I was staring at the first picture He sent me of Himself. He it saying that He had no right to even send it to me, because He didn’t look like that at the moment. His illness had added excessive weight on to His 6’3 frame. God, I loved and feared how tall He was.
His eyes closed playing His guitar. White wife beater t-shirt exposing His long, well defined arms decorated with ink of images I couldn’t make out. I remember getting a certain tingle up my neck from seeing His tattoos; how it made Him into someone more dangerous to me. More harsh and edgy, but fueled my interest and desire for Him.
My eyes followed the shape of His face; His thin attractive nose and closed lips with a tightly trimmed goat-tee. His hair looked somewhere between salt and pepper and almost blonde: thick and short. His body was thin and tall, and I remember immediately feeling Him more than seeing Him. I could feel His lips and the taste of cigarettes on His mouth. I could feel His eyes opening to see through me with those dragon green eyes (I’m still dying to see), and I could nearly feel my hand upon His chest as He pulled me sharply closer to Him with His arm around my waist.
That was no mistake that He sent that picture to me. He does very little without incredible precision. Yes, He feels all He does, but, still, He sent that picture knowing full well how it would affect me. And it did. It still does. As I stared at it today, my eyes filled and I put my hand across my lips to hold back the sound.
I am not talking to Him right now. Did I just write that? It’s disorienting. I swear I feel my head and heart are in two different worlds. My body is doing what needs to be done, while my mind is a million miles away.
Last night I wrote to Him that I was sorry for all I had done. I’m not really sure what it was. Well, I wanted Him. I wasn’t offering myself when I took those pictures in His “favorite bikini”, I was asking Him please to take me. Begging Him to make me do something or play with me…to tell me He feels what I feel for Him. Tell me He’s in love with me. Tell me He can’t live without me. I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cry.
His specialty it seems as a “master of deception” as my girlfriend, the last time we spoke, told me He had said of Himself, is to keep me guessing; to keep what I want close enough to taste but never near enough to feel secure. Never to know anything, really. And yet lately, He seems so much more accessible. Friendly or polite, you might say. Probably some of that is His coming off the excessive adrenaline rushing through Him when He had the tumor. Even that illness was a testament to His strength and mystique. How did He survive it? I’ve always questioned who He really is…or what. Nothing would surprise me about Him.
Still, He completely ignores when I say how I feel about Him. He talks about something else to divert me. I’m not even close to His intelligence, however, completely stupid I am not. Gullible, vulnerable, easily hurt, addictive, obsessive, fucked up…all true. I do sense things though. I do notice when what I have said is completely avoided.
When He sent that image of Himself, I felt other things, too. I felt scared of Him. I was cheating on my husband by accepting Him into my life, and into my heart. I wanted Him. He knew that as soon as He sent it. I know that in my heart. It was intended to draw me in.
His eyes seductively closed, serenading the singer (I have been a professional vocalist since I’m 17) to feel His heartfelt melody. His gentle loving look, sexy shirt and stance caressing His guitar. It was all wooing me. Drawing me closer so that I’d fall for Him. Even His proclaiming that He hadn’t allowed Himself to experience the romantic love of a woman before. His lifestyle and being was a Dominant. He chose that life and it chose Him.
That felt so seductive to me. I could feel the challenge of it, the calling to my depth to bring that to Him. To hear Him say He felt for me so deeply that He WOULD let Himself fall in love. He knows I’m a fire sign as He is. He knows that was a way to dare my heart to dive in. To breathe in His essence as much as my eyes had filled with His dark light and my ears had been charmed by His love songs He shared with me. One after another luring me in to love Him. Am I strong enough?
Am I strong enough to feel all of Him and not get lost at sea? Not drown myself trying to feel it all? It’s not wrong what I feel. It can’t be if He lead me here to feel it. In His words that He’d never want me; He’d never be mine–was it a dare, too? To see how deeply I could feel for Him?
