Recently i found myself revisiting a stage of my life, in my mind, while I was blogging it on here. It’s something that I don’t think of very often but something that has come into conversation quite a few times over the years since. On here I am quite respectful about things being very anonymous for the people mentioned within as I haven’t had their permission to write about them. I know I don’t need their permission to write about my memories or experiences of them but I just feel it’s more respectful to be rather vague about who everyone in my life actually is. Especially on a subject like my Master. He has a name, I never called him Master to his face, but for some reason I just can’t bring myself to use people’s actual names on here. Maybe one day I’ll change regarding that and introduce everyone semi-formally but, for now, everyone will either have a code name of some description or other of who they are to me. There are people who I have asked if I can blog about them and have their permission but even then I still think I wouldn’t ever choose to use their name, only their pet name or something symbolic of who they are to me. I write this blog as if nobody I know will ever read it but have used, on occasion, a specific entry for someone I know to read to be able to understand where my head is on a subject. Some close friends can’t bring themselves to read at times other than when they are directed as they feel it’s “like looking in a drawer that you’re not meant to look in”. This was a beautiful way of wording it and I wanted to use it as it creates such an accurate emotional picture of the feelings involved.
My entry on my Master has created the greatest talking points within the friends of mine that have read it. It’s a side of me that I don’t tend to share very often as it was merely a stage of my life that I used to explore who I was, after finally gaining release from my first husband. It has, however, brought me to an interesting position that I could never have seen coming. I have recently started speaking with a very intelligent man who is hugely cynical about everyone and everything. This can only occur if you have feel like you have been hurt by almost everyone and everything in some way or other. Any guarded person tends to feel this way, in my experience. This sparked my usual need to challenge and nurture this side out to get to the bottom of it. I love understanding people and if it ends up leading to me learning something new about myself then all the better.
I would like to emphasise at this point that I never would be someone to even think of initiating anything like this, just like with the events leading to my Master. These things seem to find me or happen out of regular conversation when something specific is sparked between me and the person i’m in conversation with.
As I’ve discussed previously, I have a lot of baggage regarding my first husband. Baggage that i work very hard to try and deal with so that it doesn’t hinder my life. One thing that I never really went into detail with regarding him was the sexual side of the abuse that I suffered. No, don’t get me wrong, I was never physically threatened and certainly never raped, sexual abuse isn’t necessarily about the physical aspect of abuse. I was 18 and he was 26 when he first started exploring me physically. He was a virgin, I was not. I had never experienced an orgasm and had never masturbated up to that point. He had obviously read books as he was using a lot of techniques that I now know are used by marriage guidance counselors to bring back the intimacy or to explore sexuality that has died. This was obviously some kind of manipulation as he was always the leader of this. Simple things like making me explore his body with my eyes closed, just touching him, and if I opened my eyes he would tell me to close them. I remember thinking at the time ‘wait a minute, you’re meant to be doing this too, how the hell do you know my eyes are open?’ but never said anything about it. This was setting the tone, right from the beginning, about how things were going to be. Although I was experienced (to a degree) and informed about sex at that time, i was still hugely insecure about myself. I might as well have had ‘VICTIM‘ stamped on my forehead! Even from way back at the beginning there were huge warning signs. He seemed to find it impossible to orgasm, although he blamed a lot of that on the condoms, would only explore me with his mouth if some kind of food was involved to “hide the taste and smell” and had a very inappropriate view of what were acceptable public displays of affection. I remember we kissed a LOT, very publicly, and that sometimes he saw this as some kind of game to incite some kind of public reaction. Even my first orgasm was done in a very privately public way.
We had decided to go down to London for our first little break away from normality but, because we had very little money, had decided to stay in a youth hostel. I was already on the pill by now so condoms were no longer required. The only television was in the rec room and we’d sit there in the evenings that we weren’t out and about in town. Although we were in the back of the room, it was still in a room with people. We were lounging on a couch, me resting my back on the arm rest and him lying between my legs, resting his back on my chest. Physically, I suppose I was trapped into this position, and he had full control of whether I could move away or not. All he did was reach his arm behind his back and play with me using our bodies as visual barriers. There was no excitement in this action for me as my empathy just made me feel uncomfortable for anyone who would realise what was going on and feel uncomfortable in return. The physical sensations were enough to induce my first orgasm, no matter how inappropriate it felt and was a bitter sweet introduction to the world of physical pleasure.
