Posts Tagged ‘trust’

You were in front of me, we were back in school. You had that look in your eyes that used to be reserved only for me when you wanted to kiss me. And you did.
I felt all the pain I went through again. The knowing but not knowing… Walking from you that afternoon…
You hurting me…
Leaving me in darkness…
Sleeping with her arm around you…
My angel in blue…
Then we were back.
I asked why…
And you said because I remembered why I loved you….please be my girlfriend?
And I whispered, I remembered you hurt me and left me scarred… And walked away once more with tears in my eyes…..

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We were sitting at your computer, looking at your blog. There were ads for Asian fetish porn. You noticed and got all in a huff that you weren’t in control of the ads on there. Like by owning the blog you should decide the ads. But what I think you failed to realize is that it’s not the blog that makes the ads, it’s your google searches. Things that you look at and you click on and you search for feeds google the information, making different ads pop up for different people on different computers based on what they searched for. If I looked at your blog on my computer there would be ads tailored to me.

I am disappointed in this on so many levels. I think you know enough about ads and google and how it works to know how it works. So either you knew and were lying to me to pretend you didn’t watch Asian porn. Or you are assuming I am dumb enough to not know.

Either way, yuck. And not because I have anything against porn.

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You and I are soul mates. I am angry at you for telling me to depend on you and running when I did. I am angry that the last thing you said to me was “You are amazing and I am sorry if I did anything to make you feel otherwise.” IF? IF? How about two years of not loving me back–of not ever opening yourself to me, often empty promises of trips we never took or things that never happened, taking me for granted, or the hot and cold and constant back and forth–or for not even allowing me to love you the way I wanted…or at all.

You won.

You did it.

You took a great relationship and sabotaged it to nothing. Just pain. I am not even sure you feel pain. Do you feel at all?

You pushed me away. I finally give up on you–us.

But not on me.

One day you will miss me. You will wish you had been brave. You will miss the sound of our laughter. Our jokes. Our noses rubbing after sex. The incredible open sexual side of us. The late night talks. The cheerleader I was for you as a father, a man, a worker, and a lover. You will miss me. I hope I haunt your heart for years–

You hurt me, you knew you were hurting me, and I had to walk away. . .

I feel different this time. I don’t want you anymore. I feel more pain that you didnt love me back than anything else. I am surely worth loving. Our love just sat there and you ignored it. Didn’t take care of it. Let it grow. You never even picked it up to accept it. And that I will never forgive you for. Since you never “tried” to “be good to me as you wanted to be” it never had a chance.

We deserved a chance.

I will forget you. Your touch. Your smile. Your voice on the phone at night. Your “hey babe” messages. Your scent. The feeling of you with me as one. I will lose it all over time.

And I wont look back. . . even if you appear. I am done. Done loving you. I love myself too much to try to love you for one more day.

But I do do miss you.


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I had another dream with you.

First I was on a hill in the dirt and I was being dragged down the hill by a baby carriage that I was trying to hold onto and not let go of, because I didn’t want the baby to get hurt. But it was dragging and dragging me down the hill, and I was running to hold on and dust and rocks and twigs were everywhere. When we got the bottom of the hill, my mom was the one in the stroller.

Then I realized I was sort of running from something.

I ran to your house and you and your dad were inside the kitchen. I told you I was in a rush, and there was this man in your house. I didn’t trust him and he made me feel really uncomfortable so I asked you to ask him to leave. You wouldn’t help me and told me that I shouldn’t have a problem with this guy and you and your dad were both jeering me for being nervous about him. But I knew he was a bad man who was going to do something bad and neither of you would help me and you both also thought I was stupid and you were laughing at my fears, so I ran and ran away and I couldn’t believe you were letting the stranger stay over me.

I don’t actually think that you were protecting him and not me.

But I did trust you.

I would run to you.

And all I ever wanted in the world was for you to protect me.

I know you can’t or won’t, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay.

