Love Victim

Thank you to all of you who read my last post about my difficulties with love and wrote, chatted, or talked with me about it.  I have many wonderful conversations since I wrote that and have read many of your thoughts and it has helped me a great deal.  I also did some meditation, which is new to me, something that Damascus and Wolfe have encouraged and helped me with, and that gave me some revelations too.

I think the best advice I have received has been to reclaim ownership of the idea of love, and the word itself, and what it means to me.  In many ways, I have always thought of love as being something that happens to me, something that inflicts itself upon me.  I think I have considered myself a victim of romantic love, something I "fall" into...something that cannot be controlled. I think this is a common theme about love that we often tend to believe and romanticize,but i think it is really unhealthy and often untrue. I think its something we hold onto as a way to not take responsibility for our relationships and actions and emotions.

In a related vein of thought, I have also have thought of love as something that is taken away from me. My largest life experience with it was abused from someone who claims they NEEDED it. He owned my love and I have a hard time of thinking about it any other way.  But I know that was only one experience, and I am learning about so many more ways to view love now that are so much more healthy and happy.

I think what I need now is to be selfish about my love, to reclaim as my own, as a feeling that I choose to feel and own entirely.  My love is something unique to me and I can have it for all sorts of people in different intensities and quantities. It is mine and I can do what I wish with it.  I don't have to give it away or share it but I can if and when I choose.  For now, I want to own it completely and cherish it and keep it and FEEL it. Maybe this is the first step to giving it to and accepting it from others more easily.

It maybe a little sentimental and cliche, but I thought about and wrote most of this post while visiting many of my most special sweeties yesterday, which was Valentine's Day.  It gave me lots of time to think about and appreciate the amazing people in my life and to let myself feel the love I have growing for each of them in unique ways.

Twisted Words

For many, many years, Intaglio would tell me that he loved me.  He would tell me this many times in a day.  If I didn't have an immediate, reciprocal response, he would pout and worry. When we were arguing or in conflict, the frequency of the expressions of adoration increased.  If I became tired of responding, yet again, to those special three little words which are the ultimate expression of love, fidelity, and commitment, he would read deep into it and become anxious and depressed. It was usually easier to just reply back, in my happiest, singsong voice.  He was my husband, after all, and I did love him.  But it was exhausting.  After years of this, those three words, and the word "love" in particular, began to mean nothing at all.  It was an empty word, which became twisted, and it remains twisted.  Now I can think of family love and friend love and humanity love now, but the idea of romantic love is very complicated.  It is hard for me not to associate it with being trapped and contained and controlled by someone that I am supposed to love.

This is the hardest thing about the emotional abuse that I endured.  He never told me I was ugly, useless, unsexy, stupid, or anything bad, honestly.  He called me the opposite of all those things, in fact... beautiful, important, gorgeous, intelligent, creative... all the things that a woman wants to hear.  He told me he loved me incessantly.  When I would talk to friends, hinting there were problems, which I couldn't quite pinpoint, he seemed to be a perfect partner, never laying a finger on me, never insulting me, expressing his love all the time.  So it was hard diagnose that as abusive, and it was especially hard for me to see it as abusive for many years.  It is also common in mainstream society to see a devoted, even a jealous man who seems to be in touch with his feelings of "love" and put him on this pedestal of an ideal husband or boyfriend.  But I see how those very words of devotion can also be used to control.

When I did start to realize it, he pointed out how good he was to me... didn't he say all the right things?  The guilt and shame that I would feel from making an accusation of abuse was intense, and it fed right into the control. But I began to realize that even though he was telling me I was sexy and beautiful, he was also telling me that those were the reasons I should not be talking so closely to our male friends (or to strangers), because I was so amazing that they wouldn't be able to control themselves and I shouldn't lead them on or flirt in any way because that would be unethical.  And he was telling me that he loved my innocence but that I was naive and clearly all the men wanted me, and if I respected our marriage (I did) I shouldn't encourage them.  Oh also, why would I need to go work out or lose weight... I was beautiful the way I was and I didn't need any attention from men when I had him, and he loved me so much.  This kind of gradually narrowed down my entire life, including almost all my relationships with family and friends and my career, until I was basically in a prison of our marriage.  I was a prisoner of "love".  

