Tag Archives: submissive

D-Day revisited

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I’ve been thinking back in time to my own D-Day, with my ex.   It was April  2010, close to my birthday.   After all my suspicions about him having an affair, I finally got my answer that night while he slept.  I was going through his computer, it was a simple photograph I had found, but what it represented would blow the lid off his life of duplicity and expose his secret life of sex addiction which began as an adolescent and had spanned decades.

Although I had no concrete proof to that point that he was having an affair, there were signs:

1. Porn – shit tons of it 

He always had loved porn, and encouraged, wait no, forced me to watch it with him. Told me that it would “spice up our sex life” and that if I didn’t said I was being a “wet rag” and “puritanical.”  If I would not watch it he would send me home.   We were only living with each other part-time then, between states, so to be sent home by your Dominant in the world of D/s was crushing.  To me, when he introduced porn, I was already in love with him.  When you are madly in love with a person, you don’t always stand on lofty principle.

To the people who are reading this that  want to say, “you should have just walked out the door”, don’t go there. I will tell you this:  when you are molested and raped as a child, it teaches you several things: that you have no boundaries,  no self-respect, no self-esteem, and no “No.”. Only a healthy person would walk out the door; and that is the important thing to note.

So against my straight-laced self’s judgment,  I began the process of my own journey delving into porn.   I discovered there were different kinds of it.  Soft porn which is the sort of porn that involves most heterosexual couples banging each other missionary style.  Then there is fetish porn.  It encompasses all kinds of things.   Pregnant porn, foot worship, Shibari, needle play, water sports.   He watched lots of BDSM porn:, girls getting beaten up and by their Masters with bondage, whipping, caning, flogging, St. John’s Cross. Chicks getting raped by hooded dudes, some of the more violent porn.  KKK vintage stuff beating up their girls, weird stuff.  Incestual films.  Beastiality.  As well as snuff films.

I saw things folks, that cannot be unseen.

2.  Lots of accounts on various sex sites

I also discovered on his computer about 20  sex sites to which he had active memberships.  When I inquired as to why this was, his answer was that he just never got around to deleting the accounts. When I asked when he would get rid of them of course it was “when I get to it, don’t henpeck.”

3.  Late night phone calls made in the bathroom while I slept

I would wake up to find him sitting on the toilet with his phone in hand and I’d ask him, “what are you doing?”  He’d snap  back at me, “is it OK if I check my voicemail? I have a doctors appointment tomorrow and I just wanted to check the time of my appointment, is that all right with you?.”   To which  I’d say ,”it’s 3:13 AM that’s all,  most people don’t take their phone in the bathroom at 3:13 in the morning.”  To which he’d quip,” I didn’t want to miss it.

He always had an answer for everything, It amazes me how quick he was on his feet. He never missed a beat in coming up with a response. Which is why at the time I wasn’t too accusatory or suspicious  because I know if I was lying, I’d be stumbling and bumbling over my words.  His heartbeat never went over 60 bpm and he look square in my eyes to tell me whatever it was he had to say. He couldn’t possibly be lying and keep a straight face,  right?

4.  The inconsistencies

There were inconsistencies that I would find.   For example he told me one time that he had a throbbing headache and that he was going to lie down that he had been snow-blowing for several hours and that he just need to take a break.  I got this feeling told me that something was off I just didn’t believe his story.  I took the half hour drive down I snuck around the corner of his house to check the snowblower and it was dead cold.   It should’ve been piping hot after four hours of snowblowing and yet it wasn’t.   There were these types of inconsistencies showing up everywhere a lot of the time.

Back to that photo.  He loved keeping pornographic photos of women on his pc.  He said he just loved the female naked body.   Of course in the beginning of our relationship I had felt insecure and even threatened by these images.  Why did he need to look at them? Why wasn’t I enough? He plainly stated it just was the way he was and it was how he’d always been.  He  reassured me that I was beautiful and not to worry about those photographs they were just a two-dimensional image.

On D-Day, the photo I found had never been there on the pc the week before.   I confronted him.  It was a photo of his hand with his Rolex watch, touching some woman’s snatch.   He explained without emotions, that the photo was from years ago.

So I told him then he should have no problem right clicking on said photo and showing me the time stamp that it was indeed from years ago.   He got angry saying that I was being controlling.  I said, “No you’re caught.”  When I insisted he show me , he told me,” get your things and get out, it’s over.”

I began to cry realizing I was right. I didn’t want to be right.   I began to beg him to tell me what happened. Saying I had been so good to him that I deserved answers.   He grew quiet.   Then he softly answered.”you really want to know?”

