affection, crazy, dating, relations, feelings, intimacy, life, love, relations, sex

Power of Physical Attraction

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I never liked the way he looked, he talked, he acted. His smiles were fake, his demeanor was offensive. I simply tolerated his condescending attitude and lack of compassion since the physical aspect was awesome.

Don’t you like anything about me at all?  –  I felt irritation in his voice when he confronted me with this question and did not respond. Sex with him was magical, he was hot and cold, strong and weak, passionate and negligently cruel all at the same time. Outside the bedroom there was no connection, no mutual interests, nothing. He seemed to hate everything about me. I was too skinny, too hysterical, too talkative, too worldly, too emotional.

Why are you with me? – I was really curious what kept him near me; he had no answer.

I made the decision to stop the relationship and texted him “bye now” and immediately received “You are trash, you do not deserve me”. He seemed to be pissed, I was tired and ready to go to bed.

My withdrawal started a week after. The desire to be close grew from strong to mind-blowing. The pain was very real and very physical. Our relations were purely sexual. I allowed him to crawl into my body, to germinate, to root. Breaking the connection felt worse than extracting wisdom teeth without anesthesia.

Three weeks after he gave me a call and asked to meet.

I entered a cheap Asian diner and saw him immediately; cold eyes, expensive suit, and pragmatic mercilessness. Our eyes met, the wave of pain and desire literally blinded me for a moment.

He gestured to sit down and moved to me his bowl of rice. – You are too thin. You gotta eat.

I smiled reaching out for chopsticks. I felt hungry and slightly dizzy. – How are you?  

I am good, luv. I worry about you.

 – Ok, – the rice was yummy

I can’t be with you.

 – Ok

I can’t. You know who I am, right? – He held a senior executive position in an oil and gas company, worked almost 24 hours a day and drove a luxury vehicle.

Yes, I know who you are

Honey, my friends, family, my business partners, everyone will make fun of me if we are together.

Can you order more rice, please? – I had not eaten for days, after we broke up depression hit me really hard.

Please, look in the mirror. You are drab and mousy. Did you see women I dated before?

 – Yes, – I finally looked up, tired of talking to the rice bowl and the dirty table.  

 – They are classy, well-maintained. It would take time and money to turn you into someone I could officially take out to dinner. Boob job, Botox, professional stylist, hear-dresser, everything.  It makes sense to find someone ready-made than to invest in you. You do not know how to behave, you are too short, and you are so … so anorexic.

 – I want more rice

 – I want you

– I know, buy me more rice – I was hungry and happy to see him again

–  Yes, yes, sure, – he hurried to the self-serve kiosk to place another order. Athletic, perfectly-ironed, smelling like money, almost an alien in that crappy place. He returned with a platter of veggies and water.  – I really hate this place, hon.

 – Why did you choose it?

 – Close to my office, plus none of my work team or friends come here

 – Why did you want to meet?

 – To tell you it is over

– It was over 3 weeks ago, – I was calm and curious. I knew my pain would hit me later. Days felt ok; neediness and cravings usually returned in the evening. – Bye

We met the next day, and the next day, and the next day. I loved his place, top-grade, water view, Zen style. It was absurd and stupid. We had nothing in common, we were entire strangers. I knew I needed to block his phone number and move on, but I could not. Sex was the only thing that seemed to connect us, but that connection was too tight, too strong, too painful to break. I finally gave up thinking and started laughing every time he texted the usual “how was your day luv? I will be waiting for you in that crappy diner”.

affection, anxiety, broken heart, dating, relations, feelings, depression, feelings, happiness, health, intimacy, life, love, reality, sugar

Dealing with the Broken Heart. My Story of Recovery.

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It is over. I will never see him again. I went through the night hiding under the blanket, shaking with cold, struck with emptiness. The morning started just fine. 20 boy push-ups and lots of water kept my mind away for a little while.

Jim called asking if he can stop by. I confirmed and went into the kitchen to fix an apple pie. Slicing apples and blending egg whites with flour and honey got me busy. I was functioning, I felt almost normal.

Jim brought roses, I cut each stem and placed the flowers into a vase.

Now what?  – he was cold and practical. He kept trying to get me back and hated wasting his time and money with no certainty.

I do not know.

Tell me what you want, and I will do it for you.

You can’t fix my pain, I gotta go through this by myself.

 – Nice cake.

 – You can take it home.

 – Be my mistress.

 – No.

 – You are using me all the time, it is mean and rude.

 – I do not care.

I am ready to give you what you want, just tell me.

 – I want freedom from pain.

