High school is a strange place. Most of the students at my school are very well off and are very sheltered. It is both inspiring and disheartening to see their naivety and innocence. Young adults, like those in my high school, are petty and care little for serious subjects. That is not to say all, but is merely a general stereotype.
I’ve been there, I still am. I am young and impressionable, barely an adult and still clawing my way to reach the full capacity of my mind and self.
Distantly, I can recall the feeling of craving to submit, to wholly let myself go, to attempt the ultimate. I have generally a dominant personality but to relinquish that in a bedroom (or even possibly outside closed doors) would mean you have my absolute trust. Being betrayed by a dominant is no easy thing to swallow. Of course, I was new to anything of that like. I fumbled and stumbled, but we almost got comfortable, attempting.
Trust is easy to break and is truly a bitch to even attempt to fix. The effort to try is taxing and I have little patience for it, in this case. Having trust issues to begin with is also a point that is not easily ignored.
Perhaps that is why I’ve focused on another woman for the moment.
That day I was very off. My mood slightly somber and my voice particularly subdued. When he texts me at three in the morning, I don’t really feel in the mood but I sneak out of my house anyway, being eager to please since I was so new to ‘submitting’, to meet him at the end of my street.
He stood under the street lamp, lit with an orange glow. I thought he looked wonderful, plaid pajama pants and all. He doesn’t live that far away, which is why we just walk.
The clothes are off in minutes when we finally end up in his bedroom (except for my tank top and bra as he was far too impatient, which I hadn’t minded as I was strangely self-conscious that day) and the foreplay isn’t very forthcoming that night. I can recall the feel of him whispering into my hair after I ask him the magic question of what do you really want.
I want to feel you around me, now, he says. And with my ears pounding to the beat of painful drums, I comply to his wishes, all the while feeling a twinge in my chest.
I end up on my back, the couch (couch because he don’t like beds) beneath me. My hands are tied above me with (being new to kinks) a strange fabric that digs into my wrists and chafes them slightly. The room is dark except for the illuminated screen of the computer in the corner.
My knees are hooked around his shoulder and he has his eyes closed when he enters me. I don’t feel anything from the breach, nothing but a dull ache. I wait for it to go away, to get adjusted, but it doesn’t. He starts to move, picking up pace.
So pretty, he gasps into the dark. He isn’t looking at me when he says this. He knows not to use those words as they bring up an older memory, one where I was younger and in far more pain, when the sex was not consensual and the same words had been gasped. I panic, wondering why, and say the safe word. I’ve never had to before and that was the first moment it had been needed, new as we were.
He ignores me.
So I say it again, louder. I’m ignored. I pull on my makeshift wiggle my hips, repeating the safe word. He gives a low moan and opens his eyes to look at me and tells me he’s almost done, to just wait, pretty. He knows what will happen when he says this and I do exactly what he thought I would. I melt into a pile of pained goo, fragmenting myself from reality. I quiet and stare at the ceiling, unmoving and blank-stared.
I block out the way he thrusts into me, the way the muscles on his stomach clench, the lock in his jaw and the echoes of old pain I feel. I make grotesque shapes out of the popcorn ceiling and think about anything but the now.
When he’s done and I’m untied, finally slipping on my panties only to follow with my pants, he asks if I’m okay.
I want to slap him or yell or scream or cry, but I don’t. Yes, I say robotically, and I let him walk me home.
The next day, when I see his facebook status, ‘had a good lay last night’, and as everyone whispers about what I’m like between the sheets in the school hallways, I feel a little bit of myself crack and break away before I slip into a haze of unaffected stoicism.
What a way to end something, hm. I think it would have been easier to just ‘break up’, as they say, even though it wasn’t truly dating.
Trying to get back at him by making him think I was pregnant was also a ruined ploy. So I just had some fun with the rumor mill and passed around that he usually only lasted a few minutes in bed. While it didn’t make anything in my heart (cheesy expression) feel better, it did provide some aid for my bruised ego.
My lesbian tendencies are now that much stronger because of that experience, strangely enough. But I do wish to try to get into BDSM more seriously. It had been tentative before, and my first experience had been ruined then. I’ve been off the market for serious sexual relationships, which is fine since I’m young. And though Maeve (this girl) is wonderful, I doubt we will ever go anywhere truly serious.
Where to go from here.
I’m actually kind of terrified. My last experience, full of timid touches and experimental kinks which turned into a raw abuse. Though this turned me away from BDSM for a while, I couldn’t stay away with the new wave rolling in. Communities seem like a big help though. Hopefully I’ll learn as I try to find something that works for me.
By the way, my Internet has been down for a few weeks now. It still is. I’m actually bumming off my neighbors as they, through a few lovely conversational exchanges, gave me their password. I’m not exactly tech-savvy, but I get along well with electronics. And yet, this problem has me stumped. We bought a new wireless router and, whoa and behold, it doesn’t work quite right. I would talk about the problem with the IPA, the WPA, the SSID and the awful LAN cords but I have a feeling I’d bore you. Just know that I doubt you’ll see much of me around.
Rustic heart, rusted heart. 