Yes, I sniffed.

“I went to a gang bang the first summer we were  together but I didn’t participate.  I only went.   I only touched her with a latex glove on my hand.  I was so nervous that I couldn’t even get an erection.”  Like it was somehow less bad that he went and only watched a woman get porked by 10 men on a table in some dark basement but he only took photos and only touched her with a sterile glove? WTF?!!!

I knew he was lying but I asked, “had you ever gone to a gang bang before?

“Yes,” He said ,”but that was before I knew you.  I felt really guilty this time because I was with you.  I thought because I was with you that I wouldn’t do things like this anymore.  But I swear all I did was touch her with a rubber glove.”

I lost it and flipped out and started screaming at him because I knew I was being lied to. I knew all the 13 Bacterial Vaginosis infections I had gotten with him, that I never had my whole life,  had to come from some place.

He asked me to leave.  To continue to pack my things and leave or he would call the police.  So I did.   I called my AA sponsor who came to help me with the boxes.  I left.

Three weeks later he called me.  He wanted to confess more.   That it was a lot more than a gang bang.  Craigslist hookups, swinging, women from AA, women from CVS, prostitutes from the red light district, hookups he got from fuck sites, old girlfriends he never disconnected with, friends with benefits. He even blew a couple of men. WTF? he the devout homophobe was actually bisexual?      I needed to catch by breath.  Oh, he added there was also one time that he paid money to go and watch a woman get fucked by a horse but that was cancelled at the last minute.  Was there anything he hadn’t fucking done?

I was numb.  I think I went into shock except I knew I needed to get to an OB/GYN.  And fast.  There were bits of flora and maybe fauna there were up in my muff that didn’t belong.  No wonder I was getting infections!!!Holy jumped up fear HIV running through my mind at rapid speed.

And yet,  part of me desperately loved him.  Strange to those who have not been through it.  Your brain goes through distinct phases of grief.  Shock is the first.  I could not wrap my head around that any of this was real.  It could not be.  Because I loved him.  I who graduated with honors from college could not have missed shit?!

Cognitive dissonance.  Trying to merge the intellectual part of what you know with the emotional part of you can’t yet grasp.  They are on a seemingly parallel course.

You are not ready for that degree of pain so your mind protects you in its own way.

I did what I thought to be a right course of action.  Like any good empath, caretaker, and codependent  I researched and then signed him up for the local chapter of Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous or SLAA.  He was already in Alcoholics Anonymous AA (as was I) and had 20 years of sobriety. I figured how hard could it be? just plug in the word sex where booze should be and he’ll be all set.

He got a sponsor.   I jumped into S-Anon, the spouses version of the SLAA program, to understand his addiction and help stop my codependency.  I also went to a few SLAA open speaker meetings to hear some first hand accounts of recovery. Never in my wildest imagination did I expect to hear some grandpa talking about how he molested one of his grandchildren and felt really guilty about it.   Hells bells! I had expected to hear just straightforward stories of spouses  cheating on each other?  not some registered sex offender.  It kind of turned my stomach to be honest and yet I felt bad for the guy as he was driven to act out  compulsively but desperately wanted to stop.   Then there was the woman who is having emotional affairs on line behind her husband back. A man who is crying in tears because he couldn’t stop cheating on his wife and didn’t really know why he was doing it because he really loved his wife.   The last man story I heard was a gay man who was having all sorts of sex with all sorts of people.   Ob his lunch break, after work, before work, rest stops. I’m not really sure if he wanted to stop quite yet or what but he recognized that he had a problem.

So he finally got a sponsor in SLAA after going to a few meetings.    So did I.  He got the books, so did I.   But on the way to one of his SLAA meetings one night, he never made it.  He had lied and said he was at a meeting but he was really in a hotel banging someone from who knows where.

It broke something deep in me that has never repaired, thus far.

He later told me he began masturbating at age 13 in between classes in junior high.  He’d go into the bathroom stall and jerk off.   He’d continue this behavior on into high school.  He began sleeping with a married woman who was in her 20’s when he was only 17.   As he got older his sexual behaviors changed more.  As his alcoholism deepened so did his depravity. He laughed and told me that he asked one woman he dated to put a lightbulb inside her honey pot, still attached to the lamp and then turned it on.  He said it lit up her whole tummy.   I asked him why he did that and he said, “to see what it would look like.” I told him I was pretty sure if it broke she could’ve gotten electrocuted and he laughed saying,” well it didn’t break.”

