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.

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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.

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.

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.