touchy
i fell down.
blindfolded, kneeling on the bed, hands tied behind me. i was told to "walk forward" towards the headboard. his knee was in front of mine, likely an oversight. blind and trusting i went. and fell forward. my headboard consists of metal scroll work, each swirl ending in a broad, flat leaf shape the size of a silver dollar. i was terrified. i was tricked. i was blind and about to be struck on the head or face with unyielding iron. i curled in and tried to rear back. he caught me. he caught me around the waist and possibly chest which i hardly felt i was so scared and must've let me down more gently. i felt linens on my cheek. my neck did not sprain from landing on the side of my face. it was softer than i thought, i figured i had fortutiously found a pillow. i could feel his body wrapped around mine, keeping me safe. he made a noise. a click of irratation at his stupidity, a sigh of relief, a giggle of foolishness. i never knew. as soon as i knew i wasn't in for major structural damage and that gravity was done with me i was bawling. i wanted to hide. i heard the click of irratation, the sigh and felt...that it was for me. i was humiliated.
i have this problem...with being hurt. with being seen having an accident. not so much dropping some glassware; but falling down.
a month or so ago i was riding a bike for the first time in over a year. i tried to pop a curb and failed. wiped out at no speed on an busy street's sidewalk with max in front of me. i could have laughed it off, maybe. but i saw him notice me on the ground, stinging discomfort in my shins where the bike had landed. humiliation, shame, rage, tears. i was suprised at myself at the time.
when i was a child i had a swing consisting of a rope and a thick stick strung over a ravine. i was 11 and there were many people around. older boys, my younger boy minions, the nine-year old slut who smoked...etc. I said oh yeah! watch me! and went out as fast as i could over the egde, hands on the stick, spinning wildly on the twisted up rope. at the apex, the branch snapped. i went down very fast, and the next few seconds were all about my hands; beating at the bushes, trying to protect my eyes.. grabbing for purchase, breaking a pretty nasty fall. there was complete silence as i emerged. a little scratched, but surviving the fall that reportedly gave one of my minions his slow speech... the imminent laughter/pity/scorn was palpable, yet possibly imaginary. i walked right past them all. up the hill to my building, two flights of stairs and into my room. i hid in the corner and cried and cried. my minions called after me but didn't give chase...i would have cold cocked any one of them and i daresay they recognized that. that day i realized further why one cries after injury. not just to atract notice and help, and not for physical pain...for fear. for fear of the pain. and for shame. once max accidentally elbowed me in the eye during a conversation. i saw stars, and burned with shame...i hadn't ducked, and i was looking at him when it happened. i shook him off angrily and nearly crossed the street one-eyed but he stopped me, got a little loud and made me prove i could see.
I cried all over the blindfold and tried desperately to get under control. he held me and shushed me and petted me like a child. god have i needed that for 20 years. still blind i felt his warmth, felt surrounded by his arms and head and legs and i couldn't stop. and then i could. he removed the blindfold. now, when my boy feels bad...he backs up. a wall comes down, and well..you know the drill. reserved, protected, angry at himself privately. at times i have wanted to beat down that door and stop him from punishing himself...
not this time. instead of nothing i saw only love and care. being rational somewhere i noted it. i wondered if maybe he didn't feel bad at all. maybe he enjoyed it? talk about a mind fuck, talk about emotional control...puppet strings and all that. paranoia blooms. i don't believe he did it on purpose, i think he just fucked up...
all at once i realized that~ I enjoyed it. I doubt he did and i'm sorry for that. I don't like a breakdown, but damn if it didn't feel great to get it under control, to be fed like that, a babe in arms. damned if it aint home therapy, with touch. damned if it aint complete and unadulterated emotional submission.
i looked at him, i sniffled. i pet his face and hair, i drank it all in. when the question came i asked for another minute. nobody said anything, we just pet and pet. he tickled my nipple. several minutes later i said "ok i'm ready." and so we continued (no blindfold, hands free.) when i looked...all the pillows were off the bed. i hit that ancient, extra-firm matress rather gently. good catch, i thought.
