Wednesday, June 25, 2008


I had another of those little "where is this all going?" moments the other night. The Goat was doing what he does so well, and then he suddenly cranked it up a notch. It hurt, and I found myself lying awake crying after he had gone to sleep. Yes, it had hurt some, but that was not the real reason I was crying. What really hurt was that there was just no way I could escape burying another little piece of my idea of who I was, another last little shred of self-respect. I had not only done it, and done it happily, for him--beyond doing it for him, I had loved it.

I have posted elsewhere how happiness can become so profound that it hurts as much as grief. This was a similar line between pain and pleasure, and I could walk it because he guided me. I have long felt, and he has even had the self-assurance to point out, that I am inheriting all that a long string of lovers have taught him.

Some part of me can't help wondering who in hell taught him that. And how in hell I could embrace it, when...

Oh, well.ZIPI am actually grateful for everything he has learned; it has made him an incredibly sensitive and generous lover. But taking the Biblical line that "the two shall become one flesh," I sometimes feel that I am in bed with a multitude, a colony of hot flesh stretching all the way back to the guy who brought the Goat out, back around the the time I stumbled out only to walk right back in--and dinosaurs roamed Manhattan... I am not the person I thought I was, even two years ago, when embracing all that I had ever been, meant leaving everything I knew I valued...

I knew when I first asked him to push me, and long before he did so, that I was on a slippery slope. And I have known for some time that he either has some sort of schedule in his head, or certain things he senses in the moment, and much as I may ask for things, they come unannounced--he just tosses them in from time to time, as he sees fit. They usually catch me unawares and sometimes simply take my breath away. Like a few nights ago.

There is one frontier I am pretty sure I can still not cross, without an unimaginably greater dose of inhibition-inhibiting drugs: the threshold between public and private. I have already had to take on board the fact that mine is a minority report in our "scene." But then, my sense of what is "proper" precludes even discussing some things with third parties, let alone doing them in their presence. I live in hope that we stay on one page here; I am not sure what I would do if we were not.

So far I think we are. He made it clear that I was welcome to ask him about his former lovers, but not to ask what he had done with whom. In spite of my burning curiosity, that makes perfect sense to me; I can only hope that he feels the same way about me and what we do as he does about them and what they did together. However, like the rest of mankind, he has been known to mention things on his own that he would not have said in response to a question from me, so my security is as frail as everything else in this complicated life we lead.

And at some point I really do have to start organizing and packing. If only to be able to give him an answer when he asks how it's going...

I'm just taking one rabbit out of the hat at a time, and some of the last ones have kicked up a hell of a fuss--though it looks like we are pretty much done with rabbit-pulling until after our little outing to the Cape. Hence the sudden flurry of posting...

Hang in there, guys.
God knows I try.

1 comment:

  1. And what exactly is it that you did? (You've got my email.)