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The Last Word (44)

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Adverse_Camber

Posted by Adverse_Camber on Sun 11 Dec 11, 8:56 PM to Adverse_Camber's blog.

"In short don't post about me, talk about me or contact me.

I am not asking, I am telling.

Consider this the last word."

I am about to post ill-advisedly...but hey, not like that's never happened before.

I have thought and thought about whether to tell this story, because it's not a pretty one. Not pretty at all; and really, only one of the main characters comes out looking good...and that's not me. Definitely not me.

Frankly, this story makes me look like an idiot.

Perhaps because I am...or was. Or perhaps just naive? Who knows. Actually, who even cares.

It was early December 2009 that first time I met him in person, after endless memos and phone calls. Neutral ground, a shopping centre, with a view to a private meeting a few days later if that all worked out. On reflection, he'd been "grooming" me for some time, on here. Beginning with flattery and admiration, ramping up to sharing sorrows, seguing neatly into expressions of desire for the newly Dominant me. How could I resist? Galloping up to 40; freshly dumped by someone I really, really trusted; newly-discovered grounds to explore...

And he was convincing. Very convincing. Eyes downcast, respectful, adoring.

A couple of days later, business completed, I began the drive up to his. Strangely, I stopped halfway there, panic-stricken, to call my ever-tolerant One..."I can't do it, I can't go through with it, it feels wrong." He calmed me down...as he always does...and I carried on...continued my adventure. This whirlwind of three men that would end in the only way possible. (If I'd known better that day, would I have turned back? But if I had...would I know what I have now? Would it mean this much to me?)

Long journey later, in his room. This slaveboy, there for me to take. Begging to be taken. And so I did...and so it began.

I became that thing I never thought I'd be...Mithtress. An interchangeable Dominant female type...with major responsibilities. The bills racked up...my mobile bill so high from the multiple daily micro-management calls that I missed a mortgage payment. Life and all its complications welling up all around me while I juggled work and home and three relationships. Trying so hard to be greater than the sum of all my parts.

And we all welcomed him, my other two befriending him, supporting him, doing their best to make it ok for him because they wanted it to be ok for me. I tried so hard to find a way to help him kick his habits, find a safe place to live. And they welcomed him into their homes too. I was distracted, so distracted by his neediness, that I started letting everyone down. Too distracted to pay proper attention to a re-found friend, who welcomed him too. I'm sorry for that.

Too distracted to understand why my other two were starting to warn me off him...Ironically, they'd almost spent more physical time with him than I had. But I knew better. New Year's Eve it all came to a head. I'd taken him somewhere safe, to heal...and he came back even more broken. Drunk, belligerent and bruised. Seriously panicking...no way I could let him into my home...I guess some of my instincts were still intact. So yet more expenditure, money I really didn't have, to put him up in a hotel.

Splitting myself inefficiently between him and the people I really should have been with...a total nightmare. All semblance of his slavely nature gone...replaced with a sly, malicious drunken wreck. And still I believed him, over reports from someone I perhaps should have trusted. But he's not honest either, so who could I believe?

My Special One...expressing concern for my welfare? Yes, I should have believed him. A relative stranger who saw right through him and made his contempt abundantly clear? Yes, I should have believed him. But I knew better, I knew better.

And on it went, for another two weeks, until I ran out of money and until another likelier prospect started sniffing around, offering to give what I couldn't. Oh how he cried...professed his love...promised he would change. How he protested that it wasn't his fault...a damaged victim. But I finally knew...properly knew.

I thought I could spot abusers...I thought I'd seen them all. But they wear many, many masks...I had access to his profile, I could see how he'd neatly exchanged me for another and it suddenly all made sense. Foolish woman, I thought. Part of me wanted to warn her, most of me knew she wouldn't believe me. And a part of me cared enough that I wanted him to be happy, them to be happy...to succeed where I'd failed so shamefully.

And once it was all over, the memos flooded in. He's well-known on the scene apparently...does this over and over again. So why tell me when it's too late? Because I would not have listened. I would have dismissed it. He was sent a warning about me, right at the beginning. Apparently, I'm dangerous. He was sent a memo about me, right at the end, stating that I always use and move on...by a man that had previously threatened to kill him, in a life before I was even around. Both memos were from the same source...a bitter sense of rejection the base note.

