Please, Sir, Part Seven: So Long, Toxic Constellation

A string of nasty texts from Varga Girl, telling me I shouldn’t be mad at Fireguy for taking away my “voice” (who puts another human being’s voice in quotation marks?!) made me realize that it’s past time to finish off this topic.

Even without all of the triggering and hard-limit-crossing and harassing, I’d like to think I’d’ve realized that he didn’t have any room in his life for me. While I was jerking him off at the end of our time, he almost let out an “I love you,” which assured me that he was thinking of Varga Girl and not me. I would never be more than a rebound redhead to him, turns out, I was actually a lot less. (Also during that part was one of the most demeaning things that has ever happened to me: “Put your mouth near it, but not on it. But open. But don’t put your mouth on it. open. But just near it.”)

During aftercare he talked mostly about her, which is really sweet and romantic, but not if you’re the one who actually might need to reflect on what just happened. Also not sweet was more putting me in my place, but not in the fun way. I asked if we could do more public stuff and he said “Well, if I see you at an event and (Varga Girl) is collared to me, then I can have you play with her. But if she’s not there, then I’ll be able to play with you.”

Which would have been fine, had I not wanted to be more than a tertiary character. I would like to think that I would have had the self-esteem to turn down any more play even if he hadn’t acted like such an insensitive clod. I really regret that I left our cupcake taker there, though.

After I got Varga Girl’s texts tonight, I sat on the couch and shivered until Sweetie came home. She wrapped me up in a blanket and held me until I felt a little better.

It’s hard not to catastrophize—he is a beloved character in the local scene, so at the very least I’m probably unwelcome at some parties. It’s maddening that he could hurt me so much and still make me feel like I am the threat. That last phone call, I told him I was heartbroken because I’d wanted to be a part of his family, and he told me I’m too angry for that. The last things I said aloud to him were “”I’ll never be good enough. I’ll just never be good enough.” That’s how I feel when I’m panicking, and I hope it wears off sometime soon.

I came to this constellation with such openheartedness, such joy, such trust—I wish I had noticed that I was getting treated like a threat the whole time.  I wish I would have seen it. All I wanted, all I’ve ever wanted, was genuine affection, respect, trust. He lusted after my fist times like I was a fucking geisha and now all that’s left are reminders that he and his did not think I deserved to be treated humanely.

The cute little unicorn I felt like I was at the beginning of this project seems so far away. I would love to make it back to that feeling before too long. I think the way to get there is to try to give myself the kindness and gentleness that he couldn’t give, and start the project over. Sunday, I’m going with a nice new guy to a beginners’ rope class. Before class, we’re having lunch with our wives. Maybe just being beginners will work.

As corny as it sounds, that Monday night when I was driving to their house, this was the song that came on shuffle (it was on my iPod for my students, I swear!) and singing along with it, my voice felt clear and true.