He would go to bars and bring intoxicated women back to his apartment and fuck them after they passed out.   He told me “they got what they deserved.” Then he would steal their panties and they would wake up the next morning wondering where their panties went and he would say to them , “I have no idea I don’t think you had any on.”   Then he would laugh to me and say, “stupid cunts.”   He said by the time he got married he had a huge stash of panties that he kept hidden behind his wife’s dresser.   To this day I believe it was a form of trophies that he was acquiring to relive each of those women and each of those nights.

He was of course not only a sex addict but also a sexual sadist.

I spent a solid year in S-ANON meetings working on no contact with him, learning from the experience , strength,  and hope from others, so that I wouldn’t get sucked back in, should he ever come to hustle me back when he found himself with a hard dick and a thin pool of options.   I chaired meetings, made outreach calls, and shared my story.   I never thought I would hear from him again.  They all told me that I would and that if I didn’t work on myself I’d go right back.  Sex and love are potent ties that can bind.

He came knocking unexpectedly on Valentines Day one year and a half later.   I opened my door and found him standing there with a box of chocolates in hand.   I let him in.   He tried to make a few moves on me but because of all the hard work I did I showed him to the door. His jaw dropped.  I was not the same woman he had left a year and a half before.

Valentine’s Day for those of you who don’t know are days that sex addicts come knocking on their exes doors; as well as other holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, etc  because they can’t find anyone to screw.  Not.. because they miss anyone  as I was later to find out in the meetings attended.   Those holidays are days that sex addicts can’t find anyone to screw because all of their potential  partners are home with their spouses and cannot  “play.”

It is been eight years since my D-Day.  He continues to contact me sporadically.  I will save that for another post.   His last words when we broke up were, “even if you’re with someone else, I will always own you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

For more reading about this period of my life start here:

Of Mice and Monsters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of interest, Alcoholism has a success rate of only 8-12% with AA being the most successful program to treat the disease.  It goes without saying that the other some odd 90% spend their time is in and out of rehabs, actively drinking, incarcerated, or die to the Disease or disease related complications

It has been said that sex addiction is more difficult to treat because involves a biological process as a part of the addiction.   95% of  sex addicts will relapse.  Relapse is a part of recovery as with any addiction.  The statistics for long-term recovery are difficult to find but are said to be lower than 8-12% as with alcohol and drug addicts.


The Manchurian Candidate

 
“Do you realize, Comrade, the implications of the weapon that has been placed at your disposal?……His brain has not only been washed, as they say, it’s been dry-cleaned.”
Doctor Yen Lo
The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
~~
~
It had always been the thrill of the chase where I got my adrenaline rush.  If I could have easily attracted a man, I didn’t want him. It was always that forbidden fruit, the one that was just out of reach was the one I wanted.  The distant, distracted, “hard-to-get”, down right disinterested guy.  Now that was my candidate.  That’s where I used to set my sights.
*
A man’s intellectual complexity always  piques my interest, however it’s the power exchange that kept it.  How boring indeed would it be to color neatly in the lines, follow all the rules.   Ah, but to attempt a coup d’etat! To usurp the power.  And that’s what I always had done.
*
Our brain is the largest sex organ we own.
The mind fuck had been at the center of what drew me to D/s.  It needs to be stated that for my mind to be tapped into, I knew I would need to find a worthy adversary.  A Dominant I surmised, that could perhaps surpass my own intellect and psychological savoir faire.  A Napalm lover that had the power to blow my fucking mind with the possibility of me sustaining damage drew me like a moth to a flame.
*
Back when I was living the lifestyle, I was surrounded by a community of people who believed that BDSM was some kind of higher evolution.  That the lifestyle was a more evolved way of being.  Practically proclaiming to be near the pinnacle of Maslow’s hierarchy of self-actualization for fucks sake.   That through the lifestyle, a “deeper” level of intimacy and trust can be achieved; a richer bonding experience takes place than in a standard “vanilla” relationship can possibly bring to fruition.   Almost sounded cult-y if you weren’t already entrenched in it.
*
It took me a few years on a therapist couch to discover that most of these blokes are re-enacting their own trauma histories, myself included.   Most of the Dominants  I find, have childhoods riddled with victimization of merciless bullying at the hands of their peers and/or sadistic caregivers.  I also found that most Dominants have major control issues which is why they need to be the one in the position of power wielding the crop, cane, flogger, or paddle.  You won’t find them being hog-tied, bound, or otherwise put into a position where they will be made vulnerable.  Submissives paradoxically, are the ones who are more inherently dominant, they are the ones who are more risk takers, able to be bound, caged, suspended, lit on fire, clamped, whipped et cetera.   It’s not about trust, they have brass balls.
*
But knowing all this information is useless.
*
Recently at 3:00 AM on a quiet evening while watching TV, I received an unexpected text on my social media account from my ex-Dom years after he dumped me.   “ How about passing the time by playing a little solitaire?
*
Although his question differed it  activated me in the same way as Raymond Shaw.  Hypnotically,  I began to pinch my nipples hard and tug at them over and over, the way he used to, until my pussy was dripping wet.  When I could bear no more I grabbed my dildo and in doing so  I instantly became his whore once again.  Screaming in pain, screaming in bliss, screaming to no one but the empty space around me as I came, just as he taught me to do.
*
Maybe my brain has been dry cleaned.
*
Where are those dudes who grab you in the middle of the night and throw you in a van to an undisclosed location to de-program you?  Oh yeah, that was the 70’s.  Nowadays you go and talk to a therapist about your feelings and sit with the distress and Linehan your way through life.
*
Shit, nothing says lovin’ like hired goons.   And it sounds so much fucking easier than sitting with this shame.

