Archivi tag: relazioni

Giu22

Lull or storm centre – ENGLISH VERSION

Pubblicato il da
Standard

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.

Giu11

First Taste – part IV – ENGLISH VERSION

Pubblicato il da
Standard

It’s been almost a week since the beginning of everything. I can say with certainty that it was the longest week of my life, and perhaps one of the most difficult.

I have not reached yet the most ‘important’ point, their first time, because I went extensively into panic. The night before the date I was already very depressed, both physically and emotionally, the idea that I had to face 48 endless hours with that anxiety it was destroying me. I knew that I couldn’t take it anymore.
Every time they had physical contact I felt that a piece of my relationship with him was being ripped off, a piece of that implied agreement that ensures you that he is only yours.

The night he called me to tell me the plans he had for the next day (hotel and bdsm session), and I stopped being quiet. I completely stopped accepting the situation, which I helped to create myself, and I asked him to blow her off and see each other instead. It may have been the most selfish request of the month, but I said it with despair in my throat. I needed to get him back, I was ready to say “That’s enough” to everything, I just wanted to stop being so hurt, to sleep badly, to eat badly, breathe badly. All my life during the last week seemed to have taken an acid tone, and I had enough.

He understood immediately how important it was for me, and didn’t hesitate in saying yes. But then he introduced some…extenuating circumstances, let’s say, that made me feel more and more selfish and more and more choked.
First of all, she had lied to her parents to stay out the whole night; he was involved in first person and didn’t want to risk ruining the situation; there was a risk that after this huge blow out she would be gone and he didn’t want to repeat the whole process to find another girl; for the group he goes out with, avoiding her would be impossible and would create a bad atmosphere.
The fact that he was the one who was actually exposed himself in order to get her put me in the corner; my desire was putting him in a bad position.

My head began to swirl as the awareness that I’d have to endure the idea of him in that hotel in order to not ruin everything grew in me. I received constant reassurances, but they were nowhere near enough because his tone had already changed, had become thoughtful, and I knew that my request had come at the worst time.
He told me that we would put a pause months or years long to all this, because it was obvious that I wasn’t ready yet, that he would think 40 times before satisfying me with such requests in the future, and that he could no longer see me so hurt. But again, it slipped out of him this flat tone of voice saying it was a hassle because he had exposed himself in first person.

It didn’t take much till I was crying for the second time. But this time it was not for release because I was in his arms, this was total despair because I expressed my strongest desire -to cancel their meeting- and I realized it was not wise to satisfy it. I felt on the edge, I had bile in my throat and the next day he would be locked in a hotel room with her.
It was more than I could bear.

I cried for an infinite time, until I was no longer able to swallow. I didn’t want my tears to move him to please me, but in the end it was what he did. He would probably say that he had decided immediately after my request, but after his “ok” there were 3 hours of his monologue about why it would be a hassle, knowing that she would be gone, the reasons why it was going that bad etc. I kept apologizing for the situation I had caused, and I began to annoy even myself for my compliance. I had to give myself a tone and decide to go on firmly, because if he was putting himself at risk to give me the opportunity to do what I wanted, the least I could do was being sure.
In the calm following the crying I suggested to go if it was so uncomfortable for him to blow her off, that I would be comforted by the fact that it would be the last time I had to be without him. In the end he met me instead.

I had to agree to them meeting before I arrived because he had to explain the reasons for his absence (totally invented); again she moved to ask for reassurances, she begins to follow the roadmap of all the lovers that the more time passes and the more they want to gain ground on the girlfriend. I am almost certain that she will want to be his, and will try to show off in front of me. It’s still a very weak attitude, but the safety of the time spent together that will come will give her a hand and I know she will try to increase the distance between what THEY do and what WE do. She is already walking towards what will be the race track, now it’s my turn.