you know? i don't remember him saying he was sorry. thank god for that. i hate sorry. the world sucks and when it does people say sorry. (sorrys are like promises. they get bigger every time. they grow like weeds and laundry. they infect my mind. Bitch and Animal. "miss me my dear") i'm sorry comes with the eyes closed in bitterness and self reproach and leaves me fucking alone with pitiful, cumbersome sorry. while its hurting, saying sorry is almost worse than useless. it opens a floodgate of disapointment; it won't be made better, it can't be erased or soothed or washed away. sorry. acknowledges that you have something to be mad about, sore about, hurt by. sets it in permanence. it is now a thing that you did that befouled me and you can now beat yourself up about it and will feel plenty bad enough thank you and now the discussion is over, cuz i said sorry. later, sorry would be welcomed. i may even solicit one (i probably got them, just ignored it). what i got was so much better than sorry. he made it better. he stayed. didn't admit fault and abdicate...plead for mercy beg off the criticism(a staggeringly disorienting thing for someone in a dominant role to do) he was sorry. sorry in a positive let me fill that up and level it off like clean psychic concrete...(sorry is an ugly pothole, a public works disaster and the contractor shakes his head and says 'sorry, not my problem anymore') it was responsibility, it was infallibility. and that is probably a pretty dangerous precedent...not that i didn't appreciate it.
when he came i tried to catch it in my mouth. got it in my nose. we showered and i was so happy. i beamed, i glowed. i moved out of his way. i leaned over the tub when he wanted to splash me with cold water, i waited my turn. i went down on him while i waited. i offered to get him his clothes...he looked at me funny and i told him to take advantage of it. he asked for a sandwich. i was thrilled to be given such a task. (i can't say it wasn't freaky) and i loved every second of it. it was a very good sandwich. exactly as he wants them. he had to work at 4, so this was about the time for him to be going. and i was so so helpful. and i was eager to paint or clean or work on my puzzle. i was happy happy happy and satisfied. and i wasn't even vaguely sad that he had to go. sad for him, because he said he didn't want to. but...no childish emotional side effects. no bullshit that i supress lest i let my total clingy bunnyboiling self be known. i felt loved . i don't recommend a bondage accident to bring anyone closer...i wish it hadn't happened. i cried while writing this, i am scared still. and will move much less willingly blindfolded or tied in any way. i may even be angry with him for fucking tripping me...
but damn. what a rush.
blindfolded, kneeling on the bed, hands tied behind me. i was told to "walk forward" towards the headboard. his knee was in front of mine, likely an oversight. blind and trusting i went. and fell forward. my headboard consists of metal scroll work, each swirl ending in a broad, flat leaf shape the size of a silver dollar. i was terrified. i was tricked. i was blind and about to be struck on the head or face with unyielding iron. i curled in and tried to rear back. he caught me. he caught me around the waist and possibly chest which i hardly felt i was so scared and must've let me down more gently. i felt linens on my cheek. my neck did not sprain from landing on the side of my face. it was softer than i thought, i figured i had fortutiously found a pillow. i could feel his body wrapped around mine, keeping me safe. he made a noise. a click of irratation at his stupidity, a sigh of relief, a giggle of foolishness. i never knew. as soon as i knew i wasn't in for major structural damage and that gravity was done with me i was bawling. i wanted to hide. i heard the click of irratation, the sigh and felt...that it was for me. i was humiliated.
i have this problem...with being hurt. with being seen having an accident. not so much dropping some glassware; but falling down.
a month or so ago i was riding a bike for the first time in over a year. i tried to pop a curb and failed. wiped out at no speed on an busy street's sidewalk with max in front of me. i could have laughed it off, maybe. but i saw him notice me on the ground, stinging discomfort in my shins where the bike had landed. humiliation, shame, rage, tears. i was suprised at myself at the time.
when i was a child i had a swing consisting of a rope and a thick stick strung over a ravine. i was 11 and there were many people around. older boys, my younger boy minions, the nine-year old slut who smoked...etc. I said oh yeah! watch me! and went out as fast as i could over the egde, hands on the stick, spinning wildly on the twisted up rope. at the apex, the branch snapped. i went down very fast, and the next few seconds were all about my hands; beating at the bushes, trying to protect my eyes.. grabbing for purchase, breaking a pretty nasty fall. there was complete silence as i emerged. a little scratched, but surviving the fall that reportedly gave one of my minions his slow speech... the imminent laughter/pity/scorn was palpable, yet possibly imaginary. i walked right past them all. up the hill to my building, two flights of stairs and into my room. i hid in the corner and cried and cried. my minions called after me but didn't give chase...i would have cold cocked any one of them and i daresay they recognized that. that day i realized further why one cries after injury. not just to atract notice and help, and not for physical pain...for fear. for fear of the pain. and for shame. once max accidentally elbowed me in the eye during a conversation. i saw stars, and burned with shame...i hadn't ducked, and i was looking at him when it happened. i shook him off angrily and nearly crossed the street one-eyed but he stopped me, got a little loud and made me prove i could see.
