Old Memories

There’s a Dom, and when i talk to Him, it triggers all my PTSD stuff.  

He doesn’t mean to.  That’s not his goal.  He’s just being a Dom, just being who he is.

i don’t even know how He does it.  

But somehow, when we talk, i end up flooded with feelings.  The feelings seem like they’re connected with whatever He’s saying, whatever we’re talking about.  But they’re so strong.

i feel flooded with the feelings.  Often, they make me feel like crying.  Make me want to curl up in a ball and stay there.  Forever.

And then, while i’m feeling all shamed and overwhelmed with it, i realize ~~

~~it has practically nothing to do with Him.  Whatever he’s said or done is not really even in the realm of shame-based things that his words have triggered.  No.

He’s sparked an emotional memory.  The feelings are connected to some long gone event, and he’s tugged on the strings that connect to it.  He didn’t cause it.

It’s like eating ice cream when you have a bad tooth.  Have you ever done that? And suddenly the ice cream ~ the sweet and the cold ~ hit a nerve.  The pain is so sharp and intense, you almost scream.  And then, mercifully, it fades, and you think you might live after all.

It’s a little bit like that, not quite so sudden, not quite so sharp, and it doesn’t fade as quickly either.  But the ice cream doesn’t mean to hurt, and neither does He.  So He doesn’t understand when i react. 

i’m learning that when i feel that way, it just means something has hit a nerve.  An exposed nerve.  

i’ve done so much healing that i don’t think i’m supposed to have any exposed nerves.  i don’t like it when it happens ~ well ~ laughing… of course i don’t like it, it hurts.  But i don’t like it because i think, Damn, another one?  i didn’t realize i had so many!

i know now that when i feel that way, i need to look to myself, look at myself, and poke around til i find where the nerve connects to my life.  

It’s not a fun process, it doesn’t feel good.  But when i look, i see it.  And then i feel it.  

Sigh.

Which is what  i don’t want to do, but there it is.  

There’s a story sitting in my mind now.  Forty years ago it happened, and the feeling is as fresh as yesterday.

i was 14 or 15.  We were in bed.  He said he thought i was old enough to do something new.

i thought he meant oral sex ~ with me receiving ~ and i was delighted.   i agreed with great enthusiasm.

He said it might hurt a little bit.

i was too excited to pay enough attention to that.  i thought, well, i don’t know why that would hurt, but i’ve been wanting to know what it’s like.  i bet i’ll like it.

So i said, “That’s ok, i don’t care, go ahead.  i want to try it. i’m not worried about it hurting.”

Only it wasn’t oral sex he was talking about, not the caress of mouth and tongue on my pussy.  It was anal sex, brutal, unlubricated thrusts. 

The pain is in the “i asked for it,” and “i should have known better.” And underlying that, the belief, “If you ask for it, you deserve what you get.  It was your own fault.”

My rational mind doesn’t believe that.  Rationally, i don’t believe it was my fault.  To believe it with my heart, i have to remember how i felt.  The quick flip from joyful anticipation to pain.

But mostly i remember that deep sense of shame, that this was happening because i asked for it.  Shame and feeling stupid because i’d thought he wanted oral sex.  

“i should have known better.”

At their best, D/s relationships are healing – they trigger memories, or replicate situations, but this time the ending is different.  That’s happened to me a bunch of times.  When it does, there’s a rush of joy, a sense of being set free.

i haven’t shed this memory yet ~ well, not the memory, but the feelings connected to it.  i don’t know what work i still need to do around that, but at least i know it’s there and needs work.  i guess that’s helpful.

Verbal touch… and then

Physical touch is so powerful and so pleasant, it surprises me that verbal touch is my favorite language of love.  Maybe that’s because it’s more universal.  There are lots of people we’re not supposed to touch physically.   Or can’t touch.  Verbal touch is always an option.

And i thought it would be easy to write this piece.  Instead, i’m struggling. Looking for words to describe the power of words. 

It’s not about affirmations – you know, the “i’m good enough, smart enough, loveable enough” thing.  It’s not even about validation – recognizing and acknowledging what people are thinking and feeling.  Or – it is both of those things, but not at the heart. 

