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Erasure

There are so many ways to erase someone. So many people talk about how wretched minimising someone is, how cruel it can be to blithely tell someone they don’t understand their own experience(s), and it is pretty fucking awful.

Solidarity is worse in some ways though. Maybe not the “real thing” but who can even tell what that is? What makes it so? It’s like the debate about sympathy vs empathy … but it’s not.

My mom is an expert at the one upmanship game. Whatever story you tell her, she’s got an anecdote from her life that can top it. Hers is worse, better, in all ways MORE. It’s like she’s trying to out-you you. Unfortunately she honestly, truly, thinks she’s being good to you and helpful. It isn’t sympathy. She’s not denigrating you, she doesn’t pity you – to show support she has to reframe what happened so that she is in the starring role. Her worldview simply doesn’t allow for anyone else’s reality.

Funny concept, reality. We imbue it with this sense of singularity and finiteness – there can be only one. It’s got to be the most subjective concept out there. What is this ridiculous insistence we have about fact vs fantasy, where we’ve placed fact on this sky-high pedestal. Everything needs to be proven, backed up with solid evidentiary support, or it should be chucked out like so much rubbish. Only certain types of proof are acceptable, of course, as we can’t allow just anything (anyone) to be raised to that hallowed ground. The more tangible the better, though pure logic is also revered.

As such, we throw our baby feelings out right along with that fantasy bathwater. Feelings aren’t a legitimate reason for decision making, unless you’re a fictional mystery solver with a reliable gut. For all that we counsel people to trust themselves and their guts, we belittle anyone that takes us up on it.

It’s all about us, really. Each one of us is the center of our own universe and we each have a separate reality that is true only for us.

In that sense, solidarity and gaslighting can be two sides of the same coin. They both assert someone else’s reality as the one, true version. That’s not what happened, don’t make up stories. I know just what you mean, let me show you how my story trumps yours.

I’m just as guilty as anyone else, for all that I try to be more conscious of it. When I was a little kid, no matter what you told me – how you tried to wow me – my response was “I know!” It was so important to know, to be right. It was critical to my survival, or so it felt. I’ve grown out of that particular habit but am still plagued by that deep-seated need to be right, to prove myself. When we argue, expect me to provide a collated packet of evidence wth all my exhibits neatly labeled and ordered to make my case. I never went to law school because it isn’t a tendency I want to encourage.

I don’t know if my survivial instincts are in line with the norm or odd. I know they feel odd but don’t we all want to be unique? We’re all so desperate for community and sameness and yet we all want to stand out in our own ways, to carve our own paths. Ostracism is terrible, a gut-wrenching invalidation, and yet – solidarity can be just as effective a tool to erase a person.

Disappear

Daring

When I think back to that night, the whole plot unravels. I’m so sure I have it all sorted in my head until I remember the way you held me, the reassurance you needed, how well we fit together. You were always an excellent lover, and certainly never shied away from touching and cuddles, but that night it wasn’t just sex for you. I wanted so much to reduce it to the physical that night and you flat out refused. The things you said to me when I kept prodding you to talk dirty still make me gooey and are on regular rotation in the spank bank.

After you fell asleep in my arms, I kept waiting for you to wake up and shift away. You were always so conscious of your own space and comfort when we slept, allowing me to cuddle up to you but only to a point. Keeping yourself turned away ever so slightly, not in rebuff or rejection, just in independence. You were always so afraid of the cling, lol, and I know it disconcerted you when I didn’t.

I absolutely assumed that you’d have reclaimed your distance when I got up to pee … but when I got back and you needed me there, pulling me so seamlessly back into the spot I’d vacated, that’s the square moment I can’t force into the round hole.

To be sure, there are other moments, other memories, that call the whole thing in to question but most of them are little things. Small details that can be framed as inconsequential or misread, especially when held up against all the bits that prove my point.

That night though. It doesn’t fit. I can’t explain it away.

Most of the time, I forget about it entirely. It doesn’t fit with the narrative I’ve concocted and so I ignore it. I can pretend it’s an obnoxious outlying point on an otherwise nicely grouped scatter plot; pretend that if I zoom in a little, I don’t even notice it.

