Returning Bunny's Scarf

          

      My immune system has been weakened this entire month, partly because of what I’m fighting off in Mexico, and partly because I’m consciously trying to cut HIM out of my heart; I feel healthy, vitality, strength and inspiration when I think of him warmly. I feel connected to a higher source, love, The Infinite light of expansion. Our souls are oddly linked in all of this, yet his body cannot tend to my womanly needs, his phone cannot call me, nor does he say the right words. He always says just enough to not kill our connection entirely. And this will always be the game. He will never be mine. Ever. And I don’t want to be his little side-show toy he can pick up and put down whenever he pleases. Every cell in my body is trying to break free of this pointless pattern. I literally have to kick him out of my heart, my body, my cellular memory. 

I call him one last time, because I’m sad, almost immobilized by my trauma, by pushing him out of my cellular memory of him. If he can’t be mine I certainly can’t make room for a new Man until he is out of my body and psyche. So that process of lost hope, of giving up and letting go has begun.

“I’m sad,” I say in my voice which barely has enough energy to emote the words from my mouth.

“Why are you sad?” he asks me.

“Because I miss you,” I reply honestly.

“That’s understandable, what else?”

I may have come up with some other bullshit excuse, but mainly I’m sad because he is no longer in my life, nor does he have the capacity to be.

We small talk for a while, he’s in a decent mood, but his words fly over and under my heart, and I don’t’ really care to understand his words in this moment. Eventually we get to weekend talk, and he asks me if I know of anything going on this weekend.

“Do you know of any parties?” he asks a seemingly harmless question in his Croatian accent.

My heart drops, because even though I know of a party and would love to play with him there, the end result is always the same. He comes close only to leave, he flirts only to keep the tie going, but he never comes quite close enough. I am always dissatisfied, and disappointed by the lack of his desire to have me. He would just be a disruption in my night, a distraction to being in my center and just being myself.

“Yes I know of a party.”

“Where is it?”

“My roommate is having a birthday party at her new house. But I can’t tell you where that is because you’re not coming anyway.” I reply in a dry voice. If I invited him I would spend the entire night in expectation that he arrives, and he never will. I ‘m tired of playing this game. I don’t want to provide him social entertainment for a night.

He’s pissed, “It’s just a fucking party hAhA.”

Well to me it’s not just a party. It’s another opportunity for him to hurt me, to measure up short, to dance in and out of my life, but never does he stay. Or kiss me, or really touch me.

The conversation goes downhill from here. He thinks I’m being territorial, or that I’m not inviting him because my friends don’t like him. I’m not inviting him over the sheer fact of self-preservation. I can no longer be destroyed by his insanity if I don’t play the game anymore.

We hang up the phone in an awkward moment. I ask him plainly if  he will ever be mine. We have a text war that ends in harsh words, and him asking me to never contact him again.

I send one last text that shows a picture of two kittens cuddling, and that I will always remember him in this way; soft, pure, full of love and light, just like the first cuddle we had where he filled me with his soul and he never let me go. I will remember his love like precious kitten and bunny love.

Hours go by and my body feels freed. Freed of this dynamic, this constant push and pull.

Then a text comes in. from him.

“I will never be yours. Sorry. Love you. D.”

Huh. Words that frighten and delight me, that feed my need to be connected with him even though he’s not right for me; addicted to a drug that will never satisfy, that always fades out. He will never be mine. I’ll focus on that. He will never be mine. Never.

I reply, “I can see that, feel that and know and completely understand that you will never be mine. And I unconditionally love you for who you ARE and who you ARE NOT. “

We joke back and forth for a while. He tells me he hates me, that I’m a slut. Which is his way of saying “ I see you, accept all of you, and I love you.” Those are our code words for love. I tell him I’m not a slut,  that I’m becoming a nun and moving to Mexico so I can be God’s lover.

“You are like my sister. Fuck. Why? Why? I hate you.”

I make a few other jokes. It’s much more effective on him than being upset at him. Lightheartedness is always the way back into him.

And then the honesty breaks through.

“fuck haha. I really don’t know what is happening inside my head… I think I’m loosing all prospects of being human. Every day I see my soul dispiriting…fuck it’s so fucked up.”

“Sorry you’re so fucked. Wish I could UN-FUCK you.”