Fortunately, I broke out of that particular prison!  And I am so much happier now.  But now I have a new prison that I have created myself.  I am left in the aftermath of this ruined word, and I am wanting to rediscover its meaning and its role in my life. This idea of romantic "love" is very complicated for me now, and yet I find myself feeling it again, which is a wonderful thing that is edged with pain and confusion. I struggled with it when I fell in love with Damascus and I am struggling with it again as it applies to new relationships. It fills me with panic and terror, and yet I want to express it with all of my being. I feel ridiculous, being a polyamorous person who is terrified by the concept of "love".  I can understand its place in my life intellectually, and yet feeling it intensely makes me want to run away, and the thought of saying those three words fills me with fear and even despair.

I don't have a tidy end to this post.  No encouraging words of hope or promises.  I am often at a loss for words about this subject.  Any words that you may have to guide me would be greatly appreciated...

Photo-Fantasy Challenge, Reflections

I should probably wrap up the Photo Fantasy Challenge with a few thoughts about how I feel about the task.  I think it was a very good challenge for me in that it helped me verbalize some of the fantasies I have been having lately, which have often been hard to express.  The fantasies I wrote about may have seemed a bit tame, but I wanted to write about things that I would actually want to have happen in my life.  Sure, there are all sorts of wild fantasies I could write about, but many of those are things that are impractical or unsafe. 

So, for this task, I wanted to base them in reality.  Actually, a few of them were memories, or acts that were more or less being acted out right before or right after they were written.  A couple of them became almost blueprints for future activities, because... have I mentioned that I have some fucking awesome sexy partners in my life? I do!  I have the kinds of partners who read my blog and listen to my fantasies and want to make them happen for me.  And I have partners who read them and who want to make them even better, now that they know what kinds of things are ticking in my head.  Fucking awesome!

The photo element was difficult at first, but became easier.  While the original task was not given to post these pictures on my public blog here, it was what I wanted to do.  So the pictures are perhaps also more tame than ones I might have taken in private.  Although this task did open the door to my openness to other photography that I have shared with Damascus, which seemed to be very exciting for him, as he has been wanting to photograph me for a long time.  He took a few of the blog pics, in fact, at my direction.  And then we took others that we are keeping more private.  :)

I like having more personal imagery here on the blog and I feel like I have been able to do it creatively and maintain my privacy, so I hope to explore more in future posts.  I also enjoyed the creativity of the fantasy writing and have had friends/readers who have been enjoying reading them, so I hope to do more of that as well.

As for Hedo, who game me this task... he used the ideas behind Day Eight fantasy to construct a scene for me at a play party last week, which was incredibly hot.  Receiving this task was sort of a challenge from me to him, as well, and he was very successful in his dominant duties in both giving, receiving, and following through on the challenges I more subtly gave him.  We are meeting for dinner tonight to discuss all of these events more, which is very exciting! 

Thanks to my friends for reading and supporting me in this challenge!

Photo-Fantasy Challenge, Day Eight

A "good girl" wouldn't try to suck up and attempt to manipulate a project because she defiantly did something sassy earlier in order to avoid punishment, right?  Something like... trying to make up for a blog task she purposefully refused to do in order to get attention by posting an extra blog post over a week later. No, that would be something an even naughtier girl than the defiant girl would do.  That sounds like the kind of girl who is a bratty over-achiever who gets herself into trouble by pretending to be good all the time, when she is really quite the opposite. I would think the kind of girl that would do that requires extra punishment for her flagrant brattiness, don't you?

Damascus enrobed my body with intricate rope, the decorative knots twisting and turning across my torso.  My arms were bound, draped in a lovely series of white lines crossing my delicate limbs, with my hands joined together behind my back in a secure bundle of knots.  He stepped back to admire his work.  Lost for a while in the sensations of the soft rope being laid across my body, I had almost forgotten that we were in a room full of people, at a play party. As I started to focus, I noticed he was chatting with Hedo, who was also admiring his ropework.  They laughed a bit, Damascus thanked him, and I heard him say, "She's all ready for you now". Hedo looked at me and rubbed his hands together, gleefully.  I knew I was in trouble now.

