Home > memories, reflection, submission > Partial reminiscence

Partial reminiscence

November 5, 2009 Leave a comment Go to comments

With his body wrapped around mine, he told me – ordered me – to cry.  To let myself go.  Even now, weeks later, the memory inflames me.  I remember his continuous dialog in my ear, of how I so desperately needed this submission; of how clear that was to him; of how I was strong for everyone else but needed to be vulnerable, be open, for him.

That this was not about distance.

“When was the last time,” he asked, “you cried into someone’s arms?”

Up until then, I’d been shaking my head, incredulous, at this repeated request to cry for him.  And a part of me still wishes I had reared back then, pushed away, eyes wide open, to protest this.  How could he?  How dare he?  How could he make that assumption of me, someone he barely knew?

How could he just ask a question like that?

Instead, I scoured recent memory and found that I could not answer, either to him or to myself.  When, indeed, had been the last time I’d made myself that vulnerable to someone else?  More to the point: why would I want to?  Rather than feel indignant or infuriated, however, I instead broke down, feeling like something had been torn away from me.

I fell asleep that way, clutching him, completely drained and disoriented.  He continued to hold me, whisper in my ear, and comfort me.

I hated that night.  I hated that I broke so easily – as if he’d taken one look at me and seen right through to my weaknesses.

The rest of the night would continue in the same vein: being awakened abruptly by his fist in my hair and his words tirelessly working their way into my head.  By morning I awoke exhausted, both physically and psychologically.  And yet he continued his instruction, with my body pinned under his and his voice in my ears.  But, now, with fresh doubts concerning my self-control – as well as my entire time with him – dominating my mind, I could not focus.

I’ve found myself constantly replaying this particular night in my head the past few days.  I think it is in part because I am still left feeling a bit raw and fragile – understandable aftereffects of such an intensely escalating experience – and in part due to the moodiness of the past week.

I have no reason to feel this gloomy.  I think I need more exercise, and more sun.

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  1. Max
    November 5, 2009 at 8:46 pm

    “as if he’d taken one look at me and seen right through to my weaknesses” – or perhaps it was your strength he saw.

    Exercise and sun are always good. But maybe you just need a hand in your hair in the middle of the night.

    Max

    • November 6, 2009 at 12:26 pm

      I never thought I’d have trouble discerning between strength and weakness. That’s my problem right there!

      Maybe I do…

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