Taming the Beast

Once and a while I royally fuck everything up. Usually it's a combination of too much to drink coupled with un-dealt-with masochism. The latter will be the cause of problems likely for the rest of my life. It sits there, heavy in my mind and soul, taunting me.

Thus I found myself having quite the horrible experience the other day. I had kept my male friend up all night, apparently, alternately being horrible and sweet, drunk out of my mind, and I don't remember a thing of it. I had been drinking down at the hotel bar with some man, who bought me a couple drinks. I went up to his room with him to smoke cigarettes and hang out, gave him a backrub and I know he thought he was gonna get him some, but I got bored and left. Traded him out for the cute guy at the reception desk. Italian brought up in Ireland, pretty charming mix, I must say. Ended up letting him get me a glass (or two?) of wine and this equates to the total amount that I drank, which should not have been enough to lay me out like it did. I wonder if my cute Italian didn't slip something in my drink, because I got this feeling while I was up in his room, smoking and hanging out, like I needed to get out of there asap and back to my room. Sure, I was acting like a scank, but I like to think I keep things pretty under control. The Irish have affectively made me feel extremely attractive, which is nice, but this situation was not.

I don't remember even getting back to my room where my travel companion was apparently worried and had no idea where I'd been, and I was incoherent and belligerent and scaring the crap out of him. What I do remember is waking up in the morning being told to pack my shit and that he was going to drop me off at the aiport and we were parting ways, he did not want me traveling with him anymore. I, of course, break apart, confused and hung over and cry begging him not to do this, that I'm sorry, etc etc etc. I've rarely begged honestly for anything, and just like in the past, I was denied.

Mind you, this man labels himself Gorean. Begging is a huge thing in Gor and should have been better received. On my knees crying, hysterically pleading with him to not react this way, to forgive me, that I would be nothing but pleasant.

Nothing.

He leaves me in the room to pack up my things. My mantra while doing so is, "you are nothing, you are worthless" because I feel as such, and just as I was feeling good about myself in general, I had to go and get fucked up and fuck up my whole little vacation. Worthless. Nothing. Horrible. Vile. Pathetic. Worhtless. Nothing. Ugly. Disgusting..... worthless, nothing....

And by the time I get downstairs I am resolute and have exhausted myself. I leave the building, passing him and stand outside, light a cigarette, and feel the cold stone of the building slipping down my sweatered back, the concrete meeting my ass and I've decided not to go with him a moment longer. I would never beg for anything and I wouldn't be returning to the states. I would find a hostile. I would find a way to make money. I would disappear into Europe.

He hands me down 150 euro to get me home and I tell him I'm not coming with him. He considers this a moment and responds by suggesting that I come with him and we end our sexual relationship or any physical contact or romances of any sort. I say okay, and get in the car.

This decision has come back to my mind many times over. A very big part of me wished I had rejected it and gone on with my plan to disappear. I suppose I made the right choice, but who really knows.

I do know, that after that- after begging with everything I had, being denied and then offered an out to my exile from him and his trip, infuriates me. I bared my soul to him and he turned his back on me only to pretty much be like, oh hey- I changed my mind, get in the car. But never accepting my apology, not talking to me about it until the next night. Two days of misery. Trying to tell myself that I am not a worthless piece of shit. But I swear, I will never beg like that again. I will never.

It's so sad to me that this happened. I am not excusing my behavior but he knows I'm a masochist. He talked to me and talked to me but hasn't learned about my needs. He will fuck me but not beat me. I feel insane, I feel like there's something wrong with me, and he makes me feel like there might actually be- not that I'm just saying it because I feel like I am among a small percent of people who knowinly enjoy physical pain.

This morning, still reeling with my unmet desires and failure as a slave, failure as a person, failure as a friend... I asked him to spank me.

I do not ask for these things. I've never asked for it. But I felt like I was going to take a knife to my skin and feel the depressing searing pain of dragging it across my flesh. He is not sadistic at all. He says, no, he can't. I ask him why, to which he replies I don't know. I am sad, my eyes fighting tears, curled up in my sweater and half under the blankets, having avoided going down into public for breakfast. I explain to him that I will cut if he doesn't. I wont do it in front of him and he wont know about it, but I will do it and I really don't want to. I'm asking for help, you can help me, I told him, you can help me deal with this, even if you don't understand. I do. I need this. Please. I am calm, I don't know if this is going to work and I have flashbacks of begging him two mornings before and being rejected. I'm terrified of what it'll mean if he doesn't do this for me. It's been a long time coming. My glass has been overflowing for weeks.

He agrees, albiet resistantly. I pull off my sweater and bra and crawl across his lap and he laid into me.

Crying, wiggling... and then that moment where the pain goes over that edge of resisting and I feel my body calming and all I can do is gasp towards the floor, blinking blindly against my tears and feeling the wash of relief.

I could have taken more, but he stopped shortly after. Which is fine, I got what I needed, if only it's ever a temporary fix. He tells me I am so much more intense about my desires than he is. That he is confused, troubled by doing this. His cock is not hard. I ask him if I can try to fix that. He says no and I ask him why, he's afraid. Of liking it or not liking it, he can't even make up his mind. My tearstained face smiles lightly, "let me try... please? I bet I can make it work just fine." And he agrees. And I do. And it does.

He is happy the whole day and I keep my sadness and conflict inside. I wish to be understood and I so rarely feel like I am. Particularly this part of me, which seems to get me in so much trouble. The combination of being a fairly normal american looking girl, understanding men's desires and being masochistic is a dangerous mix. It leaves me pleasing a lot of people, one way or another (mostly men) and never feeling taken care of or truly appreciated.

I am not tamed, I am not controlled. I am a wild beast snarling at anything that comes close, then turning around and acting a sweet pet until I am lashing out again, aching to feel that control, to have someone catch me, chain me, tame me.

I wonder if this is a real thing for me, that I wish to be tamed. Or if it is true that wild beasts can never be truly tamed, and all I really desire is to destroy anything good in my life. Because god knows, I'm great at that. I'd prefer to think that it is a challenge to anyone trying to get close to me, or trying to have my attention for longer than what I think might be appropriate for arms-length dealings. I fancy myself testing men's reserves and strength. Testing them, wanting to know if they have a stronger will than mine. I have yet to find one, or at least one who is willing to come up against me, head to head.

Well.... Maybe I have..... I guess only time will tell.