The conversation ends. But there is one last piece of him remaining with me; his scarf that he gave to me when he dropped me off at the airport last July; my first New York trip, of which before I left he said that we had “crossed the line.” That this wasn’t ordinary love. This was something different. We almost had a relationship, and then it was destroyed. The scarf was filled with his lovely scent and I wore it every day in New York to feel close to HIM. Little did I know that when I returned it would all be over.

I somehow kept this piece of plaid and beige fabric all of these months. And I don’t want it anymore. I want to return it. I don’t want any remnants of him in my soul, my psyche, my heart. If I am really to let him go I have to let go of any chance of hope that someday he will change and love me the way that I want to be loved.

I must return this scarf, and calling and planning with him is pointless, so I make a plan to stop by his house and tie it to something on his entrance where he will see it.

Last night I made a trip to West Hollywood to meet a friend for dinner. Then I killed some more time and grabbed a beer at a bar. My heart was racing when I ordered the beer because on some level I KNEW that I would see him, and I needed some alcohol to soothe the edge of my heart; to brave him. I finish my beer and my conversation with a Comedian who has always been obsessed about cock size and made a documentary about his cock enlargement operation. We laugh, but he is much too drunk and annoying, and I walk to my car, knowing I am making one last trip to HIS house, to return any last hope, to let him go, to end this crazy story.

I drive, my mind focusing on my end goal, James Blake playing on my stereo “Limit to your Love” and I drive to his street, the entrance to Runyon Canyon and park my car, my heart racing, body vibrating. I sit in my car and perfume up the scarf. If I’m going to return it, I still secretly want to seduce him back to me, for him to smell it and think of me. I walk out of my car, my mind in a confused blur as to where to put this thing. I think I decided I was going to tie it to his garage door, and UP DRIVES HIS BLACK LAND ROVER, HE OPENS THE GARAGE AND I FOLLOW HIM IN.  What the fuck? What are the chances…and yet somehow I knew. I always know with him.

He skids into the garage and slams on the breaks. Someone is in his parking spot and he’s upset. He gets out of the car, he still doesn’t see my 5 foot 8 frame standing to the side. I’m not sure how  it’s possible to miss a woman staring at you in your garage, but hey he’s always been extremely self absorbed. He speaks with his neighbor for a while, they are working out details of some kind. I wait patiently, yet perturbed that I don’t have him alone; there is a disruption to our closure and I won’t get his full attention.

Finally he turns around and I speak because he still doesn’t recognize me in my sideways golfer hat and glasses.

“I’ve come to return something to you.”

He walks towards me and I place the scarf around his neck. It doesn’t have as much meaning to him as it does to me. He almost laughs at my gesture of closure.

“Haha I gave this to you as a gift, not as a promise of my love.”

“That’s fine. I don’t want it anymore, I want you to have it back.”

“You can try to say good-bye to me, but it’s not about who you can live with. It’s more about Who you can’t live without.” He’s trying to hook me back in, to reel me into this dynamic. To me it’s about treating those you care about with dignity and respect, and to be in integrity with your words. A breach of integrity kills love to me.

“I don’t share the same philosophy.” I can’t give him ANYTHING, or invest my soul into not being able to live without him.

“It’s not about philosophy.” He replied passionately, like he has stated the law of gravity or something.

“You have other things of mine.” As if I’m going to go run and get them and leave them on his doorstep.

“Sorry they’re in storage.” He’s trying to create another reason as to why we would meet up again. I don’t really want to create that opportunity.

We hug and say goodbye. He holds me for as long as I want, but it’s still somewhat awkward. His man smell rubs off on me and carries me all the way home.

“I guess I’ll see you at Burningman, or on the dance floor. But I don’t know which one!” He’s jokingly buoyant, light. This does not affect him emotionally like it does me.

And I walk away. I walk away from the man in black, the man in which every part of him is a seduction to my soul; his posture, his tight Euro-Tribal pants, his eyes, his demeanor, his words, even his forearms make me weak in the knees.

I drive home to Venice, in a daze, just focusing on my music, on my power, on this release. How we’ve always been fun and playful even in the hard times. Perhaps we will always be friends, just not now.

Exiting the 1- highways to Venice, I am filled with words of satiracle heart-break. I text him.

“Apparently we can live without each other.”