I speak of the time that will come because after my desperate outburst we pressed the button ‘pause’, not the button ‘stop’. I am too aware that things were so much worse because of my distance from him. If I could see him every day, if we were at our house I am sure that I could stay on my feet. Instead I was totally alone, in a hell with him hundreds of miles away, with the only hope to hear him on the phone when he had a little time. Casting out nines were our brief encounters, where the excited states were limited and easier to expel.
Now we expect at least 15 days of vacation from the physical sessions of cuckqueaning, and frankly I can’t wait. Seeing him last night was like coming home after the first day of school. We seemed a couple on the third day together, I missed him like crazy and I finally could say “see you tomorrow” and “I want to sleep” without destroying my stomach. I slept so well, and I woke up rested and the day passed without low tones and acids. Tonight I’m gonna see him again and tomorrow we’ll finally return to our home.
We talked about how to keep her in these days of rest, and although it is something that bores him, we decided to keep her busy with a ‘virtual’ relationship . He will give her tasks from the phone and she will respond with photos and videos (the first one has already been sent, and I am very curious to see it). I talk about it and do it much more easily, because for me a relationship of this type is still totally affordable, despite the jealousy. Enclosed within a cellphone she is so small that I can hold her in my hand and I can stay with him while she does her ‘homework’. I can even give them to her without her knowing it. When they see each other it’s as if they tie me to a wall in an impossible position and they say “we will release you when we’re done.”

In summary: The first week was hell because of the distance, after 15 days of virtual relationship we’ll decide what to do for the rest of the summer, and we will be careful to ensure that those circumstances won’t happen again.
The good news is that now we know what is the limit beyond which we must not go, what are the factors that make me fall.
Without the time of despair, the idea that we would have stopped with the cuckqueaning made me sad, because I’m still convinced that it can be my own way (although I still have doubts about the form that it should have). We will see.

Giu7

First Taste – part III – ENGLISH VERSION

Pubblicato il da
Standard

I was expecting the blast, but in the end it didn’t come.
I desperately tried to spend the evening not thinking that he was about to have sex with another girl, and in the end it turned out that I have to repeat the heroic test because he didn’t do it.
Not that he has done nothing.
One thing that I’m feeling growing is the deep anger every time I write “another girl,” because now we can easily talk about “her.” Recognizing her figure is something I was not ready to do yet, and I don’t feel like I am even now. He is not approaching a random girl, not anymore; this girl has stayed for at least 3 meetings and I’m afraid she will be for many others. So, the moment is approaching when I must accept that she has completely worn the lover dress, and that for the period that will follow she will be as real as the table my computer is on now. It’s not an obvious thought, only hearing about a person can give you the hope that he/she is only imaginary.
When his stories become too painful I erase their faces and limit myself to record the scene as if I were watching a porn. The whole issue could just be a figment of my imagination. But she continues to be named, through his words I begin to recognize a pattern of behaviour, her personality, her way of relating to him. Knowing that she is real is the most painful discovery of the day.

His “updates” are starting to have a sour taste of jealousy, because my head automatically depicts the moment when they look at each other and assume that kind of expression typical of two people who share something (even the only intention of spending the whole night together), and it’s something that makes me mad.
When I tried talking to him today, I realized I did that kind of nonsense-talk I wanted to avoid so much, that one dictated by pure emotions. What I feel stronger than anything else now is insecurity and jealousy. Having these two, I push to him the responsibility to make me feel better: I would like for him to fail in his attempts with her because he cannot quite take away from his body the imprinting “I wake up only when she is here, MY girl.”
I also realized that I’m afraid of his silences and his words, I’m afraid to believe and accept it when he says that he would not be able to do it with a girl he doesn’t know, that he wants her to have a little crush on him, that he still doesn’t know if he wants to maintain contact with her in the future.
I feel a bit like a kid who covers their ears and starts screaming in order not to hear anything. I cover my ears over what he says and I shout that whatever he does I feel worse and worse.

Today is the day where I also realize that I’m seriously beginning to be jealous, and the fact that I can’t see him every day leaves me without any security on my role. So just as she might be imaginary, even I could be that. She is part of the stories I hear through the phone, but at least they see each other. Often. I’m the one whose only contact with the “Couple Reality” is the phone, and spends her days biting her tongue. I might be a ghost, a story that he occasionally tells her when she gets too curious.
Another thing that becomes increasingly evident is her interest in him. She can also write on her face that he doesn’t want any relationship, but for me it doesn’t change the fact that she dares to text him that she absolutely wants to fuck him. I wish I had the power to blow up that phone in her hand.

This is probably the step I thought I’d have to overcome: from “insecurity and jealousy” to “jealousy + insecurity = competition.” The hardest step, being able to take all this and turn it to my advantage. But how can I do it if I feel totally trampled under foot? The hints of pride impel me to avoid any kind of good will because it would be like putting my head in the sand, if I leave them free to create me problems. Yes darling, come, fuck my boyfriend, take a crush on him, no don’t care about me, I’ll be invisible next to the dresser, do as if I were not here.
I have to face their first time (and if I have understood how my twisted sense of jealousy works, I’ll have to face even the next times), find a way to create the chemical reaction for the competition, readjust my body because I cannot go on for that long not eating and sleeping 5 hours a night, to build something that will give me back a clear identity. The person I was proud to be is not doing anything extraordinary at the moment, just listening like a good moron to her boyfriend telling her that her girl-friend has rubbed herself on him, horny as ever.
My compliments.

