Another 10 days have passed.
Despite they didn’t pass as I had hoped, at least I know that they have passed. The days go by and I always feel like it’s a victory, renewed every 24 hours.
Unexpectedly when we got back to our house we had for a week as a guest a dear friend who unwittingly prevented me to speak freely and settle unfinished accounts, so I have accumulated more anxiety.
Our Mare, Cuckmare, Toyslut or however you like to call her, in these 10 days has continued with her policy of asking for reassurances and attentions.
As I mentioned earlier she had been told to do two videos, which I’ve seen actually. I must admit that feeling jealous for such a thing is offensive towards me because I’ve rarely seen anything so boring, though I admit that with her being totally inexperienced a similar result was predictable. That said, I was jealous though, because I could see her face.
Hers was an expression that doesn’t need an expert in kinesics to understand. Her excitement for being in front of a camera, the fact that that video was for him, the fact that she was told to do so, the fact that she was imagining HIM touching her; it was as if her entire face was talking loudly. It’s almost useless saying that I wanted to choke her with the pillow, but I confess that I like being able to talk almost completely freely.
I even talked to her on the phone. Yes, because my boyfriend and our friend were helping her with the maturity exam, and at some point she took this absurd initiative (at least once in her life she has chosen to do something) to ask my opinion. Opinion, of course.
So I picked up the phone and talked to her about absolutely irrelevant things. She was polite, she implicitly stressed that she would follow what I recommended, she shouted between the lines “I don’t want to be a bother to you”, and of course listened to the voice of her rival: she studied my attitude toward her, she checked if I suspected something.
I hate these falsely furtive movements .
As if all this was not enough, just when he and I were finally able to be alone she has taken this tune that she wants to be convinced. The “I don’t want a one night stand” so she can get the answer “this is not a one night stand.”
During all these days I continued to keep quiet about everything, the only confessions that I couldn’t hold were outbursts against her which were regularly clipped from him telling me that I shouldn’t blame her, that she has her good points, that I should see this situation differently, take the positive things.
Yesterday I drew on my skin with graphite (old masochistic habit), and as I scratched with the tip of the pencil he took the place of my hand and started writing on me. The physical pain has played the role of safety valve, and I felt better. Then he took two photos of the final result which he sent to her by email because “do you know how jealous she will be?”. I also have agreed to it, of course.
She was excited about it, and I, irritated, kept on writing on myself.
In the evening he had to chat with her, because he wanted her to draw on herself like I did. In the end I asked him to call her directly, because he would have been able to conclude the matter more quickly, and I wanted him to be in front of me because I didn’t want him to hide anything from me. I smiled at the “Look, you may hear unpleasant things, are you sure?”, But then “Ssssh now, hush.”
The call lasted about an hour. I barely recognized his voice: I happen to hear that stiff tone when he’s reading, whereas in that moment it was a voice of flirtation and maliciously authoritarian.
I tried to spend time keeping up with my drawings (which were a bit more violent), distracting him by moving my panties aside (action interrupted by my disgust for having tried desperately to get his attention), walking around the room without a precise destination, adjusting the quality of the 3 more photos that were about to be sent to her.
Finally they ended the call, he repeated that he wanted pictures of her drawings like the ones I did. In all that time my mood had fallen.
Today she did another mini drama, writing that she just can’t use a pencil because she is not able and she’s willing to wait for him to make it on her body by himself. She’s a poor little clumsy girl you must pay attention to because she is “still too small and cannot be trusted alone” [[see post number 1 of this blog]]. Then he told her to take ‘interesting’ photos.
Now, I am perfectly aware that this post is aseptic. I could have written a chronological list of events and it would have had the same effect. But it’s hard to say how I feel.
If in the early days my state of despair was constant, during these 10 days I’ve had mood swings worthy of a schizophrenic. One moment I was happy and relieved and the next moment I was thinking that sooner or later he would have had to go away again. One moment I was excited because he was touching me and the next moment I was thinking he had touched her in the same way.
Really, I had a roller coaster in my head, and I still have. Seriously unnerving.
The paranoia is catching on, and every time the phone rings I think it’s her. I’d want to ask every second what she wrote, if they said something relevant, if she has sent an email etc.. Between the two of us I’m the one who thinks about it all the time. Besides, I could never stop monitoring “the enemy”.
I should not consider her in this way, OK. But I shouldn’t also belittle her so I don’t consider her as an enemy. What should I do? Appreciate her good points and ask her to be best friends forever?!
For example, he is now fixing her PC (through PC. Tautological, I know) and hearing him calling her name fills my mouth with insults. At any time of the day I could dissect whole poems to belittle her person, her life, her usefulness in animal and human society and much more.
I don’t know exactly if this mad rage is actually part of the ladder. I don’t know if this sense of “ther’s something wrong in here” is justified (as if being with him wasn’t enough to solve the problem and it’s still surprising me).
I still happen to cry, as I happen to laugh, to get pissed, to hurt myself and try to hurt others, to destroy something, to create, to harm and cure myself.
It’s as if I’ve been trying anything to erase the feeling of the knife in my stomach.
He says that I must be proud of myself, since I’m facing so much. Everything that happens to me I reinterpret it as something that I would really like if I were in a position of a total sub and I could get turned on with these kind of things. Many of these kind of dynamics are probably reminiscent of humiliation’s patterns that many cuckqueans use successfully. The problem is that I don’t want to be humiliated and I want even less to be turned on. I want to be proud to be winning.
But I don’t feel like I’m winning, I feel that everything around me is trying to convince me to lower my head and accept this situation. I am told that I shouldn’t get angry because this thing has no importance, but when I attack her I’m told that I should learn to accept it. If it’s so unimportant why can’t I do what I want? Why can’t I insult her and scream a million ways to make her regret being born? And above all: why can’t I ask for a second voice that supports my hatred?
How can I feel successful? And above all: what is it that makes me feel like a loser?
If I try to think more carefully, there were single episodes where I felt superior and she was like a little worm. For example, when I heard her on the phone: her tone of voice, my position towards the help she was asking me, everything agreed that she was tiny compared to me. Or even when he told me that he had failed to fuck her because he couldn’t get hard with her. When I had the certainty of having fucked better than usual and having renovated the enormous gulf that should exist between me and her. When I saw the results of my studies, works, and all the creations I did to sublimate the pain and show him what I could do in just a few hours.
But all these events produced something that lasted a few seconds and it has always been immediately replaced by a deep sense of injustice. For example: if I scratched myself with a pencil and I have engraved this beautiful drawing almost as if my veins follow an Art Nouveau pattern, why the fuck should she do the same? Why should she imitate me? That’s one thing that pisses me off: the feeling that she is trying to imitate me.
I do drawings? She does the same. I take pictures on the phone to flirt with him? She does the same. I ask for reassurance? She gets as many as me. I feel like I’m on the cross? She will build one higher than mine. I develop naturally sub shades? She is learning how to be a slave.
Not to sound like a little child, but this pisses me off.
Could there be times when I wouldn’t feel like this? I have no idea. Besides, I have confirmed that any girl he had chosen I would have considered her a bitch as well (in a relationship or not she’d choose to open her legs knowing that he is engaged, and that to me is being 100% whores). The only time I couldn’t say the same would have been if the girl in question had been a cuckoldress; that is, if she did it with absolute knowledge of the whole situation.
But finding such a woman would have taken a lot of time, and even now I feel I have been thrown into this world before I could have time to get some air.
Final report of this long speech: after another 10 days I’m confused. No longer desperate, but certainly hurt.