I am not the easiest person to get close to anymore.
There was a time when it was much easier; where conversation and connection was a casual thing and I didn’t worry about what could happen or how I would get hurt or.. any of that.
Time and trauma are funny things. I’m 27 now. I’ve kept this blog since I was 22. In those five years I have changed and grown so much. I remember starting this journey unable to fathom polyamory and having insecurities left, right, and sideways about it. Now.. I can’t imagine not being polyamorous. Only choosing one partner? HOW? They all fill such different needs.
I can’t imagine my life without kink either, though there are times when I’ve tried. Lately my needs haven’t been met in the kink department. Part of that is my own doing; life has gotten in the way to a large extent and having spoons and capacity to get to events is.. hard. I’ve had prior commitments and partners going through some bumps that required emotional support that overshadowed my need for a good beating. Part of it is because trusting people is very, very difficult for me these days.
Trauma changes you. PTSD has left its mark on me in the form of a brain that is not neuro-typical, and it makes dating, especially in the kinky world, harder. It also doesn’t help that I can play very heavy when in the right headspace and that can scare new tops. I have a very, very sweet partner that’s the closest to vanilla I’ll ever go these days; a big bear of a man by the name of Rowan. He’s a cowboy, and I ride him frequently (saving lots of horses, ba dum bum tish). The sex is fantastic. We wrestle, and bite, and fuck each other senseless..but he’s not comfortable choking me. Or hitting me. Or pulling my hair. The poor man offered to earlier today when he saw I was close to squirming from lack of heavy play and I had to explain that the bottom doesn’t enjoy having the crap beaten out of them unless the top enjoys themselves as well. It’s that sadist’s grin I always look for. And my sweet Rowan is no sadist. He’s a fantastic human that can handle me when I break and that has a very very pretty penis. But he’s no sadist.
A man that is, and a heavy one at that, is Cal. As long as we have known each other we have only played a handful of times, for so many reasons. There’s always this wee bit of tension between Cal and I; words left unsaid that will likely never be said. We circle one another like predator and prey, one or the other lunging forward from time to time and initiating something more than our typical friendship. After the mentorship, and after one of Cal’s longer-term crazy ex’s, he became one of my safe people. He had no interest in me, I thought, and so there was no chance of partnership. No chance of him seeing more of my broken pieces than he already has. There are gaps in our history of knowing one another. In those gaps.. I changed.
It was a few weeks ago. I was at BaGG. Ryan left early because of a very long day and I was left to my own devices. This typically means head pets and drinks from Cal (of the non-alcoholic variety these days. 9-5 necessities).
I was.. poorly behaved. Venting about Ryan and some of the on-again off-again issues we had been having. Ryan and I are going on two years of dating. It’s not new and shiny anymore, and I am the partner that sees the most. It’s a good thing and a bad thing, but that’s a conversation for another day.
Returning to the current conversation, Cal and I flirted, as we often do when I’m at BaGG and there’s alcohol. He offered to beat me. I said yes.
I shouldn’t have. Not with alcohol in his system and me already worn and without a partner there. This is very much on me.
The scene itself was good, as our few scenes often are. I ended up on the spanking bench, which is much less enjoyable for me than the cross because I can take less, but I wanted catharsis. Cal hits HARD. He’s not afraid to be mean. Sometimes I need that, I admit. He says the right sadist things, like how he loves seeing my tears. He pushed me to breaking. I fell, and called yellow when I felt too much. Outside of a couple hits that just..didn’t land right because of how my frame hits the horse it was exactly what I needed but was afraid to ask for.
The aftercare.. was on me. I started crashing HARD, and managed to crash midway through a heavy conversation with Cal. My body typically gets very cold after a heavy scene. I physically shiver and need contact or a warm place to come back down. I felt the shivers, felt my level of fatigue, and realizing that I didn’t have capacity to communicate that I needed more aftercare I did the next best thing. I vocalized that I needed to go.
I have my goodbye routine pretty well down at BaGG. When I’m at max capacity I go and I find James. I give him a hug and a nuzzle, tell him to get his stubborn ass home, and I peace out.
I was waiting for James for that goodbye and could see him, finally. I had to wait. Cal was waiting too. He had wanted to walk me out. I saw him behind me for a moment and then felt an arm around my neck.