I must find a way to return to myself, I’m afraid that if I lose the right time to raise my head, I’ll stay submerged for a long time.
Soon they will fuck, I gotta pull myself up. Shit.
I can’t go to war without weapons.

Giu5

First Taste- ENGLISH VERSION

Pubblicato il da
Standard

I don’t even know where to start.
Should I start with how I feel? With telling what happened?

I have very few things on my mind, really. Every now and then, just when I force myself to think about something, a voice in my head that does not sound like mine tells me “What the hell have you done?”

I imagine a young woman who calls her best friend in the middle of the night, forces her to get out of bed and meet her somewhere; her friend is almost shocked, the young woman’s face literally is melting in tears. She says, “He … he cheated on me!” And a sob escapes.
Here, to this touching picture I’d add “Yes, but I asked him to do it.”
Another little voice in my head  is asking if I think I’m a normal person. Probably not.
Since I am closed like a clam and I can’t come up with an illuminating account, I’ll try starting from the outside. How do I feel physically?
There are various hypotheses about that, and I say hypothesis because at the moment my head seems quite unplugged from my body. There are several options: you could see that I’m not feeling that good, with slow but strong heartbeat, a boulder on the eyelids, a lump in my stomach (isn’t it supposed to be in someone’s throat? Not for me); someone may think that because of apathy I’m not really feeling anything, and all the symptoms above can be easily reconnected to the fact that I have my period and I’ve slept less than 4 hours. But these are irrelevant details.
It would be nice to write something important, any account that would remain in memory, serve me as an official starting point and the others as a random, weird story. Instead I believe that I will keep writing using this hateful tone, metacommunicating  on the metacommunication I should do, because it is better for me to put more and more levels.
Now another voice (yes, it’s starting to get crowded in here) asks “Which part of your brain have you burned?” Another one agrees with me that smelling correcting-fluid for years had to have some effect in the end. [[Warning, this product can lead to wicked acts, read carefully the package insert, do not use below 5 years of marriage]]
Am I married? No, but I like to think I’m not too far from it. At least I have those 5 years for real.
At this point someone might wonder whether it is worth continuing to read, while others might be thinking that if they don’t understand what they are reading about they will close the tab (firefox users are welcome) in 2 seconds. Well, be content: I asked my boyfriend to cheat on me.

I am one of those who call themselves Cuckquean. Ever heard about Cuckold (if you don’t know anything, close this blog, the world has still hope for you, keep it up)? Behold, I belong to its female counterpart. More dismissive? I like knowing that my man has sex with other women. No, I don’t have sex with other men. Otherwise we would be an open-couple, not a cuckquean couple.
I would like to stop just a moment and focus on how awkward I find the fact that in the community what describes our couple is my practice. I understand that it’s too long to say -we.are.a.couple.with.him.who.fucks.other.women.and.I.am.ok.with.it-  but saying  -Cuckquean Couple- is deeply wrong in my opinion. Logically speaking it presupposes that there are two cuckqueans; the term Cuckquean is not plural, which turns in favor of the interpretation that there is only one cuckquean; on the other hand the term Couple comes into conflict with the sentence, and we must interpret if it is referred to ‘cuckquean’ or it is ‘cuckquean’ that is actually referring to the Couple-category.
Anyway, essence doesn’t change.

Around the middle of March, on a regional train full of schoolchildren, my boyfriend and I started talking about cheating. It is a very common issue for me, because you can actually say that it has always been an obsession for me. That afternoon, however, something was different, and we both were racing towards the conclusion that a pair of horns would have  adorned beautifully my head.  [[“wearing the horns”: This refers to the fact that the man being cheated on is the last to know of his wife’s infidelity. He is wearing horns that can be seen by everybody but him. This also refers to a tradition claiming that in villages of unknown European location, the community would gather to collectively humiliate a man whose wife gives birth to a child recognizably not his own. According to this legend, a parade was held in which the hapless husband is forced to wear antlers on his head as a symbol of his wife’s infidelity. Whether or not this actually happened is unknown but the phrase has survived (Wikipedia: Cuckold)]]
Let me be clear right now: I am not sub towards him. Being humiliated doesn’t get me off, the only pleasure that I gain from what to me is a poisoned stab, is that I can return the favor.

