Entering the Chamber of Bondage, Domination, and Sadomasochism

 I will try to write this story as truthfully and honorably as possible, but to be quite honest I will reveal parts of my psyche that I like to keep hidden; the little girl parts, the weak parts, my secret parts.

But I will do my best to reveal the unexposed areas of my psychology, the layers of womanly tender confessions so that you may know yourself better. That is what a Dakini is; she reveals Truth, and sometimes the truth is not pretty. A Dark Witch will conceal the truth, manipulate the truth, hide the truth and only show you parts of herself that she wants you to know; she doesn’t’ want you to know that she’s suffering and will manipulate you for her happiness. She and would prefer that you only see the good side of her face while she backhands you. I do not wish to conceal my inner and most tender parts. I wish to open and reveal them to you.

 Fear gawked at my weakness, with tears in my eyes, I peered at my new Master. He was a blur of Caucasian skin, I did not know him well, and he was to be my new  Master, only for the next couple of hours. “I” am not used to giving COMPLETE power and control over to another person. Yeah sure I’ve played with sensual domination, being tied up, being spanked, getting welts. But this master wanted me to be his slave, for me to loose my identity, to be stripped bare of who I thought I was.

We light the candles, still talking to each other as L and J, him being easeful but his excitement growing as he prepares his tools that he needs for the session. We worked out a few boundaries before our meeting; no blood, no bodily fluids, no sex. Seems simple enough right?

He tells me to go in the bathroom and put on a simple yet ugly T-Shirt and yoga pants and I come out in them, trying to maintain my pride being in this less than flattering or kinky attire. That’s what’s so interesting about this play; you can set up scenarios and enter them any way you choose; you are only limited by your imagination. It is a chance to expand what you think is possible, erotically, psychologically and physically with how much discomfort and pain you are willing to endure for your Dominant. Usually the Dominant takes pleasure in inflicting pain; it gives them power and control; it triggers a setting in the brain that gets you aroused with that power, and usually the submissive gets turned on by giving over power and control, entering into what we call “sub space” and their only purpose is to please their master.

Now let's explore the meaning of pain. Pain is a psychological or physiological response to exterior stimuli. when we endure pain, we are proving to our soul that we can transcend the confines and limits to our body. Truly when we are pushed to painful limits, we have a chance to commune with the other side. Native American Sundance ritual is an extreme example of this. As a prayer, the natives would sing and dance around a fire for 4-5 days with no food or water. Then they are hung by hooks through their skin and hung on a tree. They are said to cross over, and commune with Spirit. I believe that BDSM has the capabilities to gently nudge us to those edges so that we learn that our Soul is indestructible, even though our bodies are mortal.

Suffering, on the other hand is a CHOICE, it is the reaction or judgement that we place on the PAIN; ie this pain is BAD. I don't want to ENDURE the pain. I curse the pain. THEN pain turns into human suffering, when the human mind responds to the pain or sadness. Suffering is a rejection of pain.

During this BDSM experience as a sub I also endured much sadness. I cried through the entire session, which is evidence of my humanity and compassion towards myself and others. It's shows the fragility of it all; of how soft our hearts are.

Inherent in most BDSM sessions is some amount of pain, maybe sadness, and suffering if we choose to reject this pain. It is important to establish basic guidelines in a session which will get intense. The BDSM community will often say that the Submissive is actually in control, steering the scene a bit to their likes and dislikes, and to their comfort levels. The Dominant’s role is to push the boundary but not cross it by establishing a safe word. In this case I had “Yellow” which meant back off a bit on the pain levels, and “Red” which meant that the play would immediately stop, and that I have reached my limit. My Master J intended to get me to say both.

Now doing a BDSM scene with someone you just met requires a high level of trust. I don’t really know my Master's background, what kind of Dominant he is, his style, level of expertise, etc. But he got me on “I give an hour of aftercare with a loving deep tissue massage.” So whatever pain I did endure would be met with a tender caress with his hands until I am settled back into my body.