“Love you and…???” He’s not buying into my rejection.

“And nothing. The end.” I reply dryly.

“No…and

 I will always love You.”

His words have his soul behind them and they dance inside my phone, carry the vibration of his Heart. They are words that I feel for a moment, but I don’t allow myself to get so lost in them.

“If you love it set it free.”

Sitting on my Virgin America airplane ride on my third work trip to New York. I always enjoy it when people ask me why I’m going to New York. I always reply with the simple words,

“To work.”

And then they ask “what do you do?

“I’m a dominatrix.” I’ve started to embrace this term more and more.

Yes I am going to New York to get paid. To get paid for my powers to deeply seduce men into submission. I have never had so much fun in my life as I’ve had in this work.

  

ONE BEDROOM BROWNSTONE PARLOR FLOOR"

sat. Feb 9 NYC 11:37pm

I spent Thursday night FRANTICALLY BROWSING AIR BNB FOR THE PERFECT APARTMENT FOR MY WEEK long STAY in New york city. I PUT A BID ON ONE studio unit IN TIMES SQUARE, AND AFTER I HIT “COMPLETE TRANSACTION FOR $1300” I Cringed IN DISSAPOINTMENT. I DON’T WANT TO STAY IN TIMES SQUARE. I WANT TO STAY IN TY’S APARTMENT IN UNION SQUARE. THE ROCKER’S ABODE, THE ONE BEDROOM BROWNSTONE WITH STYLE AND CLASS with 14 FOOT CEILINGS. I SEE HIS avatar PICTURE POSTED, AND HE’S HOT. FOR SOME unknown REASON I AM MEANT TO MEET THIS MAN BEHIND THE PHOTO.

WE EXCHANGE EMAILS BACK AND FORTH, AND HE REALLY WANTS ME TO take his apartment. Little did I know is that Ty wanted me to STAY WITH HIM. NOT IN HIS PLACE BUT WITH HIM. I EXPLAIN MY SITUATION, THAT I NEED the apartment to myself. He thinks that we can share his one bedroom apartment for one week! UHHH Not what I had in mind. I CANCELled MY TIME’S SQUARE BOOKING, A VERY CONVENIENT AND CHEAP DEAL AT THAT! I RISK EVERYTHING FOR BEAUTY…FOR Intrigue, FOR ADVENTURE, FOR DESIRE. IT’S 2AM THURSDAY NIGHT AND I GO TO BED THINKING IVE NAILED THE PLACE. NOT SO.

I AWoKE AT 10AM TO A TEXT FROM TY

“I NEED MY PLACE FOR THE WEEK, BUT YOU CAN STAY WITH ME.”

“I DON’T THINK THAT’S GOING TO WORK LOVE. I DON’T WANT TO INCONVENIENCE YOU.”

THE CONVERSATION GETS A LITTLE FLIRTY, AND HE EXPRESSES INTERESST IN MY WORK.

“DO YOU DO MASSAGE?”

“SOMETHING LIKE THAT” I REPLY

“SENSUAL? J/K”

“ACTUALLY….”

“WILL YOU COME OVER AND GIVE ME A MASSAGE? I’M A HAIR STYLIST and I’LL CUT YOUR HAIR.”

I EXPLAIN THE WORTH OF MY WORK AND TELL HIM HE’LL HAVE TO GIVE ME EXTENSIONS FOR THE TRADE. I AM AN EXPERT AT WHAT I DO, AND GIVE MY ALL TO FRIENDS IN NEED. I TELL HIM I GIFT, OR TRADE WITH FRIENDS.

HE SENDS A FEW PICTURES of himself…HE’S MODEL HOT, has A CHIZZELD physique and a dark TAN, LONG HAIR AND A SLIGHTLY AGING FACE. I’M SURE MEN LIKE HIM WHO HAVE GOTTEN THROUGH LIFE ON THEIR BODY START TO FEEL A LITTLE DEPRESED WHEN THEIR FACE AGES, and THEIR SEXUAL STAMINA decreases. HE RECENTLY BROKE UP WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND OF THREE YEARS due to a lack of desire among other things. NONETHELESS he’s WORTH THE CAB RIDE ACROSS TOWN TO THE BROWNSTONE PARLOR.