So, on that train suddenly it became clear that I was interested in the issue. That it excited me. “Excited” as in “Intrigued.”
A quick paragraph about my life story will clarify why I felt enlightened at that time: as a child my hero was my best friend, wicked as hell, loved by her friends who were jealous that she used to flirt with me (and yes, I mean that kind of flirting);
my first real crush was on a guy who was so obsessed with his ex that during our dates he did nothing but talk about how he missed her. – Our first carnal knowledge was for me the beginning of a trauma that would have haunted me until the maturity age-;
my second crush, contemporary to the first, was on a guy met on the Internet about whom I still don’t know age/name/provenance/I have doubts even for his gender, who had a crowd of little fan girls;
the third came shortly after the first but always contemporary to the second, it was on another guy known on the net that after months of flirts and calls I found out he was in a story with a girl in the forum where we had met (imagine my apocalyptic shock);
then my first real boyfriend, loved to madness and destroyed with equal enthusiasm; there are few literary pieces that deal with such a rage among young lovers;
then my period of sexual confirmation began, I started going out only with people who live on the other side of the rainbow, and I shouted to the world (but first to my parents) my homosexuality -> during this time I discovered that women really know how to be bitches, and almost at my 19 birthday I decided to pass again through the rainbow;
all this has been followed by interesting months where I rediscovered the guy of my second crush, who AGAIN told me just a bit too late that he was with someone (I fake my apocalyptic shock);
at the same time a guy from the other side of Italy with whom I spend 10 days of paradise and 3 months of hell;
an ambiguous relationship with my best friend of that time who was working on my first boyfriend (the one with whom I had bipolar violent rampages);
and finally a poor bastard who had just left his girlfriend and was used by me in an unworthy manner to soothe my wounds.

Do you want the common denominator? They all had other fishes to fry (except my first boyfriend, but that’s another story) and I always had to run like damn to earn a bit of attention.
You could say ‘repetition compulsion’, but for those who don’t like technical terms we can say that competition has become a drug for me. And it has become what gives me self-esteem, what strengthens my character, what made me think at the end of every relationship: “All things end, and I survive.”
Now my relationship goes on with none other than my first boyfriend, with a flashback worthy of a 6$ harmony (I don’t want to belittle the relationship, I’m crazy about him – and maybe I’m actually crazy-, it’s just that I’m in a fuc**** bad mood at the moment). It was with him that I had that interesting talk about my new ‘hat’.

A ride on the internet told me that I would make a nice Cuckquean. From what I’ve read, 90% of those who have decided to talk about it have set the practice as part of the sub/dom relationship with their Master, were started to it by him, or created this torture on their own.
I say ‘torture’ because contrary to what usually happens to the male counterpart “I enjoy seeing her enjoying others”, the point here is another one. The point is the humiliation of being betrayed, having to endure that another woman touches what is more precious in our world, the fear of him turning around and going somewhere else without us. It’s like playing with fire, every time there is a risk that out there someone way much better than us in everything is waiting, and maybe we even long for it. It is considered an ‘Edge Play’, and it is not recommended for couples not consolidated and not exceptionally in love.

I’ve studied the situation from March to June, thinking about it all the time, anywhere. The question with which I fought was “Do I really want it?” The fear of making a mess and not being able to go back, to crack something that would no longer be straightened. The blind trust that he would not leave me, but the fear of not being able to look at him without thinking “those hands, those eyes, that body, all gave attention to someone else”
I talked about it to the point that I was able to joke about it, to get used to that idea. Almost like waiting for the Cinderella’s carriage.

But yesterday he said that after an entire night of “cuddles” with a friend of his, he might be able to do it.
The feeling? I dissipated the blood on the floor like electricity. Minutes of pure excitement, followed by a calm state of morbid interest (it seems an impossible paradox?And yet …) and my voice saying in a firm tone “If you can make it happen, do it.” The last glimmer of clarity led me to ask him not to go directly to sex, but to stop at some stage before.
She knows that he has a girlfriend but she doesn’t know about me being a cuckquean. He is making her a sub (he’s more like a mentor than a master) since she has ‘natural talent.’ I’m quite angry with her because knowing that I exist and being almost his sub isn’t stopping her from being all coquettish, and this is making me insanely jealous.

By the way, he went out with her again. And again. And again.