Fair enough, RIGHT!? I couldn't have been more wrong. 

We start by sitting on the bed together, knee-to-knee, cross-legged, hands at the heart and gazing into each other’s eyes. We’re connecting; he’s gazing into me. I had just had a beer and was feeling the effects of the alcohol; point noted, alcohol for me does not desensitize me; it actually made me feel more transparent and vulnerable. I was beginning to feel unsure about what was going to happen.

“I can sense a lot of blocks in you, L, Right here,” he states simply with no compassion, with his hand touching the space between my throat and heart. I have worked with this Granthi in Yoga, which is my main blockage in practice. Perhaps my emotions get stuck here and don’t have a chance to move completely out of my body.

“Perhaps you can unblock me,” I say not knowing how true that was going to be.

The thing about deep, concentrated session work is that anything can arise; pain, pleasure, trauma, spiritual experiences, etc. You just never know how deep down the rabbit hole you’re going to go.

J tells me to stand up. I do. He’s standing square in front of me.

“Tell me what you know of being a slave.”

“To obey, to serve,” I reply coyly.

And here it comes my first blow. He SLAPS me HARD across the face. I see his hand hurling through space to make contact with the side of my head, and my face moves what feels like a foot to the side. I have been slapped and been very much turned on by it in the past. But this slap had a different motive behind it; he was establishing his power, and taking mine away.

“You know nothing if I don’t tell you what you know. You have nothing unless I give it to you. You are nothing unless I make something from you.”

He says these words with power as he RIPS my shirt off, literally (adding extra shock effect), and removes my pants. I am naked. I have nothing. I know nothing. I am nothing, except in relationship to serving my Master. Oh SHIT. My worst fear; I love my freedom. Now I don’t have any.

“Bend over.”

Again, he winds up his hand and delivers a HARD blow to the ass. It stings, but not only with pain, but from the relinquishing of my power over to this person.

Tears literally rise to my face because I am helpless. I am nothing. I am just a little girl, weak and small. I let out a scream from the pain.

“Stand back up.”

Now I have to show him my tears, look him square in the face. I cannot believe I am breaking this soon into the session. IT’s all going to be downhill from here, we are just getting started. I already want my freedom back, I want my mother, I want a teddy bear, I want anything that will console this feeling of powerlessness. After saying a few words to me, he has me bend back over the table. I do as I’m told.

He smacks me just as hard a few more times. I’m sure my ass is bright red. I squeal with each blow.

“Now lay face down on the table,” he commands

“Yes Master.” I reply probably somewhat meekly.

He begins to tie up my right ankle, tightly, and bends my knee back so it’s almost touching my ass. I am fascinated by the rope-work as it is a beautiful art form, and I also hate being bound. I am not objecting now. My right hand is tied down. Now my left ankle is tied, and knee bent back so my feet are in the air facing the ceiling. He spanks me some more. I scream and begin to tremble and cry. I can let the tears flow freely because I’m face down and he can’t see my pitiful face.

He spanks me some more, with different tools. I scream in my tears, the vocal release for me is the only way to endure the pain. It has to come out somehow. I yell “Yellow” and he backs off. And then come the Ice packs. I’m uncomfortable, bound, afraid, and almost unable to breathe because of the snot in my nose, and he applies freezing cold ice packs to my bum. At first it feels kind of soothing to my red cheeks, then I squirm and shiver, bound, crying, uncomfortable, no power, no control. I ‘m just a meek little slave here for his enjoyment.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he applies more ice packs to my body, and I can’t explain why this was so extreme for me. Perhaps it was because I already felt helpless. The concept of "SLAVERY" began to sink into my psyche. I began to have human compassion for humans that were trapped in this reality, that only knew themselves as a SLAVE to a MASTER. Fear is not a good way to describe this feeling, it was more like deep sadness and impending doom. Slavery crushes the soul.  Now I knew what it felt like to really BE a slave. And this is temporary “pretend” enslavement. I have safe- word which will release me from these restrictions. And I know I am going to use it, but I am waiting until I cannot possible endure any more of this torture. My pussy isn’t wet. I’m not turned on. I’m not in a physically submissive state, although psychologically I’m completely broken open.