I have saved all his memos, the ones from the end. I have saved the memo I received from killerman too, the one he sent to everyone he could when he and I came to an end. My best line from that one has to be "cock-hungry whore." What an epitaph! Tomorrow, I will most likely delete them all. They have been rendered meaningless.

So there it is. Lives damaged through their intertwining...people who were there know the truth, or their version of that truth anyway. And none of us without blame.

Except one. I constantly marvel that he is still here.

(edited cos I got the cockquote wrong...don't you just hate it when that happens???)

Edited Mon 12 Dec 11, 6:38 PM by Adverse_Camber

Replies

11 Dec 11, 9:13 PM gastro_masochist 6 mths	Adverse_Camber wrote: The Last Word "In short don't post about me, talk about me or contact me. I am not asking, I am telling. Consider this the last word." I am about to post ill-advisedly...but hey, not like that's never happened before. I have thought and thought about whether to tell this story, because it's not a pretty one. Not pretty at all; and really, only one of the main characters comes out looking good...and that's not me. Definitely not me. Frankly, this story makes me look like an idiot. Perhaps because I am...or was. Or perhaps just naive? Who knows. Actually, who even cares. It was early December 2009 that first time I met him in person, after endless memos and phone calls. Neutral ground, a shopping centre, with a view to a private meeting a few days later if that all worked out. On reflection, he'd been "grooming" me for some time, on here. Beginning with flattery and admiration, ramping up to sharing sorrows, seguing neatly into expressions of desire for the newly Dominant me. How could I resist? Galloping up to 40; freshly dumped by someone I really, really trusted; newly-discovered grounds to explore... And he was convincing. Very convincing. Eyes downcast, respectful, adoring. A couple of days later, business completed, I began the drive up to his. Strangely, I stopped halfway there, panic-stricken, to call my ever-tolerant One..."I can't do it, I can't go through with it, it feels wrong." He calmed me down...as he always does...and I carried on...continued my adventure. This whirlwind of three men that would end in the only way possible. (If I'd known better that day, would I have turned back? But if I had...would I know what I have now? Would it mean this much to me?) Long journey later, in his room. This slaveboy, there for me to take. Begging to be taken. And so I did...and so it began. I became that thing I never thought I'd be...Mithtress. An interchangeable Dominant female type...with major responsibilities. The bills racked up...my mobile bill so high from the multiple daily micro-management calls that I missed a mortgage payment. Life and all its complications welling up all around me while I juggled work and home and three relationships. Trying so hard to be greater than the sum of all my parts. And we all welcomed him, my other two befriending him, supporting him, doing their best to make it ok for him because they wanted it to be ok for me. I tried so hard to find a way to help him kick his habits, find a safe place to live. And they welcomed him into their homes too. I was distracted, so distracted by his neediness, that I started letting everyone down. Too distracted to pay proper attention to a re-found friend, who welcomed him too. I'm sorry for that. Too distracted to understand why my other two were starting to warn me off him...Ironically, they'd almost spent more physical time with him than I had. But I knew better. New Year's Eve it all came to a head. I'd taken him somewhere safe, to heal...and he came back even more broken. Drunk, belligerent and bruised. Seriously panicking...no way I could let him into my home...I guess some of my instincts were still intact. So yet more expenditure, money I really didn't have, to put him up in a hotel. Splitting myself inefficiently between him and the people I really should have been with...a total nightmare. All semblance of his slavely nature gone...replaced with a sly, malicious drunken wreck. And still I believed him, over reports from someone I perhaps should have trusted. But he's not honest either, so who could I believe? My Special One...expressing concern for my welfare? Yes, I should have believed him. A relative stranger who saw right through him and made his contempt abundantly clear? Yes, I should have believed him. But I knew better, I knew better. And on it went, for another two weeks, until I ran out of money and until another likelier prospect started sniffing around, offering to give what I couldn't. Oh how he cried...professed his love...promised he would change. How he protested that it wasn't his fault...a damaged victim. But I finally knew...properly knew. I thought I could spot abusers...I thought I'd seen them all. But they wear many, many masks...I had access to his profile, I could see how he'd neatly exchanged me for another and it suddenly all made sense. Foolish woman, I thought. Part of me