I land in NY Saturday night, after a long day and night of no sleep, I’m
disheveled, confused, and nervous about my trip here on the East Coast. I’m
taking a big leap and risk financially, but it will pay off if all goes as
planned.
I text him, because my heart told me to. The bonds of our connection
aren’t severed yet.
“I landed safely in NY, with a strange sense of anxiety. Wish me luck.”
He replies quickly which is rare;
“Keep my scarf with you, it will protect you.”
I know this mean he is still with me, his heart hovering around mine.
“I have it in my bondage bag, but it doesn’t smell like bunny sauce
anymore.”
“Well in that case, it will not only protect you, it will bless you,”
he confirms the diligence in his love.
“I hate you.” He professes.
“I know.’ I reply, careful not to say I hate you back.
“I love you. Slut. I miss you.”
I walk these New York streets, just floating in a sea of people; I’m
mostly going unnoticed, because I’m really not trying to stand out. I’m
hallowed by his love, I feel like I can feel everything pass through me. His
heart has burned an imprint inside my carcass. I could cry at any moment, and
sometimes I do.
We text again last night, I send him a video of me dancing in the
Atlantic right after he kissed me good bye and sent me off with his scarf, full
of his sent of Christian Dior. I explain that this is how his scarf lost it’s
scent; it got wet in the ocean.
We text back and forth, he’s in a good mood and so am I. He misses me,
he confesses multiple times. I never say the words back, but I’m sure he knows
I miss him too. My memory goes back to when we were at the bondage ball
together and I flogged him in his pink designer boxers. I want to see them on
him again. I tell him to take a picture of his pink panties and send it to me,
or I’ll train him like my bitch.
He’s very shocked by my request and thinks that I’m calling him gay, and
he doesn’t realize the picture of him in his pink underwear would genuinely
turn me on.
“Dog bitch slut or picture of you in your pink panties. You choose.”
“Dog bitch slut” he decides his fate.
“Come D, come! Now sit! Stay. Now lay down, and lick my….”
“Wow.”
“I’ll give you treats and make you sleep in the dog house. Now go to
bed.” I demand
“K”
“K what? That is not a proper answer.”
“Dog bitch slut it is! Yes Madam Mistress I will go to bed in the dog
house.”
And then somehow we go on a tangent of unicorn sex. I laugh and giggle,
my soul no longer lonely from being in this far away city by myself, in an
apartment that’s not mine. The joy fills my soul and I go to sleep with a smile
on my face.
The last thing he says to me is.
“Haha you are the best and the worst thing that has every happened to
me.”
Sept. 28th, NYC
I awoke to the sound of rain outside, and to images of him playing in my
mind.
We were up late texting last night, me telling him to come and fly to
New York; and he is; next weekend, after I leave. He has work meetings with his
producers, and I myself need to be home for a photo shoot. So we will be just
missing each other by a hair. As much as I would like to spend time with him in
NYC, to capture more movie-scene images of him in my mind, I also like the
thought of him missing me all week long, vying for me as I have vied for him all
this time.
He tends to let romance get ahead of him, his emotions to stear his
ship, and now he’s letting his heart hang in the middle of the room so I can
inspect it’s beating flesh, and how strongly it is beating for me.
“HAHA stop it. Dom is Yours.”
He’s talking about Altars, Chapels, Marriage, all of these silly things
since his ex-girlfriend is still living at home. Perhaps I squash his hope just
a little bit because he can’t say these romantic things to me while he is still
tied to another.
“Why do you miss me,?” I ponder I want to hear it in his words
“WHY??? Because haha is a part of me, haha is my God. You know why I
miss you.”
In his mind he is having images of marrying me at Burning man.. of
course. We probably wouldn’t get married any other place.
“I don’t believe in marriage, the only constant is change. And you
really want to marry? You’ve never said that before.”
“Oh my god. I love you.”
“Dom the submissive. I know our fate. The cards already told me. The
Oracle,” I entertain his idea of our everlasting love.
“Who is the Oracle? Where is she? Oh on your end you get it.”
I can smell him, feel him from 1500 miles away as I write these words.
But I also burst his bubble and tell him,
“How can you tell me these words if
your Dragon is still at home? You can’t be with me until she is out of your
life."
Despite how amazing it has been with him, it has also been very painful,
I have had a lot of ups and downs with him. Many broken pieces of my heart to
recover. Perhaps he was too busy picking up pieces of his last relationship to
deal with his feelings with me.
“Haha why are you doing this?”
He only wants me to be the revealer of love, of beauty, not
painful truth. He doesn’t want me to bring up the difficulty of the situation.