50 Shades of Switch

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Back 6 years ago when I was a submissive to my Sexual Sadist Narcopath Dom, I remember standing in front of the sink one evening, washing the dishes from dinner.   All of a sudden, I felt his hands from behind around my neck squeezing so hard I couldn’t  breathe, couldn’t speak.  Instinctively, frantically, I tried my best to pry his hands off, to no avail.   My vision began to see little stars in the periphery,  twinkling.  I was terrified that I was going to suffocate in that damned kitchen.  Then without warning he simply let go.

As soon as I could catch my breath I asked, “why in the hell did you do that?!!”

He replied cooly,”to remind you who is in charge.”

I was silently horrified.

Much later that evening, we were watching television in the bedroom and he asked me to get him a drink.  I of course obliged.  Upon my return, I set the drink down and I began massaging his back.

I sat behind him and ran my fingers through his hair and tossled it about the way he loved so much.  I began massaging his traps firmly and then made my way slowly up to his neck.  I let my hands slip around his neck and I began to squeeze as hard as I possibly could, until I could hear him gasp and choke.  He in turn tried to pry my hands off.

I leaned close and whispered in his ear and said , “if you ever put your hands around my neck again like that, I will fucking end you….. do you understand?   I waited another 15 seconds or so.   Until he murmured “Yezz.” Then I let go.

You may think that’s the end of the story but of course not.  I received an ass-whooping so severe as soon as he could get a hold of me, that I couldn’t sit down for a good two days.  But I still smile as I type this because it was ever so worth it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Miss Scarlet, in the Library, getting f***ed with the revolver

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Clue, don’t cha know.   I should get a clue by now.  That fantasy is way better than reality.  Always.

I have been in a relationship with a vanilla man for 5 years now.  I know that it’s “healthy” for me.   But I’d be a liar to say I don’t miss the intensity of what I had living the D/s lifestyle.   I was never in a 24/7 TPE.  Pfffft.  I was too feisty to submit beyond the bedroom.   I have pangs to return to kink from time to time, especially when I read others’ blogs. It brings back memories. Some good, some not.  I still make my pilgrimage back to my blog on alt.com to see what my buddies are up to, even if they don’t see me looking.

I think the most fucked up thing I ever let my Dominant do was to shove his Walther PPK .32 caliber handgun in my pussy.

When I showed Lee the photos of that, she didn’t even blink.  She was more interested in how I felt about sharing this  with her.  Typical. It’s always ‘how do I feel’.  Hell I don’t have feelings much these days, I feel empty.

What’s to feel about it? It’s a photo.  I have many more in the same vein.    She asks the wrong sorts of questions, it seems.  Or maybe I’m the one just not saying  enough.   For instance I never told her that I recently called my former Dominant.

Two steps forward and ten-thousand light years back……least that’s how it feels tonight.

Everyone knows Miss Scarlet was a whore and everyone knows Professor Plum was doing her.


Of Mice and Monsters V

One of the first rules that I learned, was that I was always to leave the room when he logged onto his computer. Even though I knew of his penchant for sadism, I knew that it must hold secrets.