Now come the ice packs to the back of the knees, underneath the armpits, and a huge one on my belly. I scream and shake and quiver and name my “Yellow.” He removes the packs, spanks my ass  some more. But he wants it to be more exposed, and moves my position to an even more awkward one where I’m on my knees on the table, and my hands are underneath me and tied in a very odd and  pride-compromising way (I don’t like being ungraceful), and my butt is very much in the air.

He starts to play with my anus. Honestly I can barely feel it I’m in so much shock from my state of mind. I don’t really care what he’s doing back there, oh wait yes I do. He fully penetrates me with his finger and inserts a hook and ties the hook up to my collar. He yanks on the rope. It’s not painful but humiliating. I wish I could emulate my noises for you. He’s a total Sadist delighting in this torture of my soul.

“AHAWHWHWUAIWHAWHWHEAHAHA” In a sexy, crying, screaming way is the only way I can describe my submissive cries to him. Perhaps I am crying out so he will have more mercy on me, so he knows the effect of his tactics, so he knows not to go much further. Perhaps so that he gets satisfaction over it so he’ll do less. He perseveres onward with his plan, not relenting, moving forward.

At some point he removes the hook and inserts his finger. Okay…finger okay…not really pleasurable again, I can’t really feel pleasure in this broken state. I can’t feel any erotic energy. He touches my pussy a bit as well….I’m totally sexually numb. My body is still quivering and squirming and desiring to be free of this bound. Pain, spanking….ice packs. And then I felt his cock. OH WAIT A MINUTE. I didn’t agree to his cock being near me. “No penetration” was part of the deal. Why did it feel like his cock was in my ASS!??

“Are you having fun?” He asks, more from his human form than his Master form.

“No Master.” ERGGG I had to be honest, I really wasn’t.

I’m crying and through my tears, he proceeds a bit more, and “RED” comes out of my mouth.

“What was that?”

“RED MASTER, RED” I can barely say the words I’m so humiliated, snot dropping out my nose, my eyes deformed from the amount of tears that I cried. I hate being a helpless weak little girl. HATE IT. I hate giving over my freedom. I couldn’t take any more. And there’s no way any cock is going inside me in any way if I can’t take pleasure from it. NOPE.

He relinquished, and knew that RED meant OUT. Game over, we stop play. He begins to untie me, and I slowly begin to relax with each know that he takes out. It probably takes 10 minutes to get me free.  I lay down, humiliated that I was so sensitive, so weak, that I couldn’t take this kind of play. I thought I was tough…but I have very soft skin, like silk, my heart like sweet honey, and I will willingly submit to the right Master. Perhaps this just isn’t the one.

He gets me a tissue and I wipe my nose and grip it as the only soft thing I have in this moment. I want my lover to come and cuddle me. That’s all I can think of.

I had left my lover’s arms just hours before, I his warm and genuinely caring embrace to experience this cold and harsh environment. And now I would have to call him and ask him to come hold and console his naughty kitten.

J finishes his work as promised with a lovely massage. He’s disappointed that he can’t do the front side, which he says is much easier to endure with heat on the front. Ingenious technique, but I cannot psychologically endure anymore.

“I’m not really sure what happened to me” Are the only words that I can find after the experience. I mean I know what happened, but I have no words in this moment. My ego doesn’t want to be perceived as weak for not being able to go on with the rest of the session. And I would if there was some element of Eroticism, of warmth, if my pussy was getting wet. But it wasn’t, it was too afraid to open.