“Because somebody has to tell the truth.”
I tell him good night, that I will dream of him, to wish me goodnight.
“I love you I love you Fuck you I love you.”
With Vigor and Passion I fall asleep and dream of him. Once again he
fills my consciousness, even the spaces in between my waking states.
My heart is open to his love. But inside I am weary and untrusting of his words.
Los Angeles, October 6th
I arrive
back to LA from two weeks of travel and work on the road and I'm worn out, on
the verge of being sick, my heart is trembling and fragile and I need to be
held!
I text
Him when I land at 2:00pm
"Your
kitten landed."
No reply.
"Um...do
you care???"
No reply.
I get
picked up by another boy, and dropped to my beachwood canyon paradise where in
quickly shower off the travel stench and put my tennis shoes and ground myself
in this place that feels new even though it's home. It's still hot and sunny,
4:30 in the afternoon and I hit the road that leads to the dirt trails. I run,
I sweat, and it takes every ounce in my being to try to burn off the raging and pitiful desire for him. I try not to cry, I try not to think of Him. I try to
just stay present, one foot in front of the other and breathe and sweat as I
run up hill
Listening
to my iPod... Trying so hard to forget about Him.
I get
back to my house and decide to go to yoga. Get the keys to my car and start to
drive down the hill. Ever since that fateful day In July when he broke it off
with me the first time, I looked at every black Land Rover and my heart would
skip a beat and look inside to see if, by chance he was in it. It never was.
Except
for today.
I drive
down and on the othe side of the street I see a black Range Rover approaching, and my heart does what it always does; it hope that it's him inside.
I get out
of the car and scare him. I say "what the fuck are you doing here"
and approach
him as if I was fending off a predator. I refuse to be his prey I push and
shove him, a wrestler without a ring, and he runs away and doesn't put up a
fight. He's in a soft mood, I am not. I'd rather fight this man who has stolen
my heart and played it like a disposable instrument. He breaks up with me one
day and then the next texting me that he was an idiot for letting me go. I
think he really does just want to be friends with me, have a non-sexual
relationship... But our hearts are all
Intertwined
and it's too late now to go back to being just friends....
We
wrestle, I growl then I purr and meow meow... He wants me to look him in the
eyes but I can't and he's holding me from behind and I'm avoiding his gaze...
"No." I growl instead.
We end up on the roof of my house, overlooking the canyon underneath the Hollywood sign and we are relaxed. He says he's here, that I can let go finally. I don't believe him, I tell him I don't trust him.
I do one photo set without him there, and it’s brilliant; the lighting, the mood, the setting of the Southern California Trees shining through the windows. He disrupts my flow, my ease, and texts, “What’s the address slut, I’m coming.” I’m elated and full of fear at the same time. He always makes me on edge.
I’m finishing my hair and make up for the second shoot and Carmen arrives right before him. She’s his perfect body ideal; slim waste, big tits, nice little ass and proportionate thighs. I always feel like I have an odd body type for a woman; very boxy upper chest, an A cup which doesn’t’ match my wide hips and thighs. My belly is always pudgy, so I stop dieting and exercising so much cuz I just don’t care anymore to try to be perfect. I’m always going to have a layer of fat even though in my mind I can see my body as this cut, lean and chiseled shape; a six pack…but I cant work out two hours a day to achieve this look.
“Haha, next time you need to shoot with me. If you were shooting with
me, I’d be turning on the shower, making steam and shooting you in that…”
I can tell his mind is going wild, that his mind is dirtier than anyone
else’s here, that his imagination is making up dirty play scenes… I do want to
shoot with him….I believe in his weird fucked-up genius.
I’m playing in the bathroom with Carmen, then he comes in and says “I
have to go, I’m leaving.”
My heart drops. I have this Santa Monica suite rented, a nice serene get
away, a romantic spot to be with your lover who says “he’s yours.” But somehow
he’s still not. Not only does he have to go “home”, but he has to go home to
his life which is waiting for him there, at his house; a seven year
relationship that even though they have parted, she expects him to return home.
He doesn’t have the balls to start a new life with me. My assumption is that he
would be castrated if he stayed in this hotel with me.
“I’m tired, I’m really tired. I want to sleep in my bed,” a lays on a
good excuse to leave me by myself in a $500 a night hotel suite.
My inner little girl sees this big fluffy bed, my endless will that I
extend to him to make him comfortable; why can’t he sleep here, with me? We can
just snuggle, we don’t’ have to play.