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Dear Trainer,

I have to take responsibility for the part I play in my interactions with you being weird. In fact. It’s 100% me.

I am playing out some shit from past relationships on you. You have similar qualities as men I have dated who are noncommital and checked out. But also very kind and sensitive and sweet. I react to you in ways that have everything to do with my insecurities and baggage about men. Sometimes I am normal and friendly with you. Other times I am bitchy. Real weird.

You’re weird in your own right. One day you’re vacant and distracted. Another day you tell me about how you were molested, your commitment issues, your money issues, your sex issues, your past with drugs and drugdealing. You told me you’re a people-pleaser. Are you just telling me intimate things to make me feel comfortable?

You’re hot. It doesn’t always impact me but other times it does – painfully. The height, the face, the eyes, the hands, the smell, the graceful way of moving around, the dorkiness underlying it. Ouch! Sometimes affects me a lot and makes me gooey. Sometimes when you lean all over me on the table doing bodywork on me. I feel lust and then I feel gross and dirty for objectifying you like that. You’re just trying to do your job.

More weird. You were doing bodywork with your hands all in my hips and legs and neck and glutes. Meanwhile we were both talking about being molested and sex. GEEZ! Sometimes your hotness makes me feel hate towards you. I have let hot men manipulate me sometimes and make me feel awful and rejected other times.

Other times you make me sad because you are awesome and so broken. I want to nurture and mommy you.

A different level is that we have things in common. I wish we could have a friendship. Like dudes. Like a bro-mance. I like to do that with hot men too – act like I am asexual and just one of the guys. Pretend I am so unattractive to men like you that I am sexless.

Meanwhile, I am supposed to be training. I feel a really complicated mix of excitement, anticipation, dread, and depression before, during, and after the appointments. This is an opportunity. I hide from men when I feel this complication. Now I have to face it. I pre-paid for three months of appointments for twice a week.

I have to take responsibility for the weirdness.

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I wish you’d care that I finally changed.

Being selfish, egoistic, violently wanting to get what you want doesn’t work at all. You have to be kind, loving and have a good intention. Accept yourself, love yourself and do the same to others. Especially to those who love you, because someone who loves you is one of the biggest gift in your life. You should be grateful, appreciate and accept that person and love him the way he is; you shouldn’t want change him. The only one we can change is ourselves. You should trust him and because he loves you, he doesn’t want anything bad for you – even though you don’t like everything he does.

A person who loves you and stays by your side is like a piece of gold, a much more better, bigger and valuable thing than all those stupid little selfish ego-tuning things like looking or not at someone more beautiful, talking more to someone else, or knowing what he might do when he is without you. The true reason for loving somebody is love itself – to love and being loved.

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I think of you often, but not as much as I used to. I really hope you are well out there in the emptiness of the desert, if that is where you are now. There were so many rules about what we couldn’t talk about, because of your job or your ex-wife, or whatever. I tried to follow them all, and be as good to you as you were to me. And I tried to tell myself that I could have sex with you without being emotionally involved, even though I knew it was impossible. I loved you in the way a young girl loves a man, a man who was so careful and patient and sexy. That is to say, I loved you too much. I wanted to love you with my heart and soul and I could only love you with my shy stiff damaged body. And I did and it was awesome. You let me please you and tease you and kiss you (never enough;I love kissing you).

We talked, we laughed, we teased, we flirted, and then we would go to bed. I only ever saw you in my dorm apartment on campus, but it was okay. You wanted me, and I didn’t understand why, but I wanted you too. You were an absolute gentleman every time, always so careful of me, but never afraid to put your hands on me, to move me around when I couldn’t do it myself. You had magic hands, everywhere at once. The first orgasm i ever had, I couldn’t even breathe.

You taught me, patiently, how to please you. I love giving you head, and I love giving head because of you. If I saw you tomorrow I would give you head without question. One time, you touched your beautiful big dick all over my face. It was the most erotic thing, I think, that I ever experienced.