BDSM play with a person is a love-play in some way; their energy transfers through the tool they are using. Their past imprints of reality, whether positive or negative will transfer through their session. If they are scared in some way, it will show. If they are coming from a deep and loving warm compassionate heart space, it will transfer in the type of session they lead. Everything can come into play in a scene. If they are innately a healer, they will heal you. And likewise if they are cold, perhaps never earned the respect of their father, or perhaps your female Domme was sexually abused growing up and hates men. All this will show in the way they hold their session. Obviously there’s a degree to which they have healed from these experiences. The fascinating factor with BDSM is it gives stage for us to explore and live out the deeper parts of our psychology, fantasies, and role play. Past experiences, and deep-seated emotions will get triggered, as sexuality is linked to our root and second chakra which has to do with family and the subconscious; that which we are not aware of in our day-to-day life.

I had not been in touch with my inner hurt little girl for many years; not to that degree. I felt like I was 5, tiny; I didn’t know anything, so impressionable, so sensitive, so easy to cry, and so innocent.  Slavery is frightening, limiting to the soul. Pain is pain, and suffering, my soul crying out in the judgement of what I was enduring was also real. And now I'm able to look back on this as just another sexual adventure under my repertoire. Oh and I'm not about to willingly submit to such a stern master again: ) To each their own.

Mescal and Chocolate

Monday, New Year’s Eve

My pussy is an uncontrollable machine. Sometimes it has all the working parts except the steam to make this train pull a thousand tons up hill.

Somehow my pussy is ready to burn this fuel, and he walked into my door at just the perfect time.

We met on New Year’s Eve. He made my date jelous. My date said he was flirting with me, and I was flirting back. I thought I was just having an honest conversation with this new Gypsy soul. I couldn’t determine who he was or where he came from.

We met briefly in the kitchen

“Como te llama?” I asked in Spanish, having just came from Mexico, literally just hours before.

“Noah.” He replied, barely taking notice of me as he dug into the snacks on the table, and filliing his cup with libations.

He found me out by the fire pit an hour later. I was about to leave the party then stopped in front of the warmth of the fire. I didn’t know that he was going to be providing me with so much heat days later.

This longhaired, dark skinned man sat down next to me and we blabbed about Sanskrit and the rhythm and intonation in which you would sing a mantra.  We spoke of India and traveling. It really wasn’t important what we said, it was more important that he got my phone number and he used it later on in the week.

My date, Michael and I were now not on good terms. He was jealous, or offended that I ignored him in the light of my new crush, or whatever he was. Michael still managed to suck up his pride, take me home and give me some of the best sex we’ve had. Teasing, spanking, licking in the most divinely perfect way. Not giving me all of his cock all at once; just putting the tip in, holding it still while I writhe all over it. He turned me into a goddess in heat, a Kundalini Tigress, surrendering to his powerful wand. I will never forget that night with him. Despite the mishap, we persevered to make powerful love.

Thursday

Noah texted me, and asked what I wanted him to bring over to my house. We were having a date night after meeting on New Year’s, and I was excited of ths new prospect. I replied with a phone call instead of a text, wanting to remember the sound of his voice. His accent is more apparent over the phone.  It doesn’t come across so strong in person, perhaps because it fits with the rest of him so well.

“Well I did just come from Mexico, so bring some Mescal. And Dark chocolate.”

“Oh you drink Mescal? That says a lot about you. I only drink Mescal with one other friend of mine. And the dark chocolate goes without saying.” He says in a sexy voice, obviously he is used to this game of crawling into women’s beds. Gypsies probably have survived this long by the art of seducing women with nice warm beds in the wintertime.

He arrived an hour late, but with “top shelf” Mescal  (I don’t even know what that is), and a block of European dark chocolate that was so dense we needed a knife to cut through it. I was in my roommate’s bedroom finishing reading her my previous blog about my most recent BDSM session, the one that I received, aka I was a sub. Just giving him a few ideas to peak his interest perhaps.