I tackle him in the bathroom, and pin him down on the bed. He hates it
when I’m above him it makes him uncomfortable. We start processing on the bed
and I pull him in and tackle him, demanding some kind of answer. He thinks he
can just prance in and out of my life and I feel like a fucking yo-yo that just
has to deal with his ebb and flow. He’s so real in his love, he demands that I
believe that it’s all real, but it’s moments like this that I doubt everything.
I want to destroy it all. I want to not give a fuck even though deep down I do.
He pushes me off of him and picks up the flogger we were shooting with
earlier; he starts flogging my back, through the black corset, he’s hitting me
hard so that the physical pain relieves the emotional pain he’s inflicting. It
stings and I am happy.
“Hit me harder, right here,” I point to my upper back. His sadistic side
is happy to please, and his face changes while he hits me. He’s taking pleasure
in the sting and reaction of my body. I turn over and he hits the front of my
body.
I start to doubt it all, and I tell him of my jealousy that came up
around Carmen, her body and how much he likes her body. He’s upset that I’m
even triggered by my insecurity, by his admiration of fake tits…
“Haha I love you for what really matters. I’ve worshiped you since day
one. You know this. How can you even question this?”
He’s upset. There’s something in his blood that is true, that I can
depend on, that I want to believe, he’s so convincing. His tender side is
shown, but he’s still going home, to her, to his old life that he’s still
responsible for. But he’s never really been a fan of sleeping next to me, in
someone else’s bed. He wouldn’t even sleep next to me at Burningman…he left so
early in the morning. Then later regretted not going with me, getting pictures
with me. There’s a tender part of his soul that loves me, that wants to show
up, and I think there’s a part of his head that is broken, that tells him to go
away, to save me from his insanity. I want it. I want all of it. I want to
fight in the trenches and the light with him. But I can no longer be his
halfway house between his old life and his new potential. I deserve my King,
not a coward who won’t stand up for his Love, for the one he Desires. I’m
fucking over the back and forth. I told him to not fuck with my heart, and he’s
done nothing but.
We step outside to have a cigarette and one last word. It’s just getting
more and more tense between us, something that rarely happens and I really
don’t like.
“I can’t make you do anything that you don’t want to do Dom. Just go!”
He turns, upset and shaken by my words and walks away and doesn’t look
back. I get a phone call and answer it and turn away from him.
After the photographer leaves and I’m all alone in this suite that I
rented which I have all to myself; I’ve never paid for a nicer hotel for
myself, I can’t stand the fact that I will be here alone. I am enraged by I refuse
to submit to the sadness of him. Thankfully my girlfriend shows up with a care
bag of things I need for the next day, and can hold me as I scream bloody
murder. I want to punch things…and I’m laughing because what more can I expect
from this man??? Like really.
She comforts me and tells me of a story about how she did a similar
thing for one of her ex-boyfriend, which went completely unappreciated and
unacknowledged for. She spent the night in tears. I refuse to cry anymore for
this man.
My super hero friend, always dressed in tight black clothes, which hug
her fading model body which always seems to be shrinking, but has the
personality to fill the entire room has the perfect idea to remedy my broken
heart. Just find another man to play with that night and take home to my suite.
She takes me to Harvelle’s on a Sunday night, which a crazy jazz band is
playing, the cigar smoke is thick, the dance floor is full, I’m exhausted, but
open to the possibility of fun.
A big beautiful black man approaches me and smiles. I know what he wants. He puts his hands on my waste and starts dancing low in his groins, slowly kissing my ear. I'm laughing ecstatically on how easy it was to pick up a man at a club. I really don't want to be there, I want to be taken care of. I tell him I'm hungry and to take me to get something to eat.
We go out to the parking lot, he's wearing a nice watch, nice white leather shoes, and unlocks the keys to his Land Rover. Of course he has to drive a land rover. I take a picture of the inside of the car and send it to D and tell him it's not that hard to find a replacement. We drive to Swingers in Santa Monica and we learn about each other; he's from Holland...an investor and coaches soccer. I can't say that the conversation was particularly enlightening, but he has a softness about him that I like. I tell him he can come to my suite in Santa Monica, but I'm not going to fuck him, so don't even try.
We make out a bit, but I keep pushing him off of me, because I really don't want to fuck. I want him to hold me, and that's sometimes my test to see if a man can control his cock enough in a night and meet my emotional needs. He failed. He kept me up all night, pushing his groins into me, and I almost wanted to kick him out. He gets off in the morning by his hand, pressure relieved, and I am too because I really don't know this person enough to be sleeping with him.
Almost a week goes by. He left on Sunday night, it’s now Saturday and I’m
feeling a little more peace around it all. I have a shopping date with a
girlfriend of mine.