What do you tell yourself, I wonder? I’m guessing it’s the same for you but in reverse. You’ve crafted a narrative to fit the evidence, same as I have, though instead of using the events that shaped us you’ve chosen to focus on the tale your fears told you … Wow, that was judgy. Makes me think of her self-righteous claim that she bases her actions on logic, whereas I’m locked into feelings that aren’t based in reality. Hypocritical much?

I’m not sure how else to interpret it though. I know what happened – I even know how you reacted to what happened – I was there. I saw you. I FELT you. When we were together, I know you were unhappy about it but I also know that you were mine (just as I was – as I still am – yours). Yet, seemingly out of nowhere, you were parroting a whole new set of beliefs. It isn’t my imagination that you needed to keep your distance in order to maintain your new facade. It boggles my mind that you refuse to admit how fragile it is when you’re so worried that I’ll hold up the mirror and you’ll see all the bullshit you’ve smeared across yourself.

I think back to that last date, if one can even call it that, and the rawness of your pain. I noticed it at the time but it never occurred to me that it would be the last chance I had to address it. I believed you and so I figured there’d be plenty of opportunity to hash things out “properly.”

I think I knew, though, even then that you were saying goodbye. You gave me too much. You let me see what you needed – worse, you let me provide it to you – and so I had to go. No one’s allowed to know those things. You hide them from yourself. How dare I come along and insist on the integrity you claimed to espouse?  How dare I believe in you and expect you to be the man you want to be? How dare I, indeed?

Awkward

Magic

I went to your class last night and it was magical. Not just the topic but the entire package. Yes, part of it was that you and they were there and hot and teasing and got me all flustered and lip-bitingly anxiously excited. Part of it was being in that space after so long away and realising that I made the right choice when I decided on a break, and that my pain was soothed rather than deepened at the knowledge that I am not welcome to proceed along the path I thought would be mine. A huge part of it was the conceptualising of magic as a reframing for the stuff we do that has the most value.

The best bit though – that was the witchy GQ of you and the delightful honesty of them. When you built them a boner and finally managed to embarrass them, it was beautiful because there is obvious joy between you and you shared it with the class so generously. I felt safe and comforted basking in that joy. I enjoyed the so-called humiliation afterward more than you can know. I babbled for a good hour and a half, with my cheeks flushed and fuzzy, high as the proverbial kite.

When I woke up this morning I had so much residual energy and jazz-handedness that I would swear the daily post prompt was “Magical” and I was thrilled to write on that theme. Well, thrilled to think about writing and you and them and other wonderfully magical friends in my life. Apparently the word is “identical” so the old adage of seeing what we want to see held true 🙂

Thank you. Thank you for the magic. Thank you for the comfort and safety. Thank you for holding space. Thank you for the flirting. Thank you for the deviousness and glee. Thank you.

“Ooooooh-ooooh-hooo, witchy GQ
See how high they fly-ay-ay
Ooooooh-ooooh-hooo, witchy GQ
They got the moon in their eye-ay-ay-ays”

In other news … the YA series name thing at the top of this post popped up in my feed as I was noodling and I adore it. A kitchen of amethyst and rain sounds pretty fucking magical to me!

Identical

I am who I am who I am … but who am I?

I’ve written quite a few love letters of late but this one is different. How does one go about writing a love letter to oneself? I’m chaffing against this request and pouting and grumbling and employing all manner of immature procrastination tactics.

Having compassion for myself – admitting that I’m a “mere” human and that’s ok – is incredibly painful. It feels like admitting to failure.

Partly I think that’s because I have this idea that if I can just pour my heart out sufficiently, if I can just make him see the error of his ways, he’ll redeem himself (and grovel obsequiously) and it feels like this is the point where I have to let go of that fantasy. I have to come to terms with the fact that he may never figure out that he’s on the wrong side of this. And the solace of knowing that I’m right is pretty damn lonely.

God, I’m so sick of being lonely. I learned a long time ago how to be alone and, as someone who tends toward introversion, I’m often quite content in that state. But a few months ago I bought a dream that turned out to be false and I want my money back. I want to return this bleak hurt broken shell and get back the old me. It’s great to have been strong and resilient and whatnot through this whole mess of a shitstorm that has been my life since May or so … but I’m fucking exhausted.