We make our way into my bedroom. He fills two small glasses with ice and lemon, and a few shots of the Mescal. We warm up on my bed with the drinks, a few bites of chocolate and a much needed ass massage. I had just thrown my back out two days prior due to a rear-end whiplash accident.

Nakedness comes too soon, but things have to move quickly when your new-found lover is leaving town the next day. There’s not really time to waste, and being shy or reserved doesn’t always work in the woman’s favor. I’m here to flip the game a bit; I’m just as much of a player as he is, I like getting cock as much as he likes scoring pussy. As long as the rules of the game are spelled out clearly, I don’t feel like I’m being played. I’m not playing him. We have a mutual need and desire that we can both fulfill for each other.

His dark, strong, & nimble hands take their time, not rushing towards the wet spot in between my legs just because I’m naked.  He slowly works the coconut oil into my skin, taking care around my sacrum, which I just threw out in a car accident.

After relaxing face down into my bed for so long, I turn around, somewhat suddenly, ready to attack. I’m not sure how it started, us kissing, rolling around, his hands in my pussy. My vulva feels like a mouth, ready to feed on him. It wants to chew him up, to digest this fire inside, but the more he touches me the hotter it gets inside. It felt like glowing embers, but so hot my inner temperature grew icey. His fingers played me like a bass, then my treble, and when he touched my clit, my body played in harmony with his.

“I want to be inside of you, you’ve got my cock so hard.”

I take pride and satisfaction in those words.

My pussy is like Pavlov’s dog when a man unwraps a rubber. I quiver and shake in anticipation. What could be perceived as a buzz kill of mounting the cock with a condom is now a buzz thrill. I know I am going to get it, and get it good I do.

The rhythm of him is most noteworthy, other than the undeniable fiery chemistry him and I have; he did me strong and steady, my body to the side, him jamming with my g-spot with the rounded tip of his cock, banging and banging and head banging that note. He rocked out inside of me. My face is contorting, my throat making sounds I don’t usually make because the pleasure is so intense I can’t make a pretty sound. They are more like squeals and chirps and half-screams because the other half gets stuck in my throat. My hands grip the sheets as I take this heavy pounding; but it’s not the usual heavy, it’s more eloquent, perhaps more practiced; he’s not just pounding me with velocity alone, it is with skilled precision and a build up of Gypsy Chi that is churning my butter. Yes that is the perfect metaphor. It felt like he was churning my juices into the perfect consistency of butter.  Very very hot butter.

My gypsy lover holds it in for me for quite some time. I think he comes pretty soon knowing that I’m close to my edge.

We make love again in the morning. If it feels this good, I’m going to be begging for it every time I see him, and will never get enough. This time he works his hands deeper into my pussy until I come, uncontrollably on this musician’s fingers.

The mescal and chocolate did their job. We giggle and smile gazing into each other’s eyes; in satisfaction and peace.

New Love.... Allowing the Heart to Move and Flow

He picked me up from work last night, late, at 10pm when I was stranded because I locked myself in a parking garage. He’s sweet, he’s full of light and insightful offerings. He’s a wild and dangerous animal too. He "shows up", he answers his calls when I need him too. There’s no sticky manipulation. There’s no ‘goo goo gaga’ feeling…he’s just real, deep, genuine and true.

We get to my house and cuddle on the couch as I eat a midnight snack. I sink into his strong chest and arms and his heart is radiating around me, I feel safe and loved. I haven’t felt this radiant heart love feeling since the last dude face I don’t want to mention right now.

We go up to my bedroom and he averts his eyes so I can slip into some lingerie and surprise him….I choose a little lacey black underwear and a black lace nighty that cuts off right under my butt cheeks…

I model it for him before jumping into bed, a bed that we have slept together in before. But tonight was different, it was deep, connective, emotional, heart-felt. He felt my tenderness, and my vulnerability, and my heart’s calling for Love. And my heart’s mourning for lost love…and he just holds me and fills me up… I think I just want to cuddle, to keep it safe, I don’t know if my pussy is up to opening to him tonight. But he found his way in…through the blissful sinking into one another, it felt as though our energy bodies became linked, and then we were just in this seamless flow together…like a love scene form the movies, our bodies mimicking the entwinement of our tongues, we only stop for air to look into each other’s eyes.