It’s nearing 8pm and I’m packing up to see ty.  Sex toys, check. Rope, bondage gear, check. Yoga clothes for the next day, check. Absolute exhaustion, check!

I had just SEEn TWO CLIENTS THAT DAY WHICH BOOKED RIGHT AFTER MY New York (MARRIED) LOVER LEFT. HIS NAME IS STEVE. HE CAME TO MY APARTMENT TO BRING ME LUNCH AND GET ME OFF. DEFINTELY HAD ME HIGH FOR THE remainder of my DAY. THEN THE ‘CALLS’ CAME IN. I SEDUCED MY WAY THROUGH THE SESSIONS…NOW I’M USING MEN’S BELTS TO RESTRAIN THEM AND TEASE THEM…MORE ON THAT LATER…

SO AFTER HOURS OF MIND-BLOWING SEDUCTION WITH MY NY CLIENTELE, AND A FIVE HOUR ENERGY SHoT (I’M ABOSLUTELY EXAHUSTED, ON THE VERGE OF COLLAPSE,) I MUSTER UP THE ENERGY TO GO DOWNTOWN TO MY AIR BNB parlor CONNECTION. Booted and coated up, I walk into the snowstorm that is having news casters shit their panties.

I GET OUT OF THE CAB, A BIT NERVOUS. TY WAS INSTRUCTED TO BUY ME ROSE OIL AND ANSWER THE DOOR IN HIS ROBE. He followed my directions.

After a hug hello, I proceed to his kitchen where he was smoking a joint. He offered me some and I accepted…and eventually wound up exceptionally stoned! I had to slam a beer to calm my nerves. We made small talk and got to know each other a little bit. I could tell that I wouldn’t be dominating him so much, that he needed tender love. I started with his hands across the table…he almost fell to his knees with pleasure; a hair stylist always needs a good hand massage. I know this is going to go well, we are already off to a good start. He is a perfect subject to my seduction…his body is most worship-able and he is in dire need of stress reduction. But more so his heart is requesting love, his spirit of rejuvenation and body of connection. These are a tantric dakini’s specialties.

We moved into his bedroom, which was exactly as pictured…guitars on the wall and a nice fluffy bed with red sheets.

He lays down, naked on his stomach. I keep my underwear on because I don’t want him to get any ideas that I’m going to fuck him. I begin my love ritual with his feet, applying firm pressure up the legs. I slide my body all the way up to the top of his neck. This is going to be fun. I thought I all but lost my art of sensual massage…I explained to him that I stopped doing it because I was doing it too much! But of course practice makes perfect and he was going to get the best massage I had to offer; Mind-blowing, soul altering and heart healing…again a dakini’s specialty.

My hands have never gripped flesh so hard.  I dig my thumbs into the stress in his neck while I grind my groins on his back. I breathe into his ear as I stretch his arms out. My entire body is doing a love dance over his, stretching, squeezing, sliding my feminine curves over his masculine structure. I think I even surprised myself with what I was doing with him. And of course his moans of appreciation propelled me forward to give him more and more of my erotic healing love.

Sometimes the backside has had it so good that the front of the body gets jealous. He turns himself over, I think somewhat prematurely as I’m thoroughly enjoying myself with his back-side.

I take my underwear off, not as an offering, but again as a seduction for him to see my porcelain naked body next to his bronze built frame. Again I begin at the feet, creating polarity with how far away his head is from mine. I’m naked but he cannot touch me. His cock is full, at least 8 inches of beautiful glory. I look upon it without a reaction…

I dig into the insteps of his tender feet, and take my time with each toe. I know how good it feels to have someone adore the feet we stand upon all day; it is Definitely one of the most underappreciated areas of the body. Moving up the legs slowly, I grip and pull the muscles along the quads, and swoop my palms underneath his hamstrings. By now my face is a millimeter away from his glorious cock, and I’m very careful as to not touch it. The charge of proximity is more thrilling than actual contact i find.

I slither and snake my way up his body, using my knees near his groins and side down the length of his frame. He’s writhing uncontrollably as his serpent power begins to awaken. I hold him in his gyrations of ecstasy, his entire body an expression of pleasure. his eyes roll back in his head as I slowly begin to stroke his manlineness. I bring him to an edge and cool off the flames of euphoria.

“Are you all mine?” I inquire. It’s extremely hot to me to have a man underneath my surrender.