Maybe that’s the point here. It’s ok to be tired. It’s ok to want to stop struggling. It’s ok.

I dropped a class this week and expected that to hurt more than it did. My plans aren’t really derailed, they’re just edited. I’ve been giving some advice about self-care and trying to take deep breaths and maybe implement some of those same strategies for myself.

For all that I’ve been screaming into the void a lot of late, things are starting to go right. There are bumps in the road, for sure, but things are moving more consistently in the positive / forward direction. As with so many things, positive energy is a spiral and it builds as you open yourself to it and allow it in. Being open means other things get in too but I’ve been living in that fear for far too long.

They say once bitten, twice shy and it strikes me that there’s a piece missing. Once bitten, twice shy implies that you won’t go after a thing again cuz you got hurt – but you will. I WILL. Not right away and not in the same way. The lesson of the bite will imprint and the scar will linger long after the pain subsides – but I don’t dislike dogs because I got bitten in a gnarly way once and I know that I will love again. Hell, I already do – even if it isn’t romantic love. Considering the household in which I grew up, the fact that I can love at all is pretty damn impressive.

I am so fortunate to have the friends that I have. I don’t always do a good job of maintaining those relationships but somehow I have connected with my people over and over throughout my life. I have a new friendship developing that is looking like it’ll be one for the ages. From inside the hurricane that is my life of late I have reached out and leaned on my friends in ways I never have before and I have tested the friendship of a number of potentials that didn’t come up to snuff –> but overall I am so pleased with my core tribe.

I’m not an easy person to get close to and I have incredible people in my life that have refused to allow me to push them away when things get dark.

I really like the person I’m becoming. I’ve liked myself more and more for the past few years. I’m working dilligently to be more conscious of the things I’m not pleased with about myself so that I can replace them constructively. It’s a slow process and very 3 steps forward, 2 steps back … and sometimes 5 steps back, or 29 … but it’s happening.

I’m living more and more in my true self and the fact that I can do that – that I can even get in touch with those long hidden and repressed parts of me, and that they have been so eager to be reintroduced, fills me with warm fuzzies.

I have a damn fine ass, great tits, a sweet hot tight lil cunt, gorgeous hands and feet, lustrous hair, smooth skin, and dimples in my smile. My body and I haven’t always gotten along but we’ve been on better and better terms as I move through my leather journey. I can take a lot and I heal quickly. I never understood people who cut themselves until I found kink. I don’t cut myself now – to be clear – but I absolutely understand how freeing it can be to have a physical manifestation of the inner pain and turmoil and how fantastic is is to let that pain go. I am a masochist and it is so wonderful.

My primal is coming closer and closer to the surface. Not my playful cheetah self. My deep dark dwelling beast self. The part of me that scares me a little. The part I kinda don’t even want to admit exists and yet the part of me I am actively calling to. In some ways it feels like a guardian. I don’t know its shape. I don’t know its name. I’ve tried my whole life to pretend she wasn’t there. I stuffed her in an oubliette and hid from her in the sunshine. She forgives but she doesn’t forget. I called her under the new moon and she is coming.

I’m also identifying more and more as an elemental. When I was younger, I was always drawn to elemental magic stories. There is something so pure and real about working directly with the elements. I’ve always thought I would be a water elemental. I’m a Pisces and just assumed that since I resonated with the two fishies striving against each other, the mutable nature, that it was my element. I recently learned that my Chinese astrology chart has a lot of metal in it. My primal is tied to the earth and in chinese five element theory earth gives rise to metal which in turn gives rise to water, so the three pieces of my astrological nature flow together so nicely … and yet. That’s not my element.

I am the lightning. Much like the deeper primal, that knowledge scares me a bit but it is also so affirming. I am born as a result of systems trying to balance disparate charges. I’m quick. I light up the dark places and reveal the things evil would like to keep hidden. I create and destroy. I burn. I purify.

My feet are firmly on my path. It winds and there is more backtracking than I’d like. But I’m still moving. I’ll keep moving. I’m also going to curl up into a ball and cry sometimes. That doesn’t mean I’ve lost sight of my path or myself. It’s just an acknowledgement that sometimes this shit is too hard and I need to take a break.

