Excerpt #5

September 15, 2024

You know those conversations that you will always remember? I’m going to count the one I had with myself in the shower this morning as one of those conversations. I’ll paraphrase. Nobody needs to see what actually took place, including me. Let’s just say it started while I was sitting in my shower chair with my foot wrapped in a plastic bag, tapped like a mummy I didn’t ever want to escape while I was pulling knot after knot out of my very long matted wet hair. And it ended with me feeling more than cleansed. Oh, and by the way, I didn’t even cry. Not once. There’s a first for everything.

This is exactly what she would do. Yank and pull, yank and pull. Only my hair was a little shorter, much curlier and I was only four years old. And I’m not swearing at myself and telling myself that I’m going to cut it all off. It’s a fucking pain in the ass but it’s not that big of a deal. Who does that to a four-year-old? Besides, this feels awesome. I haven’t washed my hair since the night before my surgery. My hair was beautiful when I was four. Long curly ringlets. In some of the pictures I remember it was always a mess because she hated brushing it, but I liked it. I like my hair now. I’m purging much more than Xavier.

What happened the other night had to happen. It was time. Derrick has asked me if I would play with him and another woman for over a year. I’ve always refused. He’s been very respectful about it. I forgot that I told him a little bit about why and I told him again last week when he asked me again. After that conversation I started writing about it and thinking about it. The last time I was with a woman was the summer of 2022. What I did freaked me out so much that I stopped playing with women altogether. Turned everything off as far as that was concerned. So much so that it affected other things and I wasn’t even aware of it until now. Now that I’m yanking on my hair. God damn, mom. You complained all the time about how much I ruined your life. Of course, other people don’t know that. You made sure that other people didn’t hear those things. Just like a lot of the other things you saved for just me. What the fuck did you do to my life?

I always believed I was such a rotten kid that I would end up in jail before I was eighteen. It doesn’t sound like much, but to me, it was a fate much worse than death. See, jail meant lesbians and it also meant brooms. And in my fucked up little mind after hearing your stories about your adventures in reform school and your thoughts on everything lesbian, well…put two and two together. If that was the only lesbian thing I had to worry about it would be bad enough but it wasn’t. For all your ranting and raving about how evil homosexuality is, especially between two women, WHO THE FUCK LEAVES THEIR PORN MAGAZINES ALL OVER THE HOUSE FOR THEIR KID TO LOOK AT AND READ?! Especially when those porn magazines aren’t filled with pictures of naked men and those magazines weren’t my father’s. And you wonder where my fuckedupedness comes from, MOM. Get real. And who the hell screams at their daughter for reading to their younger sister from those magazines? They weren’t mine! What the fuck was your problem? Oh, there’s more. There’s always more. What do you think happens when your five-year-old daughter looks at those magazines and learns to masturbate? I know now, as an adult, that what I did was normal, but it took most of my life to figure that out. All I knew was that for the first time in my little, miniscule life I felt good. So I kept doing it and doing it and doing it. Until I reached the age when I put two and two together and figured out that what I was doing was wrong because you started telling me how wrong homosexuality is. See, I thought I was a lesbian. Just another strike against me I guess.

So there I was, thinking I was a closet lesbian my whole life. Grabbing your magazines and hiding out in my closet with a flashlight until I moved out on my own at eighteen. My first experience with a woman was beautiful. Luckily, I didn’t think about you until many days later. I thought I’d never tell you because I wouldn’t be able to stand the look of disgust on your face. Not that I’d share my sex life with you. Especially after what you already think about me. You’ve made no secret about how you feel about my sex life. But after I met her and realized I had feelings for her, I knew I would never tell you.

I didn’t expect to have feelings for another woman. I thought sex would be more than enough. It had always been a fantasy and I was getting more than my share of sex. After Xavier came back and I began expressing myself again my self-confidence soared, I was finally able to stand on my own. I didn’t need your approval or dad’s or anyone else’s anymore. I started doing what I wanted when I wanted and I began voicing my opinion. I also began exploring my sexuality. My second time on the swinger’s website I met a couple that lived out of town. She and I had a lot in common with each other. She was a writer as well and also wrote erotic short stories. Her work was based on her dreams and the endings were always ambiguous. She struggled with closure and would ask my opinion. We developed an easy rapport. We exchanged sexy pics and spoke over video most of the time. She had health problems also and was very understanding. Things with her were unexpected and easy. I told her about Xavier, she told me about her guy.

She had a day off from work unexpectedly one day and came to visit. We agreed that if we ended up playing and it didn’t work out that we would remain friends. Our connection was too important to both of us to lose. Needless to say, we aren’t in each other’s lives anymore. We tried but it was awkward. I don’t blame her for not staying in touch. I dropped the ball. I couldn’t face what I did. More importantly, I couldn’t face who I was. I didn’t ever think that I would want a girlfriend. I was asked to be in a triad, I thought I could probably do that with Xavier. She was the first woman I actually thought I could have a relationship with and it scared the shit out of me. But my behavior that day freaked me out. It wasn’t all that bad, now that I look back on it. I was aggressive, I was dominant and I knew exactly what I wanted. I’m coming to terms with that. It’s pretty much how I am with people even though I really want to be submissive. It’s a trust issue. I’m aware. I know all the reasons why. Maybe someday I’ll get there. But as she was getting ready to leave I was overwhelmed and I was silent. I didn’t say anything. Not one word. Because you were there.