He left with the pie, I went shopping. The pain subsided as I was focusing on a birthday present for my girlfriend. The pain almost disappeared when I stopped by to give her a hug and a potted flower. Her house smelled like joy and pizza. There were many people and many presents. I drank water and conversed politely. As we went out to watch the sunset over the water, I started panicking, I knew I would have to leave soon and be by myself again facing the pain through the night.  – “Are you sure you gonna be ok?” – my girlfriend looked concerned as I kept zipping and unzipping pockets in my handbag trying to find the car key. She wanted to help, and she could not, no one could. It was my pain, my cross, my burden.

I watched TV that night and fell asleep. The muscles were sore from too many pushups, the body felt empty.

The text from Jim woke me up – “You live in a crappy area, I can move you into a safer neighborhood, get over your breakup and come back”.

I smiled and stretched in bed. I wished I would get away and stay away from the area where everything reminded me of the past where I was happy and miserable. But I knew the pain would follow me no matter where I go. I knew I gotta deal with my emotions rather than running away from them.

I took one day at a time. The ties that connected me with him kept breaking causing pain sharp, and fierce, and nearly unbearable. My body was withdrawing going through convulsions as days went by.

The realization came later as I was focusing on the needle point excited and entirely involved in cross stitching. The realization that pain has nothing to do with love and feelings. The pain came from the hurt pride, from the failing attempts to control the life of another person, from the merciless possessiveness and the urge to dominate and sponge the person for attention, affection, and endless romance and intimacy.

I put the embroidery aside and closed the eyes. The love was there, it felt wonderful. I pictured him with another woman and smiled. I wanted him happy, he gave me the most wonderful time in my life. He deserved happiness and joy. I went outside and turned my face to the evening chilliness. The ego broke into million teeny-tiny pieces, I was vanishing with the drowning in the water sun. I let go of myself, my wants, my desires, my needs. There was no sense in carrying the burden of my pride and self-esteem any longer. The freedom was there. It has always been there. I have always been free. Everything felt simple and natural. I felt relieved and light; as light as a feather returning to my needle point.

 

.

 

 

 

abuse, broken heart, control, dating, relations, feelings, depression, divorce, escort, sugar, violence

Fairy-Tale with Violence

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She had a noble face with high cheekbones and pale complexion. Dark eyes and long black hair in contrast to ideally clean white skin gave that magical look that enchanted everyone. Girls fought for her friendship, guys throw houses, businesses, and families at her feet. She had memberships at almost every elite country club and ski resort. She confidently carried her exceptional status turning the nose up at others who were unlucky enough to work daily to pay the bills.

Once a month she wore professional make up early in the morning. “I had to see my make-up artist prior leaving my house, need to cover up the bruises”, – a light shrug of sculptured shoulders and a stunning laughter. Her glowing skin looked almost snow white under layers of concealers and a make-up foundation.

First two days are the worst for the black eye, hard to hide even for my visagiste, and she is a real professional; I wear dark glasses, – on such days she wore them day and night. Everyone followed the trend after seeing her in brandy sunnies at one of private sports event.  – I had to accompany my husband right after we argued. Sunnies are my saviors when make-up does not help.   – Her voice was melodious; the manners were sweet and slightly condescending.

And you were not even allowed to stay home and heal after he beat the crap out of you,  – she shuddered at my curiosity, my response was too vulgar and direct for her upper-class mindset.

Technically I could, but he would have taken his hooker instead, and I …., – she paused to sip some cappuccino, – I am fighting to save the family. We have kids.

– Good luck,  – I could feel her pain behind thick layers of make-up and seemingly nonchalant IT-girl demeanor.

Her lifestyle was a dream for every struggling girl forced to work to raise kids. She neither killed herself 40 hours a week nor spent sleepless nights when the children got sick. Her husband provided enough, she had money.

I feel safe home. We are rarely by ourselves. Our kids, sitters, cleaners, his mom and friends…. I have enough time and space to do what I want without him around.

 – How do you guys find time to fight?

 – Well, – she took a deep breath and tucked shiny locks of hair behind the ears, – two weeks ago he found out I cheated on him with his friend and got furious.   

But you’ve been in bruises for over 3 years now…

 – And?  – her voice suddenly lost the usual lazy carelessness, – my life is noone’s business. We have a happy marriage, a very happy marriage.    

Her gestures were suggestive of “everything is fine, my life is a life-long dream, unachievable for losers like you”. The whole world was at her feet, her life was a perfect fairy-tale for every poor girl from a low-income community.  The abusive part of the happy-ending story was thoroughly camouflage behind tons of make-up and prescribed anti-depressants and mood-stabilizers.

