Chitchat Ch. 04

Then something changes. It's not a moment of letting go. It is panic. Sheer terror. This kind of flip flopping of emotion has been present the entire time I have known him. Within the safety of my home far from him, I have been able to conceal it, at least for the most part. But now, that buffer is gone and I am on full display. He can sense the instant change in my commitment. He can smell my urge to run.

I do want to run. I want to get the fuck out of here. What was I thinking? How could I let myself be so lead by desire and the urges that fill me. He is like heroin to me. I can't get enough of him, good trip or bad, I always want more. He doesn't even have to try anymore and I can't get out of the cage. I throw myself back and forth against the bars. I really don't want to be here. I want to go back to the time when life was controllable. I want to go back to exploring the beauty of being light. But instead, I am whirling around in my darkness. The spiral fueled by his immorality. I cannot get out. The pain and the pleasure are one in the same.

All my life I have fought this urge to be in the cage. I would enter briefly and then I always escaped. I had yet to meet someone powerful enough to contain me. Repeatedly, I came out looking like the poor lovely soul who crossed paths with the monster. No one, except for my gruesome lovers knew how much I added to the chaos, craved it, received it with open arms and dripping sex. I don't know why I am like this. I just get off on the evil of others. I like to watch them hurt others. And, for my own destruction, I pay top dollar for a front row seat. I am not going to apologize for the way I am, although it is something I try so desperately to extinguish. You know, for the greater good.

He is different. He contained me. In ways I feel like I have met my match. We are so good together, it is almost scary. We compliment each other so well, it is well, unreal. Therein lies the rub, is this unreal? Is this something that each of us has manifested in our own minds to feed our individual hunger? Does any of that even matter? I guess part of me really wants to believe that the connection I feel is real. Another part of me knows there is no possible way that it could be. But isn't this the way all relationships are? Each person living their own dream. I guess conventional relationships are just so much more palatable, easier on the mind. They look like something familiar that society has deemed okay.

Our relationship is definitely not okay. It is nurtured by the transference of pain. There was no hiding it from him, this darkness that I had previously admitted to noone. He tuned into that frequency, precisely, expertly and cultivated it. The result was creation. Instead of me trying to push the twisted thoughts down and assimilate like a normal lover, like I've done my whole life, his support led me to dig into my depths and release this darkness and feel it, live it.

Now I depend upon it. He doesn't shame me for it, he rewards me with his pleasure. The more his pleasure became my priority, the deeper I go. A well oiled dastardly machine.

Yet, where is the grounded footing that makes this all okay? The rush of the threat that this could all fall apart at any moment is akin to playing Russian roulette. I think I suffer the conflict of this pulling of the trigger more than he does. He just seems to stand tall and strong throughout it all. Or maybe he just doesn't really care, and so my chaos never threatens him. He understands. This is all just part of it.

Whatever it is, it gives me a glimpse into the world of the polarity of emotions. A place I never go, except for with him. In my everyday life, I am as baseline as they come. I have perfected the art of being level headed and dependable. That all crumbled away painstaking slowly once I entered the cage. I have become very needy. The irony is, he is the only one who can help me out and he doesn't, because, well he enjoys it. My fears are the autoimmune disease that keeps attacking that which it is supposed to guard. And still he remains unscathed, patient and continues to enjoy me as I become more and more undone.

I look down upon my body dressed as his whore, and I feel ashamed. I came here to serve him. I came here to play with him and to deliver him my unique gifts. But, I am not the woman I wanted to be. I thought I could turn off my mind and be a robotic fuck toy. I don't know how to let go, although it is what I want most. It is what I am willing to risk it all to feel.

He is watching me. Reading me. It takes a lot for him not to reveal the pleasure he feels observing me. My thief. He knows how to use the psychodrama filling up the space in my brain to make me do anything he wants. To him, this is a perfect delay of satisfaction. He sees this as flirtation. His hunger is growing and and he is feeding right up until the very last moment. All he feels is his need to conquer and take my cunt as his. It's so close he can taste it.