One night he fell asleep and had forgotten to log off his computer. Being the risk-taker that I am, I decided to poke around in all his photos while he slept. He loved photos. Loved porn. He especially loved pics of naked women in compromising positions. In particular, fetish photography. It always bothered me and made me feel insecure. I wondered why I wasn’t enough for him. Why he needed to look at thousands of photos of women to feel happy, but I felt happy with only him. It made me feel like I was less than, ugly, and unworthy all the time.

What I found that night left me shellshocked. It was in a folder titled “furniture .” In it, were some photos of various pieces of furniture, but there was also another folder titled “house.” In that, there were about ten photos of a home inside and exterior as well as another folder called “birds.” It went on this way such that there were many embedded folders perhaps twenty deep. At the core folder I found an unlabeled folder containing photos of a woman who had sustained severe trauma to her body. Wide circular hematomas across her abdomen and kidney area maybe 6-9 inches in diameter. Dark purple bruising on her thighs and buttocks. Most bruises were bright purple , others on her body were blue. The man’s hand next to the woman’s body in some of the photos was sporting a watch which I immediately recognized as my boyfriends. I knew this was his handiwork. What I didn’t know was whether this woman was deceased.

I heard him stirring in bed and calling my name and all I had time to do was to minimize the screen on the pc and run back to bed.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Sorry you got caught or sorry for what you found.”

I thought.

“I’m scared at what I found on your computer.”

“What scared you.”

“The woman with all the bruises.”

“Ahhhhhhhh.”

“Is she dead?”

“No.”

Everything that happened, she wanted to happen. It was all consensual.

What exactly happened?

She asked me to close fist punch her. She was coming out of a very painful divorce and was in a lot of emotional pain. She wanted to experiment and try something like this. To take away her emotional pain.

I don’t believe that someone would want something like that. She could have gotten internal injuries with where you hit her. Whether she wanted it or not you could have been dealing with a homocide.

I can assure you I went back and checked on her many times. Would you like me me to call her? I can tell you that she is very much alive.

“No.”

Once again, I knew that whomever he would dig up on a phone line it wasn’t necessarily going to be the woman in the photos. My mind raced,’Who would WANT to be close fist punched like that over their spleen and liver and kidneys?’

Nothing added up.

Yet, I continued to stay with him. Partly it was major denial….. because it was too hard to wrap my head around that he could have done it.  The majority of the time he was funny, gentle, kind, witty etc.  Partly it was fear…..because I was scared that if he was indeed dangerous and if I left maybe he would hurt me for leaving. But mainly for the obvious reason that no one wants to see. When you love someone, you want to believe that after so many years in with this person, that they  love you back.   That it couldn’t have been all fake.  And because he’s not doing that monstrous thing that he did to that lady in the photos to me.