wanted to warn her, most of me knew she wouldn't believe me. And a part of me cared enough that I wanted him to be happy, them to be happy...to succeed where I'd failed so shamefully. And once it was all over, the memos flooded in. He's well-known on the scene apparently...does this over and over again. So why tell me when it's too late? Because I would not have listened. I would have dismissed it. He was sent a warning about me, right at the beginning. Apparently, I'm dangerous. He was sent a memo about me, right at the end, stating that I always use and move on...by a man that had previously threatened to kill him, in a life before I was even around. Both memos were from the same source...a bitter sense of rejection the base note. I have saved all his memos, the ones from the end. I have saved the memo I received from killerman too, the one he sent to everyone he could when he and I came to an end. My best line from that one has to be "cock-sucking whore." What an epitaph! Tomorrow, I will most likely delete them all. They have been rendered meaningless. So there it is. Lives damaged through their intertwining...people who were there know the truth, or their version of that truth anyway. And none of us without blame. Except one. I constantly marvel that he is still here. I could have written that almost word for word and yes I marvel at it too but perhaps, just perhaps, there is a limit to how much 'chaos' one person can be allowed to do before things come crashing down. Here's hoping. Ib $%"^& BOUNCE ?&*&**&
11 Dec 11, 9:36 PM Grownup_Frankie UK, 4 yrs	Its the dark nights perhaps. Perhaps this is what our ancestors did, in the winter. Sit in a chair pulled up close the glowing fire, leaning over the pot, staring into it's depths, its swirls and wafts of steam, giving it an occasional contemplative stir. Mulling, mulling, mulling over the pot of our past, sometimes surprised by what floats up to the surface, sometimes half expecting it, willing it to rise - some pain, some grief, some regret, some secret never to be told. Funny old stew, life. Yes, I'd delete those fucking memos.
11 Dec 11, 9:38 PM Adverse_Camber UK, 3 yrs	Grownup_Frankie wrote: Its the dark nights perhaps. Perhaps this is what our ancestors did, in the winter. Sit in a chair pulled up close the glowing fire, leaning over the pot, staring into it's depths, its swirls and wafts of steam, giving it an occasional contemplative stir. Mulling, mulling, mulling over the pot of our past, sometimes surprised by what floats up to the surface, sometimes half expecting it, willing it to rise - some pain, some grief, some regret, some secret never to be told. Funny old stew, life. Yes, I'd delete those fucking memos. Frankie...you swore!!!
11 Dec 11, 9:40 PM Adverse_Camber UK, 3 yrs	Christmas_Bop wrote: I could have written that almost word for word and yes I marvel at it too but perhaps, just perhaps, there is a limit to how much 'chaos' one person can be allowed to do before things come crashing down. Here's hoping. Ib Hope springs eternal. Where there is life, there is hope. Life goes on. Ok, bored with the platitudes now...it will get better, I promise you that. x
11 Dec 11, 9:46 PM gastro_masochist 6 mths	Time and tide .. x $%"^& BOUNCE ?&*&**&
11 Dec 11, 9:52 PM Adverse_Camber UK, 3 yrs	Christmas_Bop wrote: Time and tide .. x The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; Along the sea-sands damp and brown The traveler hastens toward the town, And the tide rises, the tide falls. Darkness settles on roofs and walls, But the sea, the sea in darkness calls; The little waves, with their soft, white hands Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls. The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls; The day returns, but nevermore Returns the traveler to the shore. And the tide rises, the tide falls. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Edited 11 Dec 11, 9:53 PM by Adverse_Camber
11 Dec 11, 10:42 PM Grownup_Frankie UK, 4 yrs	He did a lot of mulling, you can tell.
11 Dec 11, 11:39 PM wonderer UK, 5 yrs	I was trying to find a youtube rendition of Howard Skempton's lyrical musical setting of the Longfellow poem, but nothing doing. As for memo archives ... sometimes, once far enough in the past, once the venom is extracted, they can be useful to preserve as part of your history and something from which you've learned and grown. Might a need to delete suggest they still have some power? "Wisdom begins in wonder” (Socrates) "Imagination is more important than knowledge" (Albert Einstein) Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est. http://www.informedconsent.co.uk/posts/226772/ Edited 12 Dec 11, 8:30 AM by wonderer
11 Dec 11, 11:55 PM Sadistia UK(NG), 10 yrs	Thinking of you, thinking of you processing. thinking of you Sx
12 Dec 11, 6:06 AM Caracal UK(SS), 5 yrs	AC and CB, your stories are just so very very similar.... Wishing you both healing and believe me, deleting memos you've been hanging onto is very very liberating once you know you've got to the end of the saga.

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