Here it is another update, in order not to accumulate too much to say or risk mixing emotions and losing characteristic shades of each step.
A few days ago, the next night after the call, I crashed down for the umpteenth time. At the feeling of being totally alone and bearing so much pain I panicked again. Because I speak of instinctive emotions and he of stable rationality; I speak of moments of madness and he of rooted convictions. It seemed to me we were speaking different languages, that I couldn’t be comforted because we weren’t at the same level, it seemed that we weren’t even talking about the same thing. I cried and the tears had a much more modest taste, as a completely worn out person who has no longer much energy to squirm. Maybe it will be one of the last weeping that I will have towards the cuckqueaning, as if I were running out of tears.
These days He and I are strengthening their virtual relationship, to make sure that she won’t go away since he promised me a little vacation from their physical sessions. Curiously, I am full of ideas for them: sometimes without even meaning it I let slip some ‘advice’ and I’ve just found out that he doesn’t dislike these involvement of mine. I wouldn’t like to be there in the middle, but from a certain point of view it’s as if I controlled the situation with him. Yes, I control it anyway because that’s how we organized the dynamic, but now it’s as if I could feel it “physically.”
I asked to read the text messages they sent each other and I was shocked by the person that I found. I wasn’t able to recognize him even for a moment. He spoke in a different way, even the grammar of his sentences was different, the punctuation was set in a completely different way. I was shocked because that is a man I don’t know and I’m scared. I had to ask him if he really meant all those flirting lines, all that he wrote he wanted to do to her and all those explicit messages which I’m not used to. He strongly denied, saying it’s only a helpful dress to our game and I calmed down a bit, but I’m terribly paranoid when I ask him to read what they write. For me it’s like being a child who sees something new and wants to study it better, even if it is the most horrible thing ever.
She sends him photos every night, I stubbornly keep on insulting her body. Then I get pissed at myself because I know that I am not addressing really existing defects. I can’t find nothing wrong in reality, and it disarms me. She has nothing wrong.
She writes about their meetings (by a request of him) and I read more emotional and involved perspectives, which also change the image of him than he had given me. She mentions other gestures, other behaviours, it’s like hearing a different story, and knowing that she is talking about him scares me even more. I’m terrorized of hearing events that he may have omitted for one reason or another; gestures which mean nothing for him but that could make the difference for me.
He wants to hear her masturbating on the phone (an idea of mine, what the fuck…) and I already think that I must find something to do in the meantime because I don’t know if I can stand her sighing to him and saying who knows what on the other side of the phone. That he could say something. I absolutely don’t want to stare at his face and look for the slightest trace of excitement or interest in a FEMALE that tells him she’s ready for him. Sure of his human side, I get scared of his animal one. He says that he won’t be on the phone more than 10 minutes, whether she comes or not, and I want to do something else because otherwise I know I will check every minute that passes. And what if it’ll last more?
What if everything will last longer?
The other day we talked about the fact that we had decided to make this game last the time it actually ‘lived’, but for me it’s something that occupies my mind 24/7. I was naive to think that it might be a hobby I could just ignore when I wanted. It constantly occupies my mind, day and night, when I try to fantasize it creeps inside my head to paint everything with acid, and when I dream it stains me with nightmares.
These days it’s going a little better, I must admit it. The attacks of despair are less acute, jealousy stays under my skin without corroding me, but I still want to be careful.
Last night I asked him to call her to hear her masturbating, I wanted to try to ‘take away the thought’ in order to be more quiet in the coming days. I told him I couldn’t bear more than 15 minutes (plus 5 minute of margin if she wasn’t alone yet), and I put myself aside. Immediately I felt terrible, I felt the usual anxiety and I wondered how I could spend those 15 minutes of hell.
Then I got the idea.
I got up, went near him and I listened to the phone. He continued to speak in a tone that he doesn’t use with me (a pitched tone that I’d never want him to use with me if not in a jokingly manner) and I clang to his shirt trying to calm down. I made it, oddly enough. I heard him speak, from a distance I heard her sighs while masturbating and I was surprised by myself because I wasn’t upset anymore. No anxiety, no agitation. I felt sorry only because I couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying; I heard myself telling him that the next time I’d want earphones and he asked me “The next time?” It makes me laugh.
I gave some other ideas for her duties, he was enthusiastic and I was glad. I asked him to read what he wrote BEFORE sending the message, and he agreed, smiling.
I find that a kind of controlled closeness makes me feel better, I feel I have power over her just like him, I feel that we are playing together in a way that before I couldn’t notice.
Maybe (and I say MAYBE) I’m menaging to find my dimension.