Going into detail about this is only now making me realise why I have certain things that make me feel physically sick. It explains why public sex of any description makes me feel physically sick. I had always believed it was because of the industry I work in causing the fear of inadvertently ending up on the sex offender’s register, but now I believe that my first orgasm was his first controlling use of my sexuality.
I began exploring myself after this and learned how my orgasms work. Once that switch is flicked, it makes it so much easier to find it again. A couple of people had tried and failed up to that point but he managed to succeed. Maybe the fact that my first orgasm had been achieved by me having to shut everything out and concentrate on the physical sensation alone that my mind doesn’t ever fantasise when i masturbate. I am odd in this way, I am aware of this. I knew that if I didn’t manage to climax on that occasion then it would have been something he would have attempted time and time again until it happened. The thing that is difficult to express is the unwillingness involved but that I had needed to do whatever I could for a simpler life.
He used this technique several times in our 12 years together. The most uncomfortable, I remember, being him putting me in that situation during a re-released showing of ‘the empire strikes back’ in a packed cinema. I knew that If I didn’t climax quickly enough then he’d just keep going until I did. There we are, in a packed cinema, with his hand down my trousers and me having to act like nothing was happening at all, so as to not make a show of myself. Even thinking about it makes me ill right now as I remember the person next to him looking incredibly uncomfortable. It was the biggest indicator imaginable about how controlled I was by him.
All of this is very tame in comparison to what happened after this point. We bought a house together very quickly because his parents weren’t willing for him to live with them any longer and he had already managed to get me to agree to marry him. It was 3 doors down from his parents’ house, with adjoining gardens! A house that needed a lot of work and another way of him being able to control me. He started telling me about when he was younger and him wearing stockings underneath his outdoor clothes. This didn’t weird me out, I’m very accepting of people and their own little fetishes, it was him starting to test my boundaries and see how accepting/receptive I could actually be. This eventually turned into him having his own little girly underwear collection and the one part that never made me feel uncomfortable at all. I encouraged it because it was truly harmless and if I can encourage a harmless fetish then the ones that hurt may have been slightly diluted. He started bargaining with me to tie him down, whip him, tease him, blindfold him and a multitude of other standard BDSM practices. It made me uncomfortable, truly uncomfortable. I didn’t mind doing the whipping because I enjoyed the shape of the marks that showed up but causing someone physical pain was such an alien concept to me that it just felt so against who I am. If I didn’t oblige then I would be ignored for days/weeks on end. The only time I was able to do anything that would ‘please’ him was when he was making me dominate him. He turned this into a boundary pushing exercise continually but because I knew that any resistance was futile then i had no way to say no to anything. I just shut down inside, felt physically sick the whole time and lived in hope that doing something right would make him notice or even praise me. This was paid in attention alone, no praise ever came.
The 2 worst parts are him making me tie him up naked with the bedroom door open when my friends came round for a drink one night (they never came round again) because the bedroom was next to the bathroom and they would have to stumble on the discovery when they needed to pee. The other was the times that he would make me take him into wooded areas, take his clothes and tie him to trees or similar and walk away, only to have to go back and get him a little later. He would always choose areas near to my work which just caused me to be petrified of being seen and made me talk about it to relive the torture regularly. Way more things happened than I’ve listed here but even listing this has been difficult and I never thought it would plague me as much as it used to. Obviously I was wrong. No doubt other things from this time will be mentioned later but this is, at least, an introduction to all of that.
It’s funny, I wanted to talk about something else but I realised when I started that there was too much history that hadn’t been mentioned for me to be able to cover the topic effectively. I suppose the next time I talk will have the thoughts that I wanted to express today in them. Until then, it’s at least given you a clearer picture of that piece of the puzzle.