I cried all over the blindfold and tried desperately to get under control. he held me and shushed me and petted me like a child. god have i needed that for 20 years. still blind i felt his warmth, felt surrounded by his arms and head and legs and i couldn't stop. and then i could. he removed the blindfold. now, when my boy feels bad...he backs up. a wall comes down, and well..you know the drill. reserved, protected, angry at himself privately. at times i have wanted to beat down that door and stop him from punishing himself...
not this time. instead of nothing i saw only love and care. being rational somewhere i noted it. i wondered if maybe he didn't feel bad at all. maybe he enjoyed it? talk about a mind fuck, talk about emotional control...puppet strings and all that. paranoia blooms. i don't believe he did it on purpose, i think he just fucked up...
all at once i realized that~ I enjoyed it. I doubt he did and i'm sorry for that. I don't like a breakdown, but damn if it didn't feel great to get it under control, to be fed like that, a babe in arms. damned if it aint home therapy, with touch. damned if it aint complete and unadulterated emotional submission.
i looked at him, i sniffled. i pet his face and hair, i drank it all in. when the question came i asked for another minute. nobody said anything, we just pet and pet. he tickled my nipple. several minutes later i said "ok i'm ready." and so we continued (no blindfold, hands free.) when i looked...all the pillows were off the bed. i hit that ancient, extra-firm matress rather gently. good catch, i thought.
you know? i don't remember him saying he was sorry. thank god for that. i hate sorry. the world sucks and when it does people say sorry. (sorrys are like promises. they get bigger every time. they grow like weeds and laundry. they infect my mind. Bitch and Animal. "miss me my dear") i'm sorry comes with the eyes closed in bitterness and self reproach and leaves me fucking alone with pitiful, cumbersome sorry. while its hurting, saying sorry is almost worse than useless. it opens a floodgate of disapointment; it won't be made better, it can't be erased or soothed or washed away. sorry. acknowledges that you have something to be mad about, sore about, hurt by. sets it in permanence. it is now a thing that you did that befouled me and you can now beat yourself up about it and will feel plenty bad enough thank you and now the discussion is over, cuz i said sorry. later, sorry would be welcomed. i may even solicit one (i probably got them, just ignored it). what i got was so much better than sorry. he made it better. he stayed. didn't admit fault and abdicate...plead for mercy beg off the criticism(a staggeringly disorienting thing for someone in a dominant role to do) he was sorry. sorry in a positive let me fill that up and level it off like clean psychic concrete...(sorry is an ugly pothole, a public works disaster and the contractor shakes his head and says 'sorry, not my problem anymore') it was responsibility, it was infallibility. and that is probably a pretty dangerous precedent...not that i didn't appreciate it.
when he came i tried to catch it in my mouth. got it in my nose. we showered and i was so happy. i beamed, i glowed. i moved out of his way. i leaned over the tub when he wanted to splash me with cold water, i waited my turn. i went down on him while i waited. i offered to get him his clothes...he looked at me funny and i told him to take advantage of it. he asked for a sandwich. i was thrilled to be given such a task. (i can't say it wasn't freaky) and i loved every second of it. it was a very good sandwich. exactly as he wants them. he had to work at 4, so this was about the time for him to be going. and i was so so helpful. and i was eager to paint or clean or work on my puzzle. i was happy happy happy and satisfied. and i wasn't even vaguely sad that he had to go. sad for him, because he said he didn't want to. but...no childish emotional side effects. no bullshit that i supress lest i let my total clingy bunnyboiling self be known. i felt loved . i don't recommend a bondage accident to bring anyone closer...i wish it hadn't happened. i cried while writing this, i am scared still. and will move much less willingly blindfolded or tied in any way. i may even be angry with him for fucking tripping me...
but damn. what a rush.