Maybe after all this, i don’t have words for the words i love…

Back many years ago, when i was doing some therapeutic work of my own, i had a therapist named Dave.  Sometimes i’d be up at 4 o’clock in the morning, writing and thinking, and i’d get overwhelmed with – feelings.  Sadness, pain, grief, despair – you know – that stuff we work on in therapy. 

And i’d call Dave’s office – back in the day, he wouldn’t even know he’d missed a call.  i’d listen to his message, “Hello, you’ve reached the office of…” in his voice.  And i’d feel better.  i wouldn’t leave a message, i’d just listen and feel better. 

Sometimes, i’d call more than once. 

Once, when i 19 or 20, i was talking to my psychology professor, explaining why i hadn’t finished something i’d promised to do.  He looked at me with his kind eyes and said, “You’re really having a hard semester, aren’t you?” – and i burst into tears.  Ten minutes, and a bunch of kleenex, later, i felt so much better.

It was his words that touched me in the right spot – that opened the door for my tears and the healing.

My mother’s voice, saying my name.  My daughter, who still calls me “Mama.”   My friend Ruth, who just has to say “hello” to make me smile.    JM, the amazing analyst, whose voice can also soothe and heal and open the floodgates.  

The power isn’t just the words, is it?  Or – is it that words they’ve already said have built a link, and now just the voice is enough?  i don’t know.

His voice.  Sir’s voice.

i type those words, and get shivers through my body.  He is back from His vacation – well, back in where-He-lives, which is not so far from where-i-live.  We talked yesterday, twice.

{Smiling}

Seeing His name pop up on my phone is nice.  Hearing His voice is even better.   And then the words…  sometimes, i can’t think of what i want to say because i’m just wrapped up in listening to Him.  His voice – the verbal touch – carries so much with it.  It carries –

– the feelings i have where i left myself yesterday, on my knees on a blanket beside the fireplace, ass raised, head down, my hands behind me, opening my self for Him.  My Sir is behind me, His legs touching mine, His body pressed against mine, His cock poised

         – at the entrance to  – o, yes, i’ll say it easily – poised at my asshole – and then…

 i’m holding my breath cause i feel Him push – pushing His cock, which is wet and slippery from my pussy.  Pushing it into, opening me more, more than He already had.  And then –

“Breathe,” He says, and His voice is so normal and gentle that i relax and start breathing again.  And that opens me – and He slides deeper – He is starting to fill me – and for just a second i get a wave of panic again, almost that “sick at my stomach, i can’t do this” feeling and then…

He pulls back a little, it feels like He’s leaving, and i don’t want Him to – i want Him inside me – want Him to take me.  “O – Sir – please…”

“Please?” He says.  “Please what?”  He is poised, inside me but barely.

i know the words, i know the words i want to say, they’re right there – “Please, Sir, please fuck me in the ass.”  i sigh, a sigh of relief, of contentment.  “Please, Sir”

And He pushes forward again, burying Himself deeper inside me.  It stretches me, but i am relaxed and i welcome it, pushing myself back against Him.   i am totally open to Him, as if i have no bones, no muscle.  i belong to Him.

And He fucks me, pushes all the way into me.  i am pinned down, caught, taken, possessed.    Making noises – a gasp, a moan,  a whimper – omigod.   Loving the feeling of being His.

And then – “Touch yourself,” He says.  “Touch your pussy.”  Surprised, i obey, my hand goes to my pussy, my swollen lips, wet and slippery.  i caress myself, rubbing the button of pleasure – rubbing my clit.  And quickly, the feeling begins to build.

The fullness, the sensation of being taken, His cock fucking me, and the tingling, vibrating, rising pleasure and then i am going up – up – all my sensations focused there – between my legs, between my ass cheeks, in those few inches of space – omigod – going up higher – and then –

i am tumbling over the top, crying out, shaking, trembling, tumbling over the top and back down….  crying His name.  

Collapsing, spent, finished, feeling Him thrusting  deep into me, welcoming it, pressing back into Him, wanting Him deeper, wanting Him all – until He is there too – over the top –

                                              and i hear Him cry out, and His cock throbs, and i feel the heat as He explodes inside me.

And then, lying there, finished, drained, complete, His body relaxed as well, weighing on my back, i feel His hand touch my hair, His breath on my neck. 

“Good girl,” He says. 