Hot, Wet, and Deep

I played with someone new last week and the first time was hot AF. There was some incredible respect shown for our defined boundaries and that was the sexiest thing that has happened to me in awhile. I came twice during our first scene and would gladly have kept going, and kept cumming, if my partner’s hand hadn’t gone numb from the phenomenal open hand sensation play we were engaging in. Since I was at a party with many friends to ensure my safety and since my partner was so clearly intent on finding the best scene we could create within the parameters we established together, I went deep. Deliriously deep. Had a hard time walking to the car deep. Giggled for hours at just about everything deep. My body was still zinging with pleasure two days later when he checked in deep.

The second time we played, we both had a better sense of what we were getting into and I was wet before he ordered me to take my panties off. I was wet as soon as we started negotiating. The glee in my partner’s face when I told him I’d brought toys and the fun we had going through my bag. The saucy way he revealed the belt he’d worn since he didn’t have “real toys” to bring. More sexy boundary respect. I went into headspace almost immediately. I came three times. We broke two of the toys. We laughed a LOT. I called him an asshole and meant it in the best possible way. He’s discovering just how fantastic it is to be in touch with his inner sadist. I flipped him off and he hurt me harder. He said afterward how awesome it was that I was obviously instantly ready with anticipation cuz he could smell me as soon as he stood over me. Hotness achievement UNLOCKED.

It was so enjoyable that we played again about an hour later. I was high for days. I get wet thinking about it and the spank bank is filling up nicely with ideas. The feel of him as he rubbed his face and chest all over my back to switch up the sensations. The smell of him as we cuddled afterward. The pure, raw, primal energy that we created. I want to meet his beast. Mine is already trying to claw her way out to say hello.

I almost bit him while nuzzling into his chest but we hadn’t talked about it, consent is a thing, and my integrity wouldn’t let me do it. It was so instinctual that my mouth was open before I caught myself – but I DID catch myself because I wanted to honour the play and the boundaries we’d set up together. That moment led to a conversation about a mutual love of biting and it’s even fucking sexier that we have so much more to explore the next time we play together.

Even better – the joy I found in the catharsis was so empowering and it has helped me set up three play dates with people I’ve been flirting with for AGES. People with excellent boundaries. People with gorgeous integrity. People who truly respect autonomy. Perhaps most importantly, people who honour play as PLAY.

This will be my first Folsom weekend and I’m going to ROCK the FUCK out of it. Huzzah!

Mighty

Parse

God, I want some of that. So so so much do I want it. Maybe that’s the answer I’ve been looking for.

I can’t say I’m surprised… I can’t even say I’m disappointed – as that would imply there were expectations to the contrary – but it still fucking sucks.

I’m still reeling from the shock of it – even though we spoke hours ago. Am I really that naive? Is it really obvious to everyone else? I thought for sure you were in my corner and tonight you seemed shocked that I was getting ready for another round. I’m like the guy in that Cake song –

As they speed through the finish, the flags go down
The fans get up and they get out of town
The arena is empty except for one man
Still driving and striving as fast as he can

Am I so focused on how it SHOULD be that I’ve completely lost touch with how it is?

Also – what the fuck is with this double standard shit? Best case scenario you and I received different information because what I was told was a way to save face and feed me a line I’d accept. What the fuck is wrong with our society that such a thing is deemed so commonplace that it made sense to spoon feed it to me? It rang false when I heard it and it’s aggravating as fuck to have that sour note confirmed as the bullshit it appeared to be.

I’m still trying to unclench my gut from the punch you delivered this morning. I want so so so much to pick apart your words for the layers of meaning. Ok, that’s not true. I’ve done it already – there is no “wanting” about it. I did it about two seconds after I absorbed the words. There is a very clear and obvious possibility in those words … but so the fuck what? It doesn’t even matter if I’m wrong or right about it.

This is so unfair. Sure, life isn’t fair – blah blah blah – but THIS … this goes beyond the general chaos that humans try to impose meaning on. The pain of it is overwhelming sometimes but I suppose that doesn’t matter either.

Ignore it all you like. Ignore ME all you like. Pretending I’m not there won’t make me go away. It won’t make me any less of a presence. I see you. More and more, I see YOU.

ALL of you.

I love you. I’m holding out my hand to you. Pretending you can’t see it there doesn’t make it any less real.