I’ve had problems with my identity my whole life and never understood why. I do now. Its trauma based. Neglect does that. Abuse does that. CPTSD does that. I tried explaining it many times to different therapists over the years, to friends, nobody understood what I was trying to say because I couldn’t articulate what I meant. After a lifetime of thinking that my desires were wrong and I was wrong, that I was an inherently flawed human being, I had no idea who I was. To say I was confused as she was leaving is an understatement. Everything that just happened felt right and wrong at the same time. My silence practically threw her out of my apartment. If I stood up and opened the door for her it would have been better than sitting there and practically ignoring her. My apologies and behavior afterward were no better.

So, when Derrick and I were talking the other day I finally told him to bring his friend. I’ve known he has two other playmates. It doesn’t bother me at all. They’ve both been in his life for a few years. But I told him I was only going to watch. After I said it and thought about it, it really turned me on. I’ve never been a voyeur, and I wanted to know what it would be like to watch him. I want to go to swinger’s parties with him some day, not to have sex with other people, I want to have sex with him in front of other people, so I thought this would be good practice in a way. It was hot AF. He’s so sexy. I swear to God, if I die right now I’ll die a happy girl knowing I had the chance to experience him. I’m a lucky girl. When I look at him sometimes I can’t even believe that he wants to be with me. He’s as fine as they come. Fucking pinch me.

She’s very beautiful and young. I was sitting there on the bench in my bedroom watching him have sex with her while he looked deeply into my eyes (okay, like I just can’t, even thinking about it now…) and I took my finger out of my mouth (I didn’t even realize I had been chewing on my knuckle) and motioned for him to come over to me. Then I started pleasuring him. That’s all it took. And in minutes I was on that bed. For almost two hours. It was as natural as could be. She was sexy as hell and patient. I was a bit out of practice but she didn’t seem to mind. But the reason the other night had to happen was for more than the sex.

Derrick and his friend (I’m sorry but I’ve already forgotten her name) have a connection that he and I don’t have and will probably never have. They aren’t only lovers, they’re friends. She bakes for him and they hang out. I assumed it was because they live near each other, but as I was laying there listening to them joke about her baking for him, she mentioned that she lives an hour and a half in the opposite direction from me. They’re also much closer in age and she’s normal. She drives and they met in a casino. Both things I don’t do and don’t have the opportunity to do. He also joked around about how he and I have a love hate relationship because I keep cutting him out of my life. She laughed and said, “I’m sure it’s the other way around.” “No, he’s right. It’s what I do. No, it’s what I used to do. I’ve been working on me and I’m trying to be a better me,” I told her as I flipped onto my stomach and looked her in the eyes. “I’m doing trauma therapy. I’ve got stuff to deal with. I don’t want it running my life anymore.” Derrick smiled and got up to take a shower while she and I laid on the bed and continued to talk. That’s also when I found out that his real name isn’t Derrick. I’m sure he told me I just don’t remember. He heard me say that and shouted from the bathroom, “I told you my name last year. Derrick is my name from the site. You just kept calling me by that name so I let you.”

That night had to happen so I could put things in perspective. Derrick and I will always be just a hook-up. He’s my Caramel man but I’ve been having feelings. Not romantic feelings, they don’t belong in this relationship. But I've been feeling closer to him and it's been confusing. Yes, we’ve been doing this for two years, but we don’t have a future. Just because he practically begged me to come back doesn’t mean that he wants a relationship. It means he likes the sex. I see that now. It also had to happen so I can make a decision about whether or not I want to be with women. I’m still not sure. At least I’m not closed off to it anymore and I’m not afraid to explore if it’s the right thing for me or not.

My erotic poetry the last few days has been a lil crazy. It’s like the beast has been let out of the cage but still has a straight jacket on. I know it’s healthy and it’s my way to process what I’m going through but other people don’t. I’ve had to message some of my friends after I post poems and tell them not to worry. I’d be worried about me if I didn’t know what was going on. I thank the universe every day that I’m able to write.

I know my memory problems have a lot more to do with trauma than I thought. It’s not just from the ECT treatments or the amount of medication I was on for so long. I have memories that are coming back to me but they may not all come back. I’d prefer it if the happy memories came back and not the memories I’m dreading but I want whatever needs to come out to come out. Trauma has affected my life in ways that I never thought possible and in ways that I’ve denied. It affects the way I view and practice sex. I didn’t want to admit it but I do now. I thought that if I did it meant that the way I think about sex and the way I have sex is unhealthy. It may be, I’m not so sure. But I’m willing to find out. I meant what I said about being sexually free. It’s important to me. So if I have to explore this then so be it. I’m not denying myself anything anymore.

Being healthy, having healthy relationships, includes a relationship with myself. I’m learning about who I am. I have an identity now. I can define myself when I couldn’t do that before. The only way I could describe myself in the past was to say that I was a big walking zero, that’s it. I started a list of my traits and I’m adding as many as I can think of until I run out of qualities about myself that I recognize. Number one on the list: quirky. I love it. I think it describes me perfectly.