She went through long and desperate years of jumping from penis to penis prior getting the marital proposal from her husband. The door into the world of signature clubs and luxury resorts opened, she acquired careless demeanor and refined manners sinking her veneer teeth and well-manicured claws into the lifestyle she had been craving for all her life. Domestic violence was never an issue; she would die for the right to keep the place in the niche of wealth and prestige.

Her husband finally left and froze her bank accounts. She was kicked out of the house with nothing; his attorneys filed for the full custody of their children.

 – I do not know what to do, he took everything, I do not even have a vehicle, – her voice was usually calm when she called me from the local crisis center where she was brought by the police after overdosing on her sleep medications.

Do you believe in God? – it was the only response that came to my mind.

I actually do, – her laughter was sweet-sounding. I knew she was feeling better.

Her husband was there with five bodyguards when I came to visit her in the hospital.

How is she doing, is she ok?  – he was worried, I assured him that she was fine. For the first time in my life I met someone surrounded by hired protection services. One of guys looked hot, I gave him a smile and blushed when he smiled back.

She was discharged that day, beautifully pale and sensuously fragile like a China doll, her back was straight, her head was up. I saw him helping her into the car, they left quietly and quickly.

The divorce was cancelled, she went to Switzerland for 6 months to treat the diagnosed depression.

When she came back she was fresh and rested.

You look really good,  – I was glad to see her happy.

I am not sure if I told you, – her smile was stunning, her postures were magnetic, –  I found a new make-up girl, and she does miracles. I finally have someone who knows how to mask all my bruises.  

 

 

 

 

anxiety, control, crazy, dating, relations, feelings, dominance, fears, feelings, panic, power, psycho, Psychopath, sugar

Perfect Guy

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He instigated fear. The contrast between his calm and pleasant demeanor and my feelings of terror every time I saw him was unfathomable. Well-educated, intelligent, nicely smelling, fit, and smiling, he did not look like a fairy tale monster. Nevertheless, his presence brought shivers up and down my spine. My friends thought I was cuckoo, their “girl, you have a screw loose, go and eat something or talk to a therapist” made me guilty. His excessive concern about my wellbeing brought about shame and remorse; he loved, he cared, and I kept rejecting him quietly panicking when he was around.

I could not loudly demonstrate my concerns. He never raised his voice, but I was fearful to answer back and disagree. Once I got brave; I took a deep breath, and looking straight into his eyes, I gasped out “I am afraid of you”. He quietly stood up and went into the kitchen. I heard him using the water and ice dispenser in his refrigerator, he came back three minutes later with a glass of ice-cold orange juice and a sparklingly bleached smile.

You think too much, silly, – he smiled watching me gulp the juice, I felt stupid.

His friends were polite and intelligent as well. They wore comfy cashmere sweaters and designer pants and discussed marketing dynamics and sales strategies. They lived in safe neighborhoods, played golf and went boating on weekends. Their women were skinny, classy, and quiet. No one ever was rude or disrespectful, they smiled, always said hello and goodbye. I always smiled back responding to their greetings and farewells with the same pleasant demeanor, but deep in my heart I knew talking beyond “the dinner is tasty, I have enjoyed your company” was not acceptable.

One day I lost my job and gave him a call; my unemployment did not kick in timely, and I needed help to pay the bills. He did not answer, I left him a voicemail prior going to bed. A loud banging sound woke me up at around midnight. I opened the front door and got hit by December coldness. He was standing on the porch, I could not see his face, but I felt the anger through the freezing darkness.

Are you ok? – I forced a smile and waved him in.

He did not move, he had a bottle in his hand, I got surprised, drinking was not about him, he was into healthy lifestyle and daily exercising.

Are you ok? – I repeated shivering as the coldness was crawling under my PJs.

You disappointed me, – the voice was muffled, I stepped back shuddering at the smell of alcohol. – I wasted all my time with you. You got everything gifts, shoes, cruises, but you want more. Now you decided to quit your job and sponge me off. You are like everyone else.

He kept talking slurring words and getting angrier. I kept standing at the doorstep frozen with fear and ice-cold weather.  Suddenly he punched the wall right next to me, I screamed and rushed inside. The front door slammed behind my back. I heard the screech of his car as he took off.

I brew green tea and took a warm bath prior going to sleep. When he called me the next morning, he was sweetly polite as usual.

You scared me last night, – I was expecting clarification and apology.

I felt used, and I overreacted

– But, I was scared, – I still believed he would dismiss my fears with humor and a fine dining invitation.

You will deal with this my love, when shall we meet again?

 – I need to be by myself.

He kept stopping by with flowers and fruit. Every time I tried to discuss that night I was given Swiss chocolate and new clothes.