He grabbed me by the hair and lead me to the other room, all the while telling me I looked really hot and how nice it was for Damascus to prepare me for my punishment.  He led me to the corner of the room, pressed my nose right into the corner wall and told me I had to stand there for 10 minutes, silent and still, to think about what I had done.  Ugh!  In the middle of a party?  How dreadful.  I protested a bit, but he pressed my nose back into the corner and growled a little bit and I decided to just obey him.  For a while, at least.  He set the timer on his phone and moved to the other side of the room, sitting on the sofa and starting in on a conversation with a group of friends.

Impatient and fidgety as I am, after about 3 minutes I started to get antsy.  I looked across the room at Hedo and he would give me a glare, so I resumed my position.  Fortunately, to my amusement, Prisma walked past.  Seeing me in my predicament, she giggled and gave me a pouty lipped face, asking if I got in trouble, feigning sympathy.  I looked up and while Hedo was not looking, I whispered to her to distract him.  She giggled and sauntered away towards him, being a good accomplice and all.  Prisma sat on Hedo's lap and his attention was no longer on me, so I snuck away to the other room, which was full of lots of people and fun things happening.  I moved towards the back, out of sight, hiding and taking in the scenes.  I started chatting with a friend and almost started to forget that I was all bound up, and probably in a bit of trouble now.  The excitement started to build as I heard the 10 minute alarm go off in the next room.

Giddy with anticipation, I saw Hedo walk into the room, looking for me.  I didn't try to hide (much) and he didn't storm in angrily.  This was part of our game.  He interrupted my conversation with my friend, politely explaining that his little brat was being unruly and needed to come with him right away, as he grabbed a handful of my hair and led me back to the other room again.  This time we bypassed the corner and went right to the St. Andrew's Cross in the other corner.

Damascus was waiting there, ready to unbind the rope from my hands and rebind them to the cross.  I felt myself being turned around, my arms raised and bound to the tops of the cross, and my legs kicked apart, spreading my legs. Now we are ready for some real punishment, I thought, whimpering a little.  A series of light swats from a flogger started to fly across my back and bottom, warming my flesh up.  I was told it was time for my punishment and I smiled and stuck my tongue out, egging Hedo on a bit more.  He laughed a little as he slid my panties up between my butt cheeks, exposing the already pink flesh.  Then came the spankings, delivered by his bare hand on my bare ass, while he spoke to me and randomly pulled at my hair.  It made me excited and wet to receive this attention, knowing that others in the room were watching and feeling the exchange of power flow between us.  My mind slipped to a relaxed place, following the rhythm of the smacks of impact.  He would often stop, tell me that I was taking it like a good girl, and would rub at my reddened bottom softly, which sent a rumble of orgasm through my body each time.

When Hedo sensed that the spankings were becoming too intense, he stopped and untied my arms.  In my dreamy state, I let my hands fall to my sides and staggered to turn around.  He told me that now it was time for my reward for the tasks I had done well, which pleased me and excited me once again.  Damascus was there to tie my hands behind my back around the cross.  Restrained again, my back side burned from the impact, but the front side was feeling cool and lonely from the lack of attention.  Hedo leaned in and nibbled at my neck, speaking quietly yet firmly in my ear about what a good girl I had been, and what a very good slut I was for completing my tasks so well.  His softer touches were peppered with bits of pain to challenge me as he twisted my nipples between his fingers, bit at my neck, and reached around to pinch at my ass.  As he ran his hand up my thighs, scratching his nails at my fishnets, I shuddered with pleasure, with orgasms flowing through me as the mere thoughts of sex passed though my dirty mind.  He would often lean in and insist I come for him, and I couldn't help to be obedient now. He continued to torment with pleasure until I was exhausted and begging for him to let me rest.  I was finally untied from the cross: a soaking, tired puddle of a happy girl, pleased that my disobedience and brattiness was so well disciplined.