He doesn’t use a nickname for me, he calls me by my real name, which beckons forth my full power, he’s really asking for all me to come into presence.

“Lauren, I want to make Love to you Tonight.”

“I know.” And I did know. I could feel his heart’s asking to melt into mine, that this was different than fucking, that we wanted to enter all of me, feel all of me, that he could encompass that.

He warmed my pussy up with seductive caresses, touches, holds, licking the edges of my underwear. My body is electrocuted with energy, I’m rejoicing in my yes to connect with this man that so playfully loves me, my body, my pussy, my soul. We’ve had galactic sex in the past, but we haven’t quite melded our hearts together. My heart was especially open, and his was radiating. He could feel me melting beneath him. He straps on a rubber, and lingers at my entrance. My favorite thing about sex is rubbing cock on the outside of my pussy, the tease, right at the entrance, not quite inside of me, asking for my pussy to open. You could make me come with just the desire for his cock. He pulsates here longer than usual, really waiting for my invitation for him to enter me. Then he makes his moves….the tip pushes in. I close my eyes in exuberant pleasure; it feels like a rainbow is penetrating my body, filling me up, flashing my soul with his. We meld together…. he just rides this sweet edge of my quivering pussy, filling me to the brim, rocking side my side as if we were on a canoe, just rocking the boat gently. I could come at any moment….and so could he….

He pulls out for a break because the energy it too intense. He runs downstairs to empty his bladder. By the time he comes back, I am half asleep, not sure If I can be disturbed by another go at our love session….

“We could just wait until the morning and just build this energy all night long”

He ponders the idea.

“I had to stop earlier because I was about to come.”

“So was I.”

Then my pussy gest a flush of heat and dampness, it beckons his pressure and heat back inside me. He hears the call for him to enter me. He pushes his cock inside me from an awkward side angle, which just makes my pussy squeeze him tightly….

“You feel like a virgin pussy right now, Lauren. You feel like a virgin.”

I laugh because I am so far from a virgin…but the fantasy goes into my head, of the newness that this cock is offering me. Of the weight. Of the inquisition of his pulsating pleasure inside the conquest of my wet flesh. I welcome it; my juices flood.

He pulsates faster now, harder, penetrating my depths to a delicious rhythm. I tell him I’m blacking out with pleasure, that it’s so overwhelming, I can hardly hold on.

He wants me to come with him, he works me to a nice edge and I signal when I’m coming, and he shoots is hot liquid in harmony with the contractions from my orgasm….it’s always a trip for me, the orgasm; the height of it, then the potential low feeling afterwards. I know things, secrets about my body that when done properly, like if a man is properly working my G spot, that I can come for minutes on end. I won’t stop coming….

But we don’t quite get there. He bangs me until the wave is over….and pulls out, we rest in each others arms.

“You’re really beautiful Lauren, you know that. Inside, as much as outside. You’re a beautiful soul.”

Words I needed to hear on a night that I wanted to be with my “true love” who just isn’t able to be in my life. I’m letting go of this feeling of any old attachment to D, these old feelings that don’t serve me anymore.

I welcome this new feeling of love, it’s innocence, it’s sincerity. A new connection has been made…his name is Mikael. 

My Heart Doesn't Know How to Stop Loving

I hadn’t seen him in three weeks. We would make plans, and he would easily break them, he says he was avoiding me to protect me from the chaos of his life. Either way, I hate being toyed with, I hate feeling like a yo-yo jerked around by his moods, by him not being able to make a decision to see me or not, by him telling me only a partial truth.

