I hate feeling sad about things I can’t change. It seems a waste of pain to spend it wondering on what could have been. To spend precious time wallowing and crying. Yet, some nights my mind wanders to those who were but never was. Who said yes, but never touched. It’s impossible to know what could have been and yet my heart dwells on what was in the futile hope of discerning meaning. And in discerning meaning perhaps find a way back there. It’s a foolish heart I have. To hold onto love after the storm of it is past. But perhaps being this foolish person is just who I am. Perhaps, I have never learned to go lightly, and perhaps that’s ok. But it still hurts. I remember them. I remember what I felt. And what I still feel. Me and my foolish heart.
I had a whole thing
A thing about truth and honor
But it occurs that
What others see as
Honor and truth are not what
In my heart, as long as I’m honest, I’m truthful
In my heart
as long as I keep my word,
As long as I protect my people,
As long as I adhere to my rules,
I am honorable
There is no outside structure that imposes order on my heart
Only my self
Maybe that’s not what you thought
But it is what I am
A means to an end
A emotional surrogate
A substitute when you need reassurance
A resource when you want information
Ghost at all other times
Is my heart too big?
Or am I just a fucking idiot?
Missing what we had
Missing what I thought we could be
Drowning in this fragile emptiness
Like we never were
Waking up regretting the decision
Mind churning for what it doesn’t have
Reliving past mistakes as a movie reel
Drawing out the time before getting out of bed
Cool air conditioned fan sped wind
Dreading the day
Flipping up out of bed
Padding into the bathroom
Shower almost hot enough to burn
Water off reminded of the difference between winter and this artificial cool
The difference between dreading that forgot to turn off the fan and reveling in it
Sitting on bed
Combing out hair
Losing time to jotting down just a few words
Feel of cloth on skin
Smooth and welcoming
Dry and warm
Button up dress shirt
Scuffed shoes needing a shine
Heart heavy remembering waking up to a text from you
Nothing today, yesterday
Diet coke in a metal tumbler
An extra for later
Brief war with self
Music, too heavy with emotion, no time now to rage, scream or cry
Audiobook, lose self in another’s fantasy problems
Truck idling rough
Engine problem? Simple or expensive
Or just old
Core self falling away
Sharper edges press forward
Existential pain hides beyond alleyways of doors
Come against me now
Know painful failure
People I love being ground away
Bad people rising to the level of their incompetence
All a slow burn
Dreading going home
Going home means empty
Means that this powerful version of self slips
Piece by piece
But my cat is waiting
At least she loves me
Because they love you does not grant you the right to be a dick
You don’t get to lie about the things in your head that may come bursting out at inopportune times
You don’t get to foist your debts and obligations onto them
Because they love you is not a reason to take their presence for granted
You do not get to be silent while they howl for understanding
You do not get to be chit chat normal while their eyes beg for solutions
Because they love you is not a reason to take your pleasures without giving back theirs. (consent being given)
You do not get to eat their meals, prepped and prepared with loving hands, while you make them pay for your insecurities
You do not get to make love to them while holding back all the things they need to feel whole
Because they love you is no reason to take and take.
To threaten your own dissolution if they leave you
To threaten to leave when they are trying to make it work
Because they love you
They love you
And your repayment of that love is pain
Just because they love you
It doesn’t give you the right
I watch the swaying roll of hips. My wife crawling to the first soft puddle. The sheen of wet on hard wood. Her mouth dips down and red full lips part. Soft pink tongue presses against the wood. She plants her knees far apart, leverage so that she can lick the wood clean. The soft hidden rose if her sex opens like the flower I have cherished and punished.
I fight myself. My cock is raw and pushes against the underwear and pants. Pain flares. There is always too much of a good thing. Still, the thought of my hardness pushing into her. Melding us together. The feel of her warmth around me. Almost, almost I give in. Though, I know it would be more pain than pleasure. Though I know, I risk damage. I still feel myself tightening. Pain and heat spreading.
I push that down. If I am not in control, this could go very badly. There is a part of me that wants to take her and hurt her and see the fear and desire war in her eyes. It’s that part that I dare not show. If we were alone, then breaking her would be a good thing. Something we both want, both need. As long as we put each other back together afterwards, as such a thing takes a toll on us both. But if Tara sees the monster…It’s too soon. Too much like her old master. It would undo everything.
It is this realization that hits me like a pitcher of ice water. It’s why it’s too soon for the handfasting. Why Tara knew that she couldn’t yet. She senses I’m holding the darkest parts of my desire back from her. She is correct. I’m an idiot. I rushed, thinking she’s seen everything that is important. But this, this part that so rarely shows. This part that wants the screams and the pain more than it wants control and pleasure. The part my Sara sees, and knows, and lusts for.