Normally I like choking. It’s one of my favorite things, along with hair pulling and face fucking and hard smacks to the ass and… you get it. Because of where I was mentally it was NOT a good thing. It was a shock to my system that thought the scene was long over and needed to go to bed and caused my crash to intensify. After the choke Cal crushed me against his chest. Normally this is also a very good thing, but I could see James. I could see him but couldn’t get to him, couldn’t get out of Cal’s arms. Panic grew. He finally let me go and I ran, frazzled, out of the club. At home I broke, horribly, with one of my partners holding me while my brain fractured into too many pieces. Eventually I crawled into bed at about 3 am somewhat put back together.
I had a date with Ryan the next evening. He already knew that the night had ended rough and checked in with me in the morning to see how I was. I was at a stage where I was having issues with words, even to him. It happens when I break sometimes; words feel like they’re trapped in quick sand in my mind. It’s so difficult to vocalize and I fight the urge to shut down and turtle.
That night I curled up in his lap and we talked through the evening, even the parts where I vented about him. Ryan listened intently and asked the right questions, a frown forming on the face when I told him about the choke at the end of the night. He asked if I had reached out to Cal and told him any of this yet. I answered honestly that I hadn’t. That I didn’t plan to. My brain did a thing and it wasn’t his fault.
It was Ryan that pointed out that alcohol may have played a part and misreading the signals that I was done for the night, and possibly the removal of alcohol would make for a much safer scene and aftercare. I couldn’t argue. Cal and I have done one scene at the Citadel together and though it was heavy and my height makes things more challenging for him it was absolutely fucking wonderful; heavy impact that made me fly with a force that I only ever have gotten from James. From a safe person.
Ryan is my Daddy, my protector. He asked me what I needed to feel safe around Cal. I made up the rule of removing alcohol from play, and contacted him the next day.
… To say it didn’t go well would be an understatement.
Cal has the ability to make you feel like a shining star when his full attention is on you. He also has the ability to make any human feel damaged, or broken, or worthless. My hurt ended up hurting him in such a way that he through up walls so quickly I got whiplash. He said that we were incompatible. That clearly he had misread the signs and the scene didn’t go well. That I had chosen to blow him off and not tell him what was going on the day before. There were other things I really don’t feel like rehashing and I’m not to a place where I can scroll through the messages and give ya’ll direct quotes. I got thrown away again, as I have been in the past. But he wanted to be friends. With slight censorship to our conversations. So, friends but not really.
I was surprised how much the rejection from Cal hurt. I knew I loved him. I don’t think I realized until then how much I actually wanted him. How much I wanted him to want me as well. There was a part of me that I think saw the play as a positive thing; something that could even become regular. I had often debated asking Cal if we could try going on an actual date and drop the circling act. Just.. dive in and see what happened. He was the first one in the kink world to notice me. That has always meant something. He’s also the only one that I’ve let throw me away over, and over, and over again. Because he was special. Because he mattered. Because he was safe, and I loved him even though I saw he was very flawed. I do not idolize him. At this point I know Cal way too well to. I call him on his bullshit at times.
I called him on this. I said something akin to he was too busy kicking his own ass to actually here what had happened and what I was asking him for. When he kept going I asked for space. He kept going again. I asked him for more space. I asked him not to reply. And control freak that he is, he replied.
I remember staring at the last message, crying, and throwing my phone.
I haven’t been to BaGG in two weeks.
Ryan has no interest in going anymore, which breaks my heart on a couple levels. He has so much going on that we haven’t played. In that time my brain has been eating me alive thanks to other things, always coming back to the fact that I’m broken. That I’m defective. There was..more hurt than I want to admit from that exchange between Cal and I. There was a lot of disappointment and a lack of trust.
He will catch me if I fall, so long as he didn’t cause that fall.
Today he texted me, a sweet check in. And I don’t know how to respond to it. Someone that used to be one of the safest people to me in my mind hurt me.. a lot. Not in a bad scene. Not in a bad drop or aftercare. But after. When I said things had gone wrong for me and this was the boundary that I needed to feel safe.
I won’t have Ryan with me at BaGG next week. And I need to get past this fear and just.. go. I feel frozen. Overwhelmed. There are no spoons. Life is pummeling me and there’s no relief in sight. I don’t know when the next time I will play will be. The number of people that are safe for me continue to dwindle. My world continues to shrink as I try so hard not to collapse under the weight of needs that I cannot fill for myself.
I gave into the temptation to play with fire. I got burned. And I don’t know where to go from here. If there’s anywhere to go. I don’t know what Cal sees when he looks at me anymore, or what he thought about me before all this.
I guess I’ll never know now.
Yours, hurting but slowly mending,