Why would He say that to me? I had never even assumed (consciously) after His words of romantic sovereignty that He would want me or ever, ever ‘be mine’. He might consider me being His, but I couldn’t have Him. It didn’t work that way. I was nothing to Him, I felt. Still do.
He has yelled at me countless times that I have dropped carrots in front of Him. That I said something would happen and it didn’t. There is no bigger, more heart-aching carrot than His affection for ME. None. I’m made to feel everything from stupid and inadequate to be loved by Him to inconsiderate for His current state of health and wellbeing.
Is it all a magick act? A grand illusion set up right from the beginning to keep me confused? To use my most vulnerable emotion to keep me on a short leash? A leash would be something that I’d have earned, of course. But no matter what I do, for ever how long I do it…it’s never enough. I am never enough to earn…much of anything. Yes, I’ve earned some slutty words wrapped around me. He has told me what to do and given me tasks. I am grateful for that. Yet, standing still behind that is the torture of everything else being taken from me.
He giveth and He taketh away. He lets me play His wife with a name that is a character I’m to explore, but I don’t know how. I can’t find the door, and very quickly the name and the door is taken and shut. He lets me peak into His spiritual world and eludes to my involvement…but the details are spare and too obscure for me to grasp. When I make some mistakes, when I chose incorrectly, when I hurt Him or others, I am not only reprimanded, but unforgiven; the spiritual door is slammed shut. I am not good enough.
He says He loves me, and one day it all changes. He says I have ruined it all for Him. I have made Him no longer care for me because of my hurtful, vengeful side. My tears, my pain, my waiting for His words that I have been forgiven never come.
No amount of debt whether emotional, mental, physical or financial (an authentic reason why I ask for money from men who ask me to do special things for them…yes, I am deeply turned on by being a paid slut, but my debt can not be underestimated, trust me) will redeem me in His eyes and heart. It has broken mine to keep hoping that anything I do, say or become will change that.
It’s why I haven’t spoken to Him today and last night. It’s me losing why I still hurt myself hoping. There is nothing I do from moment to moment that doesn’t have Him in it. He is there whether I choose it or not. I wake with dreams of Him holding me and feeling so connected to Him that my heart aches. I’m not sure why I just don’t see Him whipping me or chaining me up somewhere, but instead feeling a spiritual and emotion connection to Him. I don’t really know what He felt when I told Him that.
I sent something to Him that should be there maybe tomorrow or the next day. I won’t say it’s for Daddy’s Day. I’ll keep my mouth shut. It’s more of what I don’t deserve and is kept away from me, I guess. When He gets this item, will He act like it’s nothing? He said it. It’s not even from me, honestly, but without a doubt it became me. Once He said it, I was there.
I don’t know what to do, I swear. I’m somewhere in between burying myself again; just going along knowing there is nothing for me to hope for, and standing back permanently. To stay away until it all drains from me. Until He is just a memory of a dream. And then there’s a faint feeling of doing for Him just because I do love Him, I do adore Him, I will always want Him, I will always be His no matter what that pulls me back. Not sure what spiritual power helps heathens like me, but I hope She/He is listening.
Update: Just checked His Facebook profile and He’s talking to a girl friend of His on there. Why do I let these things tear me apart? Because He doesn’t share that kind of warmth with me; He doesn’t treat me like that; He even called her His “little overacheiver”. Little? That’s for a babygirl. Why does the jealousy tear me apart? My not being in His life makes no difference. No affect on His life. Nothing. Not even a ripple.
Trying so hard to just feel it all. How alive it makes me feel. The anger and the pain, and yet, I just want to cry and curl up and hide somewhere. Never come out. I am nothing to Him. Absolutely nothing. He loves His friends, my girlfriend, the woman He lives with. I live my whole life for Him. I wake up and take in a breath for Him. Every day. Every fucking day. Two years of searching and pulling and hurting and trying to change myself to make a ME He could love. A ‘me’ He’d be proud of and want to meet, want to be with and talk to and share with and want to fuck and tear apart and fill up and give to me the way I give to Him.Everyone else in His life is important to Him. I’ll never be. Ever.