*****************************************************

Friday i will see Him, just today left in my countdown – and then tomorrow He will be here.  {Smiling…}

 

 

Physical Touch….and then

My next favorite of  the five “languages of love” is physical touch.  Virginia Satir, a family therapist, says that people need four hugs a day to survive, eight to maintain, and twelve for growth.  i don’t know if that’s true, but we know that babies die if they aren’t touched and held.

After i got divorced the first time, i didn’t date for a couple of years.  i needed that time alone, and i was lonesome.  i started going to church then, the same church i go to now.  It’s a small, liberal, Catholic church.  My family had gone there for several years when i was in high school, and i had loved it.  So going back was like going home.     

We do “the sign of peace.”  In most Catholic churches, you hug your spouse and kids, shake hands with the person next to you and behind you, and the mass goes on.  At my church, it’s a ten minute break.  We leave our seats and walk around, greeting each other, shaking hands and hugging.  

In those two years that i was alone, you can imagine how much i treasured those hugs.  i’d try to stock up for the whole week.   

Physical touch is an act of love.  It may not mean you’re “in love,” and it doesn’t have to be sexual, but it is an act of love. 

If you read my blog, you already know i love physical touch.   i love receiving it.  Soft and silky, warm and fuzzy, smooth and hard, i like it. 

 i like silk, velvet, and feather boas – and i like the vampire glove, rough and wicked.  Lotions and oils, pedicures and massages…   i love to be touched.  Stroked, caressed.  Pinched and spanked.

Rope, the feel of rope in my hands, and then as He wraps it around me, ties me up like a package.  It holds me.  Caresses as he unwraps me, sliding over me, round and round.  Leaving rope marks as testimony.

i love to be touched. 

i love to touch. 

With my hands, holding, rubbing, stroking.  The sensation of His skin under my hands makes me purr.

With my mouth.  A kiss.  The touch of  lips, mouths opening, the moment when tongues meet… 

With my mouth on His cock.  i could write  – o, i have written – pages on the joys of taking His cock in my mouth.   The taste of it, the feel of it – sensual delights.  

i love being overwhelmed with sensation.  Like – o, yes, like i left myself yesterday –

– on my knees with my back to Him, ass raised, head down – His fingers in my pussy still, and also-

  – i will say it, He made me say it yesterday, today i will just say it – His fingers in my asshole. 

He has been teasing me, tormenting me really.  Sliding them in and pulling them back, back far enough that i begin to feel empty…

…to feel bereft, to want them back.

                  He is making me beg.  Making me beg for something i didn’t even want.

Whimpering, “O, please, Sir, please,” and pushing my self back, pushing my ass back, trying not to lose the sensation of being filled.  Being taken.

Shameless.

And then i feel Him shift His weight, He rises from His chair and kneels behind me.  O.  His fingers are still inside me, and He’s kneeling behind me.

His body touches mine.  i feel His thighs against my ass, and i whimper.  It feels so good.

I feel His cock, it brushes against me, hard, and for a moment, i’m afraid.  For a moment. 

i want Him, i want this.  And – it doesn’t matter anymore if i do or not.  This is my Sir behind me, and if He wants to, He’ll take me now.  i am too deeply His to protest, even if i wanted to.

As i think that, i feel myself open further, not just my body.  My mind, my heart opens.  i want Him to take more.

And then – He takes His hands away.  Removes them, and i could cry, i feel so empty, i want them back, but He’s talking –

“Aisha,” He says, and his voice is casual, “I’m going to fuck your asshole now.  i want your hands behind you, spreading yourself for me.  Open your ass more.”

i’m blushing, it seems unreal – and when i’m slow to obey, He smacks my ass, hard, and i feel a new gush of wetness.   “Now,” He says. 

Quickly, obediantly, i bring my hands behind me. 

Place them on my ass cheeks.

And pull, spreading my cheeks.  Opening myself for Him.  Whimpering,  feeling totally vulnerable, totally open, totally His.

And then, i feel His cock between my cheeks, at my pussy, He rubs Himself in my juices, lubricating Himself.   The shaft of His cock slides lengthwise between my cheeks, i feel it thick and hard.  Threat and promise.

i feel Him pull back, His cock in His hand – pausing –

             the head of His cock pressing at the entrance, pressing at my asshole –

and then…