“Yes mistress I am all yours!”

“good. Good boy. You’re all mine” i slowly introduce pain into his body, and bite the sides of his neck and ear until he screams. I want to see where his edge is. I get a little fiercer in my nature.

After riding numerous insane edges he absolutely explodes. It rains come. I’ve actually never quite experienced that before; come shooting up in the air only to be coming down like rain all over us. He’s screaming, writhing, coming, and squirting. I’m sure I’m laughing by now in celebration, surprise and satisfaction.

Mission complete; Just another day in the life of a love mistress.

The next day I receive a loving text from my brownstone apartment owner. I may not be staying in his apartment for the week, but there was a reason why the Universe brought us together! Later on he profusely thanks me, “It was awesome meeting up with you last night. I had a great time with you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the spiritual journey you took me on. I needed it more than you can imagine.”

Putting Bunny to Rest? Or Resuscitate the Bunny?

Putting Bunny to Rest? Or Resuscitate the Bunny?

I thought it was completely over. And it probably still is.

Our last conversation ended rather fiercely. We were communicating about seeing each other, and yet again, ANOTHER NO CALL NO SHOW. We had tentative plans to see each other on Sunday a few weekends ago, and then once we were gong to meet he didn’t respond to call or text. A few hours went by, and eventually I got an “I’m working.” When hours before he said to call me when I got home and we would hang out. I texted back that this is not the way to treat a friend and if he’s unavailable to see me, then just don’t invite me TO the door. He was furious at my text, that I was being dramatic. D doesn’t have any room in his life for me, for sweetness. Perhaps he’s head over heals in work. OK Point taken.

He calls me the next day to yell into my ear. The conversation ends poorly with a “HAHA I LOVE YOU. I’LL CALL YOU WHEN MY LIFE ISN’T CRAZY.”  And click. Those are his last words to me.

Weeks go by. I’m still semi-depressed from this sudden shut out, no communication, no friendly text, no speaking on the phone, nothing. I convince myself this is what I need to truly let him go. Give him 6 months, a year, and most likely he will NEVER be what I want him to be.

AND yet, there is always an unexplainable pull, of his power over me. An oceanic undercurrent of MAGIC  which pulls us ever so slightly back into each other’s orbits. Even though he does not have the capacity to be anything for me, his heart still searches for me. I still have his scarf. He still loves me.

Back in that fateful day in June, we met at a Masquerade Ball which was held at the Vibiana, which the now event venue is called “the Cathedral of Saint Vibiana”.

Excerpt Taken from Wikipedia,

“Pope Plus Xl chose the Cathedral’s name, choosing the third century Roman martyr Saint Vibiana. Cathedrals traditionally contain the relics of a saint, so the remains of St. Vibiana were removed from the Catacombs of Rome and moved to a gilt and plate glass sarcophagus located in a niche above the high altar.”

We met in a Roman Catholic Church built in 1876 in the name of a female saint, and her REMAINS are still there. And D, ever obsessed with his Croatian blood with the ancient Roman empires, even has the year 1453 TATTOED on his arm because that year marks the fall of Constantinople, when the Byzantine Empire fell to the Ottoman Empire. This legendary fact is just an interesting tie in to our Fairy Tale Love Story. I’m saying that with a Satirical tone; a tone of loss, of heartbreak, and of giving up. I can no longer hold onto this love story, no matter how seemingly perfect and romantic it is; because the story is just a story, and reality has consumed my imagination and destroyed almost every last remnant of him in my soul.

This now modern venue is an epic monument, a testament to Divinity. It is an old Cathedral, converted into an adult play ground. D and I cannot meet under ordinary circumstance; it always has to partake in the fantasy world in which we both inhabit.

It’s Saturday, and I keep getting very small and subtle wafts of HIM. He’s in the air, and even though we haven’t spoken in weeks, I know I am going to see him. I do not DARE and ask him if he’s coming. I’ve learned that is only a set up for disappointment. I presume if he wanted me there he would text me and tell me so.

So I walk in the door, and through the long and white hallway, he walks by swiftly and all I catch is the impression of him, like a shadow chasing itself. I walk towards the ghost, thinking it had to have been my imagination.  I always spot him way before he sees me, for my intuition is much better than his. Then I spot the woman he is with. She’s beautiful, thin, big tits, red lips and eyes that would kill you with her beauty in two seconds. I cannot compete with her. My heart is racing out of my chest, my nervous system is going haywire and I fake that everything is fine. I reach out to her first, his date I presume.

