Good evening lovelies,
I had every plan to blog yesterday and yet, because of a chaotic day followed by an emotional evening, I didn’t quite get that far in the end.
Yesterday, I received a call from the police. The new local beat manager wanted to visit and see what had gone on, and the footage following last week’s attempted burglary. He was pleasant enough, but certainly challenging to deal with and oh so hungry for information.
I suppose it could have been quite erotic, in an entirely different situation.
Watching him pace slowly around my lounge was intimating unto itself. I stayed stood and maintained eye contact, I hadn’t done anything wrong so I need not be phased by him. Even if this was any other situation, I wasn’t going to be phased by him, anyway.
No! Don’t think like that! Focus..
Yesterday evening, Wolfie told me about a story he had read on Reddit, about a guy who’s scat interest had gone horribly, horribly wrong. The author of the new thread had asked if anyone had any sexual fantasies that had not gone as planned, and this was the top voted for answer.
Instantly, I felt a painful pang.
One of my greatest fears is that my medical kink might not go the way I’d hoped. I’d long feared that that kinky, sexy little loss of control might not work out like I’d long hoped and result in a panic attack instead. It pained me that I’d never been able to find out, but then it pained me too that it also might all be something over nothing, after all. The not knowing, coupled with the shameful realisation that, what was it I wanted? To be operated upin? Experimented upon? That’s fucked up, and I felt even more ashamed.
There was no easy answer.
And that caused me to fall deeper, to spiral deeper. Deeper and deeper, darker and darker.
What if this wasn’t for me anymore?
I wanted this, but I was afraid, afraid of going too far, afraid of losing complete control, and so I fought it. It was like opening Pandora’s box, and now I couldn’t close the lid.
And so instead of closing the lid, it was easier to just.. walk away. In my mind, walking away somehow meant keeping control, since I would stop losing it.
Sometimes lately I don’t have control, and I don’t just not like it, I hate it. I hate not being taken seriously, I hate not getting my way, and yet I need this.
Maybe I really am a switch, is that it? I like switching.
I’m a contradiction, and the easiest solution to being a contradiction, was to just walk away from it all.
And I would, I could, if losing control sometimes just didn’t feel So. Damn. Good. More than good. Addictive.
Like a sweet, thick, black treacle. I could bathe in it, swallow it, drown in it. Willingly.
“What is it, love? I feel like I’ve struck something,” Wolfie whispered softly.
I shook my head and blinked away the tears.
This was painful, too painful to face.
Last night, I led in bed with Ellie Goulding’s Love Me Like You Do pumping through my ears, and I ugly cried. I needed this, I needed him,
“.. only you can set my heart on fire.”
Only he can.
“My head’s spinning around I can’t see clear no more.”
I can’t. Show me, remind me, please.
Right now, I feel nothing short of lost and confused. It’s my first Christmas without my Dad in four days and now I have this on top. I’ve hit that kind of state whereby sleep becomes the only viable option.
In a horrible kind of way. the fact that he has lived for 27 years without his mother has given him the knowledge and experience to support me. Even in my lowest moments and in my darkest days, somehow, I still depend on him to guide me.