Don’t you see, I am afraid of you. – He laughed, gently stroking my hair while switching the TV channels.

My friends kept calling me cuckoo. They were jealous. He was always attentive, courteous, and intelligent, he was smart, well-educated, and as perfect as a smiley guy from my favorite family yogurt commercial. I felt guilty and stupid, I panicked for nothing.

 

affection, crazy, dating, relations, feelings, kinky, life, love, sugar, Victor

Swinger’s Love

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Victor was wonderful. Easy, positive, and inspiring. And hot, probably way too hot. He kept performing surgical procedures and operations in a local hospital. Jim kept grumping that he should be fired for being irresponsible, unethical, and lazy. I kept shrugging my shoulders thanking God for being a girl, no whose-dick-is-bigger games, no rat-racing for status and power.

All I wanted was chocolate for lunch and potted roses, carefully wrapped and sent anonymously.

Victor was open-minded. He loved women and horses. He was positive and caring. He was into pantiless nights in swinger clubs, partner swapping, and marathon running. From threesome and foursome to orgies, from guys to girls, from sub to dom, he switched sex roles and positions briefly and gracefully leaving each partner with the “WOW” impression. He was sincere, kind, and honest, everyone loved him, I was not the exception.

You are on my mind, Vixen all the time, – he was looking deeply into my eyes. I returned his gaze unable to hide a smile, he made me happy every time we had lunch together, – I keep thinking about you making love to two other guys while I am watching. The thought of it makes me hard. I would love to watch you swamped.

 – We are just friends, Victor, – I took a deep breath, I was curious.

It does not matter. I can find perfect guys for you, just let me know your preferences,  – His open-mindedness was amazing.

 – What about jealousy?

 – What about it?

 – Would you not feel jealous watching the woman you love being shared?

– Not at all, Vixen. You know I love you, right? – I quietly nodded. I loved talking to him, it was always fun and crazy. – I wanna share my love with others, – I was still quiet, I had nothing to say to this, – Plus, it is hot.

Victor was right about jealousy, I loved Greg, I never felt jealous, sharing him with others, I was happy when he was happy. I never claimed him as my possession to pay the bills or to mow my yard. I could love more than one person. Greg never got that, being married and changing mistresses, he demanded entire submission and monogamous obedience. I played by the rules solely because being a sub was fun, I loved fun, it made me feel good.

You know my dear, – I tried to put as much love as I could into “my dear”, – Greg would never appreciate this.

 – You do not have to tell him,  – Victor was a people’s magnet. Victor loved people; he shared them, he shared himself emotionally and sexually. Some were happy, most got hurt and revengeful – both guys and girls, they desperately tried to chain his heart, his mind, and his penis; when it did not work, they went to court. He never disputed a single case; he was always on time with child support, paid alimony, and covered moral damage. He was a nice guy, with a small ego and a big penis.

It was almost midnight when I received a call. – Can you give me a ride home, hon?  – his voice was dull, flat, and low.

Of course, my dear. Where are you?

 – Emergency, please pick me up, – each word was produced with extreme tension.

– Are you ok? – he hung up, I put the coat over my PJs and grabbed the car keys. It took me less than 5 minutes to get to the hospital. I saw him through the glass entrance door, tall, tired, pale, and emaciated with white gauze bandage around the head. I ran up to him with a hug. Dark circles under the eyes, bluish veins on both arms, he did not look good. – What happened?

 – Brain concussion, I will be fine, Vixen.

 – Why?

My girlfriend got mad and hit me with an iron.

 – Why?

– She found out about swinging.

 – Actually, it is battery, and she should be held accountable.

 – I do not need police in my personal life, honey. I love her, and she is gone.

He broke into tears as I was driving home. I had no idea what to say, how to calm him down. He spent that weekend in my place, cleaning the kitchen tiles and cooking uneatable breakfasts.

He left early on Monday morning. The smell of fried plantains and dried blood was still there, I aired the rooms prior going to work.

Two weeks after he asked me for lunch. He was back to normal, hot, horny, and loveable.  – I am invited to a private sex party, very upscale, wanna come?

 – How is your head?

 – You are so sweet, my love. You are the woman I need. Wanna go? We will find a perfect match for you, guys or girls, anything you like. It is a decent place, you will love it.

 – Where is your girlfriend?

 – She packed up and left that night.

 – Are you still in pain?

 – Of course, Vixen, my heart is broken.

 – How is your head?

 – Better than my heart.        

 He was awesome, I was laughing. We never made it to that party; he on call, and I had a headache. I loved him, he loved the whole world, he was unique, crazy, and generous. I was happy guys like him exist on Earth.