“Hi,” I smile warmly, and she smiles back.

We shake hands, I’m in a dizzy and I don’t remember her name. I don’t look at her again. Him and I make some small talk, and even though he does not respond to my emails, he reads them and remembers details from my messages. I just have to get used to the fact that he’s a silent communicator. HUH.

“So you’re moving out of Beachwood canyon at the end of the month?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going to go?” he asks expressing some form of concern with me. I know where I want to move but I don’t dare tell him I’m looking to move to West Hollywood, which would make me closer to him.

“I don’t know.” I fake, I’m coy and shy and not leading on that I’m hopelessly in love with him.

His date interjects as she is being ignored, and wants to walk into the art section. I walk away more quickly and loose them. I can’t handle hanging out with him and someone else. I find a friend to speak with for a while and I loose him in the crowd.

An hour goes by, and I am outside talking to my friend Daniel, and the Bunny approaches, looking for something but not meeting my eye. He comes in closer and signals to me that he wants to speak to me. I end my conversation and come in closer to him.

“So the answer to your question in your last text.” He says vaguely.

“What question?” I don’t remember what I said. Oh yeah I texted him that I missed him. I asked him if he was SANE yet.

“I’m not. I’m not SANE. What is Sane, hAhA. I’m not sure I know what that is.”

Of course a crazy person wouldn’t even know what sanity is.

I try to explain in the best way that I know howl Sanity knows where one thing ends and another begins. Your worlds are straight, time moves, and it seems to make sense. It seems as though he’s living in multiple worlds and multiple time frames and he doesn’t know where one ends and another begins.

He’s cheerful, perhaps faking it because he’s at a party. He’s exhausted, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, the worry lines deep in his face and his skin a pale white. He looks like a Vampire that needs to feed. He comes in close and touches my earring several times. I do not let him get so close as to touch my ear. He is a dangerous drug, like Heroin. It’s so good coming in. Perfect. Heavenly. And then the drug wears off you feel like an empty vessel of ghostly waste. I cannot let myself get a full dose of him because I will fall back into his trap. But I have to admit I got extremely high just standing next to him, just vibrating in his field. It’s too bad that those we are most attracted to are the most unavailable.  It’s the highest high and the lowest low. There’s no in-between.

D follows me around the party a bit, and juggles me between his date, or friend, or whatever she is. It doesn’t seem like they’re dating otherwise he wouldn’t be hanging next to me so much. I don’t ask because he hates my jealous side so I just pretend it doesn’t trigger me that he comes back to the VIBIANA where we first MET, a sacred place to my heart and soul, and he’s here with another woman. He’s completely insensitive and oblivious to the ways that he infinitely hurts me. If he can hurt me, he finds a way. Always. Gotta let this one go.

We get into a heated conversation and after he offers that I can find high-end clientele through his friend and that he’ll call me next week sometime, I look at him as ask him why in the world would I believe that he would call me next week.

He looks puzzled that I would say such a thing to a complete unreliable crazy Vampire of a man.

“I have NO expectations of YOU!”

His eyes squint up, he’s shocked at the concept that I have absolutely no trust in him whatsoever. That he destroyed any last remaining threads of hope in my heart that he will EVER return to me.

“What do you mean?” I kind of love it when the dialogue gets intense and emotional with him and I.

“I have no expectations of you. None. Zero. You’re not going to call me, you’re not ever going to follow through. I’ve given up hope. No let’s go inside, there’s a show happening in there”

I walk away, leaving him standing there. Its not long before he’s hovering around me again. I’m cordial; we hang, but not dare flirt. At the end of the party he leaves with his er, friend and hugs me good-bye. And this might be the last time we see this one another in a while.  Let the bunny hop around. See what other messes he can get himself into.

And of course these are dry satirical words of rejection, of loss, of heartbreak, and finally letting go of a relationship of an unhealthy sort. Now the first thing I look for in a man is Integrity. And I would say thus far I’m doing pretty well with not inviting crazy phantasmagorical unicorn lovers into my life. And I’ll cherish in my mind every moment I had with him.

The End