I Just Don’t Get It

I am aware (mostly because I’m told over and over) that my writ­ing res­onates with women. In the begin­ning, I was… appre­hen­sive because I thought I expressed myself in too much of a “girly” fash­ion, with poetry and writ­ing about emo­tions and gen­er­ally being soft and fluffy. I just wrote because I needed to express what was going on inside me; writ­ing is my way of self-​examination, I suppose.

Now, how­ever, you would not believe how val­i­dat­ing and how emo­tion­ally ful­fill­ing it is to have mag­nif­i­cent women and beau­ti­ful souls reach out to me and say that I touched them. It seems that only the most giv­ing, the most open, the most… fem­i­nine of women are taken with my writ­ing so almost every sin­gle woman I meet or com­mu­ni­cate with is a stun­ning exam­ple of every­thing that is good in the world.

When I first signed on to FetLife, I did so even though I thought I would be ostra­cized or at least looked on funny because of my aber­rant per­son­al­ity and approach to things. I thought that no woman in her right mind would be inter­ested in some­thing like me. And it turned out to be the com­plete oppo­site instead.

Since I came out in pub­lic, both online and locally, I have met the most incred­i­ble women. None of the women I met when I was play­ing at being vanilla came even close to the radi­ant fem­i­nin­ity of the women that live this life along­side me.

I am so much in the dark about what’s going on. I am butt-​ugly and chubby and a mean, sadis­tic bas­tard. Luck­ily, it appears that the women around me are selec­tively near­sighted. While I know that the way I express myself and the emo­tions that rage deep within, res­onate with all these incred­i­ble and beau­ti­ful women, I just don’t get it. I can’t wrap my brain around it.

It sounds weird but it’s true. Not too long ago, Khan­droma was try­ing to make me see it and she made me look at “my sta­tis­tics.” She had me go back through my rec­ol­lec­tion of all of my inter­ac­tions and it was actu­ally shock­ing for me: Every woman I have reached out to kiss has melted in my arms. Every woman I have reached out to take has given her­self to me. Every woman I have played with (even casu­ally) has cried tears for me. Even the ones that swear that they never, ever cry.

All of them. Every. Sin­gle. One.

I actu­ally felt nau­se­ated when I made that real­iza­tion on the phone with Khan­droma and she was smug the rest of the day, adorable lit­tle kit­ten that she is. Still, to this day I don’t under­stand why. The more open I allow myself to be, the more truth­ful about the true me, heck, the more I hurt these won­der­ful crea­tures, the more they like me.

Can’t they see what I am? Can’t they see how dark my eyes become when they crum­ble emo­tion­ally? Can’t they see how psy­chotic my eyes become? I mean, when she lies crum­bled on the floor, cry­ing, then is when I descend on her and pen­e­trate her and take her.

While she’s cry­ing, for good­ness sakes.

What’s wrong with me? Noth­ing.

What’s wrong with her? Noth­ing.

It just is.

And still, I don’t get it. They are angels; warm, giv­ing, lov­ing, nur­tur­ing and com­pas­sion­ate and they choose to be with me.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining.

I just don’t get it.

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{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }

sweettart February 10, 2010 at 12:05 AM

“Resonate” is one of the words that came to mind when I first read your writing. It is not a resonance that faded with a single entry but grew as I immersed myself in each and every page. Connection.

Even better was being able to share your writing with James…and for him to say, “Yes, that is how I feel too.” Romantic sadists that you both are!

Bravo! My world, our world, is the richer for your writing. Thank you for daring to share.

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Dreamwalker February 12, 2010 at 12:04 PM

Wry grin. Romantic and sensual sadists that we are… and still, we are both capable of such raw and intense violence when loving the women in our lives. Our beautiful, magnificent, radiant women.

I look at bruises that mar once creamy, pale skin and all I see is her unrestricted acceptance of me. An acceptance that is even stronger than her inviting me into her very body. And my eyes well up when I reflect on the beauty that surrounds me…

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Sydney February 8, 2010 at 2:38 PM

You have the gift of being able to hear. I know for me, (and probably many others) I respond because I live in or have lived in a vacuum; a vacuum of being heard emotionally; a vacuum of masculine gallantry; a vacuum of nurturing.

  I felt that you saw me, you heard me, and you could feel me. In doing so, you were made safe for me.

  For those of us, for me, who do nothing but give to those who have a need, the lure of being nurtured is irresistible. How could I not respond?

  You may be a Sadist, but for me and women like me, we know, that in feeding you… finally… finally… we will be cared for and fed, some of us for the first time… the only time… and the last time.

  You turned off the vacuum:
    Allowing us, Allowing Me,
      For just a while.

Reply

Dreamwalker February 12, 2010 at 11:57 AM

Sydney, I have ruminated for days trying to come up with something, anything, to say that would convey what I’m feeling.

But nothing comes out. The poet is mute.

I miss you, my dear, sweet Sydney.

I miss you.

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