Valentine’s day 29-Sara

Pel has tripped headlong into wild abandon. The burn as my arms are wrenched almost to the breaking point. The smooth feel of the soft cool wood against my face. The feel of him filling me up. Taking everything that’s his. That I give him freely.

It ends too soon. My body twitches and yearns for one more minute, one more hour of time with him. But we can’t leave Tara alone for too long. When I found Tara, she seemed really decisive and put together. It turns out, that was a well entrenched facade that has crumbled away.

I love her to pieces but I don’t like what her presence is doing to my marriage. We have to be laser focused on her needs most of the time. We chose not to have kids. We don’t even have pets because our lives are normally so busy that we’d hardly see them. But here we are trying to help a emotionally and physically abused young lady.

We need to sit down and have a talk about our goals moving forward. I’m not happy with getting the short end of the stick all the time and I don’t think Tara is getting the help she needs. We’ll talk after tonight.

This is all dancing through my head while my hands gently take care of Pels cuts and abrasions. He’s pushed his body to the limits trying to take care of our physical needs. I can see the Exhaustion in him. I know that he wants nothing more than to call quits and curl up with us both and read a book or watch TV. But he keeps pushing, trying to show no weakness. And I know that’s because of Tara. He’s called halt before with me and we’ve rested.

I’m going to need to call it, I think. He can’t lose face. Which again proves he’s not in the headspace to commit to Tara. If he was he could let his guard down and be less than perfect.

Tara. That poor girl. Pel left the dossier out in plane sight behind the wall painting and in his work safe. Her previous master, and I use the term loosely, beat her, broke her. He would hurt her for compliance, for failure, because it was Tuesday. He’d force her to watch from her cage while he hurt other women. Then beat her for each time she looked away. The only reason she got away is because he broke her completely and, in his words, she wasn’t any fun anymore.

It’s good that Pel murdered him. I’m happy he did. Fuck, it’s too bad you can’t kill someone twice. But that leaves us with sweet Tara. She really is smart and kind. But everything makes her flinch. Makes her spiral. I didn’t know what I was getting us into.
She was my choice. Pel wanted one of the older office managers. He said she reminded him of one of his grade school teachers. One he’d always wanted to do naughty things with. A precocious scamp was young Pel.

Still, he should have shared Tara’s background check before we made the invitation to live with us. That was my fault for letting him get away with that. Plus he sprung it on me in the afterglow of about 50 orgasms, my head wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. I could have said no later but it seemed like we’d be able to do this.

I glance over to the doorway. Pel has gone stark still. I can’t even see his chest rising with breathe. Then he’s gone. I can hear his heavy footfalls as he runs across the living room. I move to the doorway and see him cradling Tara and singing to her.

Fuck! Something we did or she saw triggered her. I glance at the clock and see that she’s been alone for a little over thirty minutes. Fuck, fuck, fuck! We’ve not left her alone for more than 15 minutes in the last six months and at the beginning not more than 5.

I pad over to where Pel has our Tara cradled in his arms, singing some nonsense verse that I know he invented on the spot. I press myself against Tara, the feel of flesh against flesh. Warmth spreading between us. Her soft cries breaking my heart.

Realization catalyst

Life is a interesting place. In the last week I’ve been forced to confront some things. Basically, I have never considered myself to be attractive. If someone is with me I assume it is because of my personality or my art or my dominance. I assume that my physicality enters into it lightly. I’m tall. I’m dark. Two out of three right?

But then someone called me fucking beautiful. Those were her words. I didn’t trust them. I don’t trust compliments, mostly. So I asked someone who would know. A good friend who used to be more than that. I asked her and she said yeah, I can say that you are fucking beautiful and she got into specifics. Keeping in mind I told her it was in reference to me physically not emotionally, intellectually, or artistically. She got specific and I went… Oh.

Huh. I don’t think of myself in those terms. I’ve felt a lot of rejection based on the physical. And I internalized it. So I never concentrated on it. I’ve worked on my emotions and my art and expanded my experience.

And I’ve been told I have a good voice and I thought that’s just how my recorded voice sounds. But I asked people who know me in person and apparently, soothing and darkly heavy was the conclusion. So now I have to, if I trust these opinions, and I do. I have to incorporate that truth into my self image. And it’s honestly a bit freeing.

Now, I’m not perfect so it’s not like knowing there are very attractive people who find me attractive is going to go to my head but it’s nice to know.

A lifetime of thinking one way gets blown out of the water in one short week. Life, it’s a funny old thing.

Not too revelatory

I noticed this for the first time today. It’s something I knew. But something I just took on faith. That of course that is how I see it. And it’s a pretty simple revelation. If realizing that the thing you thought all along is really the way that you think can be considered revelatory.

So what was it?
Pretty simple. If I am emotionally invested in a person then I just see them. What I mean is this: I notice changes but only so that I can compliment them. I notice changes so that I can cement the image of who they are right now in my heart. But then I discard it. It’s not relevant and on a day to day basis I just see them. If I found them attractive before then I continue to find them attractive. Who they are is the thing I like. Who they are is where my emotional attachment and, as a result, how I perceive them. Why is this just coming to light?

A Acquaintance level 2 and a Friend level 1 both have lost weight recently. Both lost enough to effect their physical appearance. One drastically. But I don’t see it. Or rather it’s not relevant for me to consciencly notice. I saw a side by side comparison of one of them and I thought wow they lost a bunch of weight. But when I see them in person, it doesn’t enter my conscious mind.

So I just don’t see primarily cosmetic differences. I’m happy if they are happy. Who they are hasn’t changed. They are more confident but I always saw them as more than they accepted of themselves. So it’s just good that they are coming to realize that.

I know, it’s odd to see and think like this. What can I say, but that if you are not examining the why’s and how’s of your thinking, then how will you become the self you are trying to be?

Reaching for the light but ending up with shadows

I don’t think it’s truly set in that she is no longer mine, If she ever was. That she doesn’t want me, if she ever did. I would have done anything to be with her. All she needed to do was ask. I suppose I keep looking.

But for now I need to deal with this sadness. Of what might have been. Of what we are/were. And the fact I’m having trouble letting her go. More than that, that I don’t care how much it hurts me, that I still want her. But we all make our choices and, {my foolish heart demands I say this} at least for now, she has made hers.

Kind words

There are those who say to me, “Thank you for the kind words.”

I don’t speak kind words. I give voice to the words my heart requires I speak. Kind words are, “I’m sorry for your loss.” When the speaker has no emotional connection to the person. They are pretty and socially appropriate and are never something I would say. If I wish you to have a good day, then that is my hope for you. If I call you beautiful then I mean that my heart cries out to acknowledge your beauty. My words are not something so small as kind. My written words are my heart and my touch, my love and my kiss. I do not write to be nice, I write because I must. Because to do otherwise is to lie with my heart. Maybe my words are kind. But, it is the least thing they are. I want you to know that.