I sit before a full length mirror in my new place. It goes floor to ceiling. And I think about who I am now. To be alone now I hear my thoughts again. There are no interruptions. No dictations. My mind is quiet. I stare at my reflection and feel unafraid.
I have thought about possession. Being someone's possession. Because that is what it felt like being married. Even my mind is belonging to someone else, like when he'd ask me all the time, "what are you thinking about? What are you hiding?" He was always assuming I was hiding some secret from him. And I guess he instilled the idea into me. I needed to have secrets because he never believed me when I told him there were none. He looked through my things all the time. He read notes to myself. He searched Google for people--men-- on my Facebook....
It made me feel like I was in a prison. Always being watched. It made me self conscious of the expressions I wore on my face.
I am slowly getting over that constant nervousness, yet my hands still drum against my thigh and I have a problem sitting still. Still. And I think about how I was with Bran-- the need to escape to him for safety. I guess that me I was with Bran was a shell-shocked version of me. I wasn't OK in my head and I'm only getting there now.
That me he knew was.... I think.... the transition of who I am now reclaiming. Or maybe becoming for the first time. Because, you see, I never got to figure out how to not feel hunted. It was all I ever really knew.
I don't want to be with anyone. Not anymore. I want to be alone. I can't afford to let down my guard anymore. I see that was always the distraction. Men always want to take care of me and I never really wanted that. I've always attracted men who try to own me and resisting this makes them trap me into a box.
So as I sit on the wood floor and stare at myself in front of the mirror, I think of hands on me that push and pull, grab and strip me, hands that hurt, the bruises they left when I'd try to walk away. I'd try to get away. When he wouldn't stop, when he was in the manic stage and kept his interrogations going until I felt he'd driven me insane. After awhile I always felt insane. He made me believe I was. And to just think .... Just to think..... I had to get away from him. That was the only way. Just to hear my thoughts again. But he knew my moves too well and as I'd try and slip past stealthily, he'd catch me. And dig his fingers, hurting, leaving rings of purple-black, like tattooed armlets. His mark or brand of possession. It felt even that he wanted too to possess my orgasms. That, they too were his and .... There is something that happens to you when someone tells you when to come and when you can't. How do I mean that? It's sick and too private for me to even write because I don't even know how I fell into that pit in my mind where even that place you go in your mind to orgasm is no longer yours so you forget how to.
Because it's a defense, you see.
And after awhile he didn't even care. And forgot how to. How to cum.
So when I met Bran.... It was like he reminded me how.
But then.... it belonged to Bran. That place is such a private place....I think it's been stolen from me.
So now I think of Zach.... And I think, I don't want to belong to anyone. Not ever again. I belong to me. And I am mine.
I look at my reflection now.... I am wearing a thin, white, t-shirt. I am alone in my new place. I belong to me.
And when I look in there.... I like me better now. I'm not performing for anyone. This me I see.... is the real me. I look at my eyes, past the lenses, I see the smoky brown that looks like clay with copper lights. I see something familiar like the question that once existed staring back when I was five. Yes, it's still there. And I'm happy to recognize it.
I notice the shadows that fall on my t-shirt around my breasts. And I notice my nipples are hard from a passing draft. The fabric irritates the sensitivity there. I close my eyes because I feel something. Something I wasn't prepared for. Yet that is also almost familiar, it surprises me. So unexpected. I keep my eyes closed and put my hands there to make it go away. Press my palms. Instead I feel only more disturbed. And why? It isn't so long since I was with Zach but, it is like what I have described. That place in me that's been violated. And others' hands always move too fast away from places. They move, instead, to please them-self for what they demand or want to view. And maybe I don't talk up enough. Maybe I should say, "please keep your hand there. Please touch me like this...." And now as I do, thinking this and half consciously aware that do. And I become aware of frustration that is like a jolt. Like an electrical shock. I take my hands away and open my eyes. My face is flushed. I close my eyes and grind my crotch into the wood floor through my jeans.
It is awhile as I debate. I tell myself to not think of anyone. Not Bran, not Zach, not even someone in a magazine, just me.
So in my head, I let myself step out of myself and view myself as if I were my own lover. Only with the knowledgable insight of all my sexual secrets. I pretend. I see a me I don't usually see and notice the fullness of my breasts when I take off my shirt. I touch myself and suddenly wish I had a disembodied dick to plunge right into me because I feel the wetness begin to pour. Shit. Of all the handy things I've bought for my new place, why didn't I ever consider a dildo? I think this as I dry fuck the hard wood floor imaging my favorite real life dick.
Just the dick. And this beautiful dick is doing what I want, not what its owner would. And I remove my jeans to look. I look at myself in the mirror. I look there. It is impressive. I mean the view. How ideal to have a floor to ceiling mirror! I have never got to see this. I feel like a voyeur of myself. I watch myself. Even my face. I find it curious how something there appears in my face as I become erotically stimulated. It fascinates me. I never saw that before. And I never thought to perform this for anyone before. And as I watch my hand move down there to touch, I wonder why I never did this for anyone before. I never knew that.... I look this way.
And I.... that I... could.... do.... like this. I watch what happens as the wet increases, I watch like a stranger not me and not male or female. I don't know what I am as I watch. All things. Powerful. I watch as I fuck myself with fingers and wonder what it's like to be a man and fuck me. What is it like to fuck me? And warped thoughts draw me in and remove me from the presence ....but it is watching my eyes as I orgasm that makes me need to come again and again. I see a secret there revealed. My sexual secrets.
It makes me want to perform. For someone? Maybe it doesn't matter right now. I think I like having that part of me that is just for me. I think I'm not ready to share. Or maybe I never will. I am mine.