Saying I was nervous is an understatement: I watched 3 movies in a row, I ate nothing and spent the rest of the evening walking restlessly from one room to another. Suddenly I hated him for being out having fun, I would have wanted to tell him to go home and call me, I would have taken the car and driven there. But I forced myself to wait, because I was determined to overcome the difficult initial phase in order to really understand if this “thing” was right for me.
I’ve waited until he didn’t answer me on the phone anymore and I got nervous because I knew why. I forced myself to sleep, it took me over half an hour and finally I lost consciousness on an unspecified part of my iPod. Night without dreams and I woke up with palpitations at 6 am. I knew that because I had just watched the time on the phone. Suddenly my stomach tightened up so I looked better at the screen, and there was not even one message. Which meant only one thing: he was still with her.
Another similarity? It was like waking up from anesthesia before the operation was over.

For just a second I had this vision of him between her legs, I got anxious and I opened the window, letting the cold air in. I wrapped myself in the sheet and started to buffer my brain with loud music, trying to stop the spasms in my legs. Another clinical diagnosis might determine that I was having a panic attack. That’s where I started to treat myself with apathy. I am sure that on some scream by Linkin Park my face was able to contract in a weeping’s grimace, but I didn’t have the time to cry because he finally sent a message. The answer evidently showed to him that I was awake at that impossible hour and so he called me.

As he began to tell me the details (requested by me of course) I was already in complete apathy: I listened with interest, laughed at some scenes, commented on a few sentences and congratulated him because if it were me I would have fucked him like mad.
They didn’t know each other and yet she was already totally lost into him, begging him to fuck her.
He said sincerely that he would have rather spent the night with me, but I found out that I feel insane thinking about him with her. I was able to see some public photos of her on facebook, and I can’t even say that I don’t like her because I would go with her too without problems  (just for the record). She seems to have a more mature body than mine (no-chest, no-hips) and I cannot deny that this humiliates me. There is this silent war between me and her, and I’m so infantile that I left on him two hickeys just because I wanted her to see them.

I apologize, I’ve still haven’t written the goal of all this mess: to trigger my competitive instinct (something like “you’ll be so dazzled by me that you will not be able to focus on anything else”) we opted for the fusion of jealousy and instinctive sense of abandonment. I love that he can go with others, but still thinks that I’m everything that he wants; I love that his love for me is confirmed in such a dramatic way, right after my painful catharsis; I love that at the end of everything I have not only confirmed his love, but I also feel reborn after I’ve won the battle against the lover.
This situation doesn’t turn me on, all this cuckquean-thing doesn’t involve me sexually, and this makes it even more difficult. His position is far from being obvious or easy, and I really appreciate his ‘work’. The fact that he gets a clear personal pleasure is just another painful detail that I add to the recipe.

So, he spent the night with her and actually did what I had seen in my hallucination. Let’s say that they were doing petting, but she was the only one receiving attentions. It just depends on me to choose whether to continue to the last step (the sexual intercourse) or to stop here. My determination tells me that I must go on, because I was already prepared to the fact that the first times were the hardest, but I cannot deny that it’s hard to stay calm. In just few days because of three ‘innocent’ references I have lost sleep and appetite.
I know that I want to go on, but curiously, I’d need a clone of him during his dates in order to hold myself back from snapping. I would like a second xK00 hugging me and telling me “He is an idiot, I know, he shouldn’t have believed you,” while his real one is out with HER.
I feel guilty and embarrassed by what I want, the fact that for me it’s not a matter of sexual excitement just makes things more complicated.
I listened to him telling me about hot and painful stuff and I kept telling myself “You asked for it.”

I go through the stages of the ‘trauma’ at a breakneck speed, I would like to hurt myself to get his full attention, I regret it because I had his attention to begin with, and I realize that what I want is the attention of the him who bites her breasts and wants to open her legs. I wish that he had suddenly stopped and materialized next to me whiIe I was sleeping without peace. I wish he had felt so bad after receiving my answer to his “Here I am,” that morning at 6 am. I almost wish that to my “Go to her,” he had replied “No, you’re still too young and cannot be trusted alone.”

A part of me is already more relaxed  because this desire to blame him is only a rapid phase of blaming myself, which will be a rapid phase within the “I want him near me”, within the “The next time you’ll go with someone I’ll do something so grand that you will want to eat your eyes for not being there.” Everything is ok. I have just to survive to this.

My boyfriend has touched that girl. My man has touched another girl. MINE and OTHER .

I must have gone nuts.