Very well. For Sara, a bit of both. But quietly. I slip out of my dress shoes and pad on naked feet to where my Sara is licking up the juices of Tara. The largest puddle before the toy chest. I kneel next to Sara. Brushing against her. Feeling the softness of her thigh, up her back to my raven, flechted into her skin. A testament to our desires.
“Make no sound,” I whisper.
She turns and looks at me, nodding her head. My good girl.
I run my fingers down her, pinching and playing. I twist her nipple until tears and the soft choke of a whimper. I pull her arm up, pushing her face against the top of the toy chest. Pulling her hand to rest on the fabric over my stiff cock. Her shoulder is at an angle that I know hurts. I unzip and put myself into her hand. I release her. From past games she knows not to let go or squirm. I slide my index finger inside her. Feeling the slick warmth suck me in.
“Only if you can make me cum do you get to orgasm,” I say, pushing another finger inside.
She grips me, trying to jack me off at this angle, but she’s unable to do much more than run her fingers over me.
I spread my fingers apart, making room for a third finger. The sounds of her whimpers making me clamp down hard. The sound of her panting and mewling. I can’t stand it. I’m weak.
I pull my fingers out of her. Reach over and pull her other arm up. I could dislocate her shoulders like this, arms held behind her wrenched back, neck muscles holding her up. Trying to maintain a balance that gives her some control. No. That won’t do. Control is mine. I pull her arms up. She’s crying and pant screaming softly but audibly. I push my cock inside of her. The rawness making me want more. I slam myself into her. The slap of flesh against flesh and her screams pulling my cum out of me. Spilling my seed into her. I keep slamming into her hoping I’ll break her. Hoping for a red. But it doesn’t come. And I’m completely spent and consumed with shame.
I let her go. I pull in great lungfuls of air. Almost hyperventilating with the violence. I see blood on my cock. Mine or hers, I can’t tell. She turns around and sucks the blood and cum and honey juices off of me. Cleaning me up, unbidden. I’m definitely the one bleeding. Her tongue probes the cut and I gasp. Her eyes meet mine. And like a jolt, the last cum in my body spills slow into her mouth. She sucks me down, her eyes never leaving mine.
Just us connected. Just us. And our foxy girl in the next room
There is this moment. When the person you love most slips beyond the grasp of this mortal world. The whole world turns to static. And you react on automatic. And you keep moving like that until you are shocked awake. And sometimes it takes more than one. But eventually you emerge. And all that pain. All that rage and broken shard memories pierces every piece of you. You will spend time. Plucking the shards out. Ripping them out. Until the only thing left is the rage. If you’re lucky, if you can call it luck, you find a way to use the rage. And once it’s gone, you’re empty. And you fill that burned out ashes that you call a life with whatever you can. And, if you’re like me, you burn in your secrets.
But maybe you find a way through. And maybe you start to feel and live again. And this time, this time you will live out loud. You will love and you will speak the truth and you will be the best person you can be. And this time, maybe….this time…maybe this time you’ll be in time. Maybe this time you’ll say the right words. Maybe this time, you’ll be enough. Maybe….
Sometimes everything I’ve ever lost comes crashing down and I’m left with this hard physical pain in my heart. It’s not a heart attack. My heart is literally breaking. I wake up from a dead sleep crying with this overwhelming feeling that someone I love is gone and I frantically check to make sure that they are alive and then I realize that it’s her. Morgan. My Morrigan. She’s who is gone. It’s like losing her all over again, but there’s a calming effect too. One that I think I should feel guilty about but only because I don’t. Because, if the feeling is my Morgan being dead, that means it’s not some awful premonition of someone I love, who was just alive, now being dead.
It’s possible it’s an anxiety attack. I tend to only get them when I sleep. The trigger is generally some feeling I’ve been dealing with in the waking world come spilling out past all my defenses.
This happens all the time. I get to the point where I find hope to be pointless. Something gives me my hope back only to shortly thereafter crush it like a bug on a windshield. Like the universe is one massive simulation and I drew the short straw. I don’t know why the moment that I am free and happy something beautiful happens, something beautiful that always falters and leaves me broken in its wake.
I heal faster these days. I learn. I progress. But, I still wish someone would stay. Would embrace me as I embrace them.
that today will be the day that I don’t cry
Today will be the day I don’t reach out
Today will be the day where I feel isolated
Today will be the day I can’t see tomorrow
Today will be the day that it won’t hurt to think about