with.
But it isn't that, Sir. It's never been that. Not merely because you set that down as a ground rule. But because it is the truth. For me as well as for you, it is the truth.
Even if, Sir, you never see me again, never talk to me again, never acknowledge this message, I will still belong to you. Always. It's an immutable fact.
I went to discuss it with the Wise Woman. A sign on the cave said:

Closed Until Further Notice
But I knew what she would say, Sir.
And I tried.
Oh, how I tried.
But I couldn't stay away,

I'm sorry, Sir, for going all silent on you. I was upset and scared and in pain (an internal injury to my hip - muscle, ligament, nerve, some such thing) and you had said you didn't want to talk about what happened and that I couldn't send you my reactions. So all I wanted was to escape. To save myself.
But I can't stop belonging to you.
I tried to run away from home, Daddy.
But the buses stopped running.
And I forgot to bring food.
Please, Daddy.
Please let me come home.
Yes.
I know.
Pathetic.
On the other hand, part of my job had been to feed his ego.
Consider this one last attempt.

He responded:
It's too late.

And you're better off without me.


And by that, he freed me.
For which I am grateful.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

A time to cry

Today we reunited.
In my dream, we reunited.

This morning... the details are fuzzy... we were together, in bed, talking some, I don't remember... it was such a relief, I felt so whole...

I cried in the shower.
Today, I am crying.
Where he was there is only emptiness and pain.

I'm working very hard to remember other times... to remember that this really was the right decision... to remember that he himself knew he couldn't always protect me from the beast. To remember that to say "the beast" is to dangerously separate what is a part of HIM. A part he does not want to give up even if he could. Because he thrives on the thrill.

But I loved him.
I love him still, beneath the anger and the fear and...
the disappointment.

I think back to after... when he was done... when he had cum... when he sat back against the mounded pillow but this time without me cuddled against him. Without the softness. There was a thick wall between us. I think back to how he said he wasn't going to talk about it. To how he said he wouldn't apologize.

I knew he knew he ought to apologize.
I knew he wouldn't LET himself apologize.
It's his credo.
His own wall.
His declaration of superiority.

I wonder if he apologizes to the people in his other life.

The radio.
I had to turn off the radio.

They were speaking of searching for our missing half. Aristophanes in Plato's Symposium explaining that humans were once round, two halves together, male and male, female and female, and male and female. We pissed off Zeus, trying to scale Mount Olympus, and he blasted us in half. But we feel the emptiness, we ache for our missing part, we search to be reunited so we can once again and always feel whole.

He made me feel whole.
He taught me that I'm beautiful.
He demanded my worship but treasured me in exchange.

I cried in the shower.

~ ~ ~

I remind myself to be strong.
I remind myself that he's not going to change.
Even if he could, he never will change.
He doesn't want to change.
And that's his choice.

He has mellowed, though. I've seen that over time. He has mellowed. Mellowed, softened, matured. Or perhaps ... no. I won't speculate. I won't project onto him my own interpretations.

We both lost.

I miss him dreadfully.

The bruises on my body will be gone long before the pain of the loss.

~ ~ ~

I'm on Facebook, you know.
Or maybe you don't know.
As Oatmealgirl Author.

I have "friends" there, but no one comments unless I post a comment in response to someone else's post. Those of you who feel comfortable with having such a friend among your other friends are welcome to come by. Me, I keep a separate account under my legal name.

A separate account.
A separate name.
A separate life.

I may be strong.
But I don't feel whole.
No one knew me the way he did.
No one.
Ever.

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Fleeing the Shapeshifter


I always said that I'd never let go.
I know he's a sadist.
I wouldn't let go.
But he growled and he mauled me,
Sinking his jaws deep in my shoulder
And my father is dying
And I screamed and I sobbed
And I got him to cum
And when it was over
My heart turned to stone
And the beast
Did not
Change back into a loving man.

~ ~ ~ ~

Illustration for Tam Lin from the album Child Ballads by Anaïs Mitchell & Jefferson Hamer. Their version of this shapeshifter ballad has been my favorite since I first heard it.



It's over

The beast was in heat and came to sate his hunger, following a long and welcome absence. This was always a possibility. There were no assurances otherwise. In fact, there were repeated warnings that I should never assume I was safe.

The beast is not welcome here.

But meals are prix fixe.
The chef sets the menu.
There are no substitutions.
It's all or nothing.

And so
reluctantly
I'm walking away.

I feel strong.
Proud of myself.
Strong and proud and beautiful and sad.

And I know I'll never find another you.