You were always being deployed; I was always terrified you wouldn’t come back. You did. Then you were very sick and I feared you would die. You didn’t. We haven´t spoken in years, but I wish I could tell you…You made me feel so beautiful, so whole, so enough for you. I never thought a man would want me. You couldn’t keep your hands off me. I’m so glad that you were my first. Even though I hardly knew you, I trusted you, and you are an amazing man. I hope you have someone with you who appreciates all the things you do and who you are. I do.

Much love and many thanks.

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Passionate, aggressive sex with you over the last several weeks had given me a relentless yeast infection that burns and itches. Monistat suppositories have not helped and have caused more agony. I read up on natural remedies and then asked for your help when I found out about the magic that is apple cider vinegar.

Basically, for prevention and gentle soothing of yeast infections, you can take a lukewarm bath and pour a cup of organic raw apple cider vinegar in the water. But if you have crossed into the land of no return. If you are in agony like I have been and have not been getting any relief for over a week. You need to just pour that shit right on. It will not be pretty. Ow!

Here’s where you my beautiful man come in. We went to the grocery store at 11 o’clock at night to pick up the vinegar. Back at my apartment you changed into white t-shirt, shorts, and sports socks. Tired and ready for bed, you looked like a cross between a grandpa and a sexy sports coach. You had my small camping flashlight hanging by it’s rope around your neck. I couldn’t stop giggling nervously and putzing around my apartment like a putz.

You got impatient, “What’s wrong with you? Take your clothes off and get over here.” You patted the towel on the floor in front of the couch where you were sitting. I got down on my back, you took my legs up onto your thighs, and pulled me closer to you by my feet. “Are you ready?” as you turned on the flashlight, leaned down from the couch, and took a look at my angry vagina.

“Hmmm, it looks really red. You ready? Let’s get started.” You spent a half hour pouring apple cider vinegar all over my vagina and even in the hole. I could never have done it myself. It burned like a motherfucker and I would never have been able to get the perfect angle you did. You didn’t laugh. You weren’t grossed out. You were serious and nurturing and compassionate and gentle. We snuggled in bed afterwards. I never trusted or let anyone besides a doctor do anything like that to me before. The vulnerability was extreme.

I felt as safe and loved and partnered at that moment as if you had put a fucking diamond ring on my finger. I adore you.

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You seem to lose your mind with lust when I climb on top and ride you. Because you are built like a rock I can use all the force of my hips and long runner swimmer legs by pounding you and grinding and undulating and bouncing up and down slowly or fast. I don’t have to stop and think. Don’t have to be careful. You told me “Nobody has ever fucked me like you. So sexy. So hot. Your long legs. You are the sexiest bitch ever.”

Last time I thought you were exhausted. You came totally fiercely to life. I was exhausted but so did I and I climbed on top of you.

You told me a few times over the last month you know you have a kinky side. I told you I do too. You liked the idea of dominating in bed. Me too. Other bitches you slept with were lawyers, corporate bitches, powerful in business, and wimpy and submissive in bed with you. Well my career is a dead-end and I never feel listened to with my friends, at my job, or on the street. So submission in bed is not my thing. Your slapping my ass hard was all that really followed.

Until this Sunday afternoon. Something unlocked. You grabbed and pinched my little nipples so hard. You slapped my little white breasts repeatedly. I was lost in lust and didn’t care. You put your big hands around my neck and squeezed just enough for me to start to feel what it’s like to be choked and to lose air. I was lost in lust and didn’t care. You slapped my face. Repeat. Slap my breasts. Squeeze my throat. Slap my face. I was lost in lust and didn’t care. I took it all. With lust and growing love for you. Trust in you.

But you have opened the gate. Unlocked the fence. Cracked open the safe. It’s on.

You have no idea what I have inside me. Next time I ride you. When it’s over – you will be bruised.

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