The last time we saw each other I stole his ring of the Ram off his finger and kept it for weeks. I still have his scarf back from July, which he demanded back when he was drunk, but I wouldn’t give to him. I know when he requests his scarf back,  that it’s really over. 

The last straw was him telling me he was coming to San Francisco to come see me, that he was looking into plane tickets, and then when 8pm Saturday night rolled around, he’s still in LA, driving around with his friends going into another supposed meeting with his producers. I was just so over it….over “the yes, no, maybe so…”

I sent him a loving yet firm text that I was done. I need a man of his word, that informs me when he needs to cancel on me,  at the very least. I wanted to give him space and time to process his break-up of seven years. Fools rush in; and him and I rushed into love back in June. And now we are both suffering the consequence of rushing love while the other relationship was still existent. I thought she would be able to disappear much quicker. But now that it is mid-November, I laughed. I laughed at how much suffering I endured over this time, but also how funny it is when it is all over. It seems so simple now, like no time had past, like the pain never really happened. But I know I am deeply changed by this whole experience. My capacity to love has grown as large as this earth. Sometimes I feel like my heart chakra has expanded exponentially wide and I am somehow able to encompass it all and RADICALLY LOVE…love even when I don’t think it’s right, or he’s right, or what he’s doing is right. Love unconditionally. I continued to love him; despite the fact that I knew I needed to give him space this week.

Well the “space” lasted for a week. Yup that’s about as long as I can last without texting him, without talking to him. I can’t just say, “go away” after all we’ve been through and expect those words to hold. Our magic is too intense, our love runs like a deep mysterious river, the current carrying us forward despite our bodies trying to hold onto the banks and denying this love. I can’t deny it. I also don’t have to perpetuate it. For me right now, it just IS.

 It doesn’t mean that he’s not everywhere in my psyche. I thought I spotted him on my way to yoga on Saturday. I texted him;

“D going to yoga?”

It was just his impersonator. I get out of yoga with the text,

“I want my ring back.”, he requests. I know what it’s like to loose something that becomes a part of your identity.

“I don’t know where it is.” I have had dreams of returning his ring and his scarf, hanging it on his door as a memento of the past. Of giving it all back. As if I could.

I honestly misplaced the ring.

“You slut, you lost it while you were fisting someone in San Francisco, and it’s still in her pussy.”

“I wish.”

A day later I find the ring, and I tell him I will return the ring and the scarf. Let him feel like himself for a while, to wear his own skin without any women around.

So he calls me Sunday night upon my return from San Francisco and says

“I need to speak with you. In person. I need to tell you something.”

It sounded like he needed to go to Catholic Church inside a confessional and admit his sins. His voice was tense and remorseful, like he knew what he had done wrong, that he had hit his wall. That he was done manipulating the world around him. He just wanted peace, quiet, for the storm waters to settle, to simply inhale and exhale without being persecuted.

“I haven’t slept since she left.”

Insomnia has come over his world, and one would think I would be rejoicing in the words that she had FINALLY left. I kind of feel indifferent at the moment. I’m weary of letting him back in my life. I’m somehow happy that he’s suffered along with us, that it finally hit him; The Dragon is Gone, and he has to repair the broken pieces of his life.

I suppose that is the first necessary step in opening a new door is closing the last one. He closed a door. She flew back to Italy. His body is finally feeling the shock of his partner of 7 years no longer being there when he got home, no matter how much they tortured one another. That was his deepest love.  He’s scared to start something with me, mostly because he’s scared he will fuck it up and hurt me. 

So we make plans to see each other on Monday at 1pm for lunch. He shows up at my house at 12:42, 20 minutes early and I am still in my workout clothes about to jump in the shower. I get in the shower, nervous that I haven’t seen him in three weeks and I’m not going to be as polished as I wanted to be for him. He loves my aesthetic, and I can tell when I wear something he doesn’t like.  I tell him to come in when I’m naked and brushing my teeth. I peak my head out the door, he tip toes past me, nervous and coy, and perhaps being respectful of my girl space.

