11.20.2004
fantasy or reality? you tell me.
this is how it goes down in my head, sometimes at night, when everything is hushed and the only sound i can hear is my own labored breathing:
he only comes over at night, and leaves before dawn. he stays long enough to abuse me, and to take my abuse, but nothing more. there's no real conversation, no friendship.
most of the time when he comes over i'm already in bed, but i wake up to let him in then crawl back into bed. he stares at me like i'm supposed to be doing something, but i'm too sleepy to play his games. also, i know if i wait, he'll start being more aggressive, which is fun.
he sits on the bed and leans over. sometimes for a split second i can pretend he's going to kiss me. instead he pokes me, or slaps my arm, or pushes me down into the bed. classic control issues. i sigh inwardly at the lame attempt to start some action, only because it's a slight variation of the same thing, every time.
but i react properly, the way he wants me to. i struggle, fight back, get in some good slaps or hits. periodically i let him pin me underneath him, which he likes. i allow him, encourage him even, to bruise me. my arms, my legs. i like him leaving his mark on me. then he pushes the envelope, brings the activity to a sexual level by thrusting his denim-clad crotch into my face or by nuzzling my breasts through my shirt. i let him take the lead, as usual.
before i know it, i end up undressing him, leaving his shirt on (self-esteem problems). i always make him take his shoes off, because that's just rude. once he's naked, sprawled out before me, i take his dick into my mouth. i blow him until there's only one thought left in my mind, which is to make. him. come.
when i'm done, i crawl up his body and lay on him for a moment, tracing circles on his chest. then i run my jagged ring finger nail and cut a little line above his left nipple, near the others, but distinct.
one line for every night he comes to me. it started when i got mad one night that he was so stuck in his pattern, that he wouldn't include me in his life except for the ritual abuse and blowjob. i pretended like i was really into the blowjob that night and scraped my nails down his chest, which he squirmed at, but allowed since he was so close to coming.
one mark didn't disappear completely by the next night, so i made another one. he doesn't like me to hurt him normally, but for some reason, he allowed this little rebellion. and every night i've seen him since, i mark him. there are over 45 marks at any given time, if i get the opportunity to count.
it's not a fair trade, since i have countless bruises out in the open for everyone to see and his marks are hidden, but i like that we have yet another secret from the rest of the world. makes me feel falsely special.
i know i'm not, though. not to him, anyway. but i just can't help myself. the sick craving for him to hurt me, to humiliate me overwhelms my good sense.
after he leaves, i'm too tired to masturbate, although i need to. he's good at turning me on, and never reciprocates. doesn't even kiss me. so i go to sleep, unsatisfied but with a tummy full of his come. and i smile to myself thinking about his markings. i haven't figured out why he lets me do it yet. maybe one of these nights i'll figure it out. until then, i'm going to hurt him as much as i can, payback for the hell he puts me through for his own amusement.
alannablue at 1:38 a.m.