Then comes the horrific afterthought,  “yet.”

~~~~~~~Part 5/10

Of Mice and Monsters VI


Good Girl

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I don’t care what you have ever seen or read about Fifty Shades of Grey,  it’s all bullshit.  At the outset, all I want is to please and want to do what he says and all that; I guess it IS like that.    And I suppose in the beginning maybe I would’ve eaten a piece of dog-shit or something for him.

But this was 3 years in.   And the lashings with his cane and whip or hand or paddle had grown kind of old .    And the formality of saying “yes, Daddy” had worn me thin.

One particular night, he had bragged he wanted to make me bark like a dog.

One of his fucked-up whims I guess.

Like any good girl I told him to fuck off  that I wasn’t going to  bark like any dog .   He insisted and dragged me to the bed and said,” then I will make you.”

I quipped ,”no matter how many times you take the cane to me, or the flogger, or the paddle,   you will not make me bark like a dog. It’s just not going to happen. You will not break me.”

The proverbial gauntlet had been thrown and I knew it.  But I was confident that I would be the victor.  That he would tire before I.

He threw down lash after lash.  Each time stopping long enough to pause and ask, “are you going to bark now?”

With each blow I tried to deal with the pain by biting into the comforter hard, as he bore down into my flesh.  Now, some submissives are masochists but I am not.  Some go to a dissociative place and leave their body, I did not.  I just bit down and braced for it.

I was already bruised from his blows and felt it but didn’t want him to win.  I hate losing.  I despise weakness.   At the next go round, I’d grown angry.  I asked, “If our roles were reversed I wonder how many lashings you could take? Oh that’s right you would have pussied out by now.”

Then he hit me harder and atop of the bruises he had just inflicted.  Dirty….dirty…. underhanded bastard I thought.

I knew in that moment he would win.

He leaned in and asked for the final time, “are you ready to bark yet?

Woof.”  I said quietly. 

He said, “say it louder.

SMACK!!!!! 

WOOF!” I yelled.

That’s my good girl, ” he replied.

Initially I wanted to be him that day, the one with all the power; the one wielding the implements.   But then I realized that I had power of a different sort.  That this sexual sadist craved me.  I was his canvas and he needed to mainline me.  By me pushing his buttons and challenging him, I created how this entire night went.

Good girl indeed.


Butterfly

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I’ve got a new man in my life, “B”.

He’s different from my ex,  the sadist that captured my heart (and still does) and drew me to him like a moth to a flame.

B seems so nice and kind.  He possesses a temperate demeanor.  He continues to dote on me which I am NOT used to.  He listens when I speak.  NOT used to that either.

He buys me small gifts,  takes me out to dinner, lavishes me with affection and attention.  NOT handling that well AT all.  can’t.  Makes me feel like I will end up”owing” him somehow.   I don’t like to “owe” men shit.

****

All of this frightens me and makes me recoil inside, outside I keep up appearances and maintain my usual pleasant demeanor.

****

I feel great trepidation.  You see, men historically have kept hidden agendas with me.  There is always a “quid pro quo” thing at play.   There are always strings attached.  Sexual strings.  And I am ever wondering what B wants from me.  What price I will have to pay? What will I have to “do” in the end?  Is it real?  Is this just another illusion, mirage? another wolf in sheep’s clothing?  It’s like I am flying in a plane with faulty radar that is ill-equipped at detecting incoming missiles.   I went over B’s house and found a home-made sadistic bondage device in his basement right next to his nautilus equipment….yet he says, that he doesn’t feel the need to do BDSM things with me.   I saw his bag of tricks.  The usual stock any Dominant carries.  Basic shit:  ball gags, suspension stuff, crops, floggers, rope, chains, et cetera.

*****

I’ve done BDSM and kink.  I find it more and more difficult not to want to re-engage with him on that level sexually.  There’s this incredible passion and chemistry we have.  But what he didn’t know, is that I am NOT a submissive.   I listed that on my alt.com profile for years, because that was partly true.  There wasn’t a box that could even define what I am.  Switch, no domme/dominatrix? No.  Oh no,  I am his equal and a worthy adversary at that.      I think he thinks, that I am going to kneel before him and whatever.  Pffft.  don’t think so.   He best pray he doesn’t engage with me.   He will get the surprise of his life.  It may well be the end of me and B.    He has major control issues like all dominant’s do.  So do I.  There’s only room for one to drive this ship and it aint gonna be him LOL.

*****

Once upon a time, long ago, I was a butterfly.

In my last relationship with my ex , he tore off part of my wing, so he could keep me in his glass case and look at me anytime he wanted.   Sure it hurt, the sting of his crop and cane, his flogger, his teeth on my flesh.   All the profane things he did.  But I got used to it, because I truly believed that if I did all that, he would love me in the end.   The pain was also lessened too, because I loved him and I loved how he looked at me, how I felt like I was the center of his universe.    Time passed though, and eventually,  he saw something shiny and forgot I was in that case.  Over time, I began to wither.   Then one day he opened the jar and threw me on the grass.  My wing although injured, functioned enough for me to make it off that lawn.

*****

To be with B I feel I’ve let go of how I really am.  I keep it all inside.  He doesn’t know the authentic me.   I am just going through the motions.  Performing perfunctory actions of life as I must because I am so fucking depressed.  Allowing him to shape and mold me into whatever he wants me to become.  Just yesterday he came over and bought me shampoo and conditioner because he felt that I deserve “the best.”  I felt insulted.  “fuck you” I thought to myself, “my hair isn’t good enough for you.”   but that’s not what came out.  “thanks, thanks so much B.”  I feel choked, smothered, suffocated at times.   I feel like a trained pet for his amusement and if I slip up with the script, if I deviate a fucking millimeter, all bets are off.  Oh yeah, and he wants me to call him Daddy.   And the shit kicker is that like a well-trained chimp, I do.

*****

Falling from grace with my shrink and having her see me as…………feeling so ashamed around her.    I can’t tolerate it.  I fucking hate that feeling of burning shame.    Then also, feeling that at any given moment B is about to throw me away if I don’t do things according to his specs; people wonder why I want to run back to my ex LOL.  Sure he’s a sadist asshole, but a predictable asshole.

*****

Step right up and throw your coins down folks and she’ll dance for you…….she’ll dance the night away~


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