“Hello???” I say wondering if I can see his face. He shows it for a moment, I see his tired eyes, and he keeps walking and sits in my bedroom in his favorite chair. He hasn’t laid in my bed since our last night together on July 4^th.

I come out from the bathroom in a towel, and briefly say hi to him. I want to get closer than he’ll let me, and he pushes me away. He’s still afraid of intimacy, he’s kissed me once since September, and he was drunk and playing games that night.  I have no idea how a man can have so much will power as to resist my embrace, my kiss and my love. As fucked up as this man is, I respect him for not using me sexually through all of this, for not sleeping with me, for not reverting to sexual tactics. Most men meet me and reach their hand down my panties and think somehow that is intimacy. It’s not…I see it as weak and childish. D does not touch my pussy to turn me on. He turns me on with his energy; I’m turned on the second I see him. He turns me on with his words, his mannerisms, his laugh, his eyes, his heartbeat. He makes me wet with his presence. He melts me completely without even touching me. It’s a joyful feeling, but sometimes I think it’s unfair because I don’t think I have the same effect on him.

I enter my bedroom from my shower and get dressed. Facing my closet I drop my towel and he can see my bare ass. I’m not sure if he looks, and if he does, he doesn’t look for very long. He’s not here for that. He’s here to share his heart. I get dressed in tight snakeskin jeans, a bra and a black ruffle shirt. I lay on my bed while he sits in my chair and talks. He talks for an hour, saying everything he needs to say. I know he is truly remorseful because he is not making me speak. He is not asking me what I want like he has in the past. He is spilling it all. At the end of it, he says, “I have told you everything.”

I respond, “No you haven’t.”

“You haven’t told me that you love me.”

“But you know that I love you. I don’t need to say it.”

He’s right, I do know.

Before we leave my bedroom, the moment arrives that I have had so many dreams about; returning his scarf and his ring. It is not a smooth ceremony, but carries much importance.  I take the ring off the scarf and return it to his hand.

“Keep the scarf.”

I was really ready to give it back to this man, but I am happy to keep it; a memento at the very least that our love meant something; and somehow still does. I take the scarf and wrap it around his neck and make sure his pheromones and the smell of his potent cologne returns to the scarf; otherwise it is just a piece of fabric. This tiny piece of cloth that has tortured me since I departed in July for my first trip to New York is still hanging on for dear life like the Velveteen Rabbit who gets tattered from it’s years of use and love. I want to love this scarf until it becomes tattered with my joy; he is much like the Velveteen Rabbit; loved my many, but tortured and lonely on the inside. I wear the scarf to out to lunch.

We go to lunch, I can tell he’s a bit weak and distracted, but we entertain each other so. He sits under a giant bunny advertisement for a new movie in Hollywood. We smile at the synchronicity since I call him bunny.  He picks at his food, his appetite is also gone.

I scarf mine down because I enjoyed a run in the hills this morning; my belly is often ravenous at meal times. We leave and head back up to the hills where my fairy palace lies. We sit in his car for a while, I never want to say good-bye and linger in our conversation. He’s trying to drill into my mind that he cannot give me what I want. He’s telling me to not want anything from him. He’s telling me to kill the fairy tale story of any kind of future with him inside my head. My mind has stopped thinking of a future with him. I had to kill the story in order to see him who he really was in the moment. And I keep just falling deeper and deeper in love with him. His words are saying one thing; don’t invest in me. And his heart is saying the complete opposite. Just the intonations of his lips bound my heart with his. “Don’t” says his lips, but his soul says “Yes.” I am giddy filled with his love, at least for this moment, knowing that it may not last beyond this day.

“If you were me, what would you do? Would you let this all go? What is the wisest thing to do? Am I foolish for loving you?”

“No! It is foolish to not love. That is foolish. It is foolish to kill love. You are not foolish. Keep loving.”

I settle for that as my answer. To keep loving, for my heart doesn’t know how to stop.