The ‘whore’ he didn’t have to pay for

Casting my mind’s eye across the bleak landscape of memory, my entire being protests. The task of once more occupying the mindscape of my Malvolio experience creates a maelstrom-like tangle of internal experiences that are supremely difficult to separate and observe. At once I am furious, sick (but whether in my stomach or my spirit, I cannot discern), sweating, energised by my anger, shaking as my heart pounds, and often rendered inert by the lot of it.  Today, I will push through. I am going to descend into the darkness and discuss some of the most horrible things that I have to discuss. Once each of these things is out in the ether I will set to mentally laying them to rest and hopefully attain a more permanent internal stillness.

In the beginning, there was alcohol. Our entanglement was borne of intoxication. The first several encounters took place under the protective aegis of booze. I was happy with this. I was in search of reckless abandon. I found it, temporarily. It wasn’t particularly satisfying in the physical sense but to me, personally, it represented something more about myself – my independence and the hedonistic adventure I was using to demarkate the end of a long and lonely relationship I had been in back home. The details weren’t important. We were just ‘having fun’. Cool. YOLO.

So, erm, it started to get weird… Once we accidentally got serious (accidentally on my part – he kept coming back like a fucking mouthy boomerang) and eventually had sober sex (‘sex has always been something that I do drunk or by myself’… yeah) I started to notice that he was a pretty selfish lover. You know, you excuse drunken sex because who knows what they’re doing then anyway, right? But regular sex is supposed to be more… cooperative? Well, it wasn’t. He would force my face into his junk, give me instructions as to what I must do down there, then flip me over and painfully ride me home like a nasty little jockey.

He spoke of ‘whores’, like, a lot. At first I thought, okay, crass and nasty language but he’s just having a joke. Nope. I was wrong. It became clear that, to him, paying for sex was no big thang. His offhand tone was entirely at odds with the content of his discussion. It was disconcerting but I reasoned with myself that he was someone from a different walk of life. Who was I to judge?

I had a rattling epiphany one day. He said something about how I was his favourite whore. It made sense now why he was not interested in my pleasure.  In fact, when I had aired my grievance about his selfish lovemaking, he had told me that I had unrealistic expectations about female pleasure because of the movies. I said, no, that I had very realistic expectations based on my own experience, and the conversation abruptly died.

We travelled to the nearby large city with a group of friends once. I paid for the hotel room. He was a real “prince” the whole time, but that’s a story for another day. The relevant experience was this. We were at a bar with one of our mutual friends. He spent the entire night flirting with some other girl. Determined not to play his game I instead played foosball with our mate. He kissed her on the cheek when we left and I never mentioned it because I didn’t want to care and I was becoming used to him being intermittently dickish and dismissive of me anyway. So off we went, back to our hotel room, and I said nothing. What he did was rude, seeing as I had paid for us to go away together in a quasi-romantic gesture, but I was fine and was still enjoying my time away. I didn’t mention his behaviour. I now think that he was doing it to test me. When we were back in our room he started on me. He wasn’t exactly accusing me of anything but somehow I felt I’d done something wrong. I remember him saying something to the effect of, ‘I would have fucked her, too,’ and me being like, ‘whatever man, I’ve been through worse,’(infidelity is no new thing to me) and really just wanting to go to bed. I wish, oh God do I wish, that I could tell this in a coherent way, but it was one of his histrionic all-night-long mindfucks, so it still doesn’t even make sense to me. What happened the next morning felt like punishment, though.

I thought it was going to be sex. I thought it was going to be a physical burying of the hatchet, if you will. Well, it sort of started out like that, in the rare eye-to-eye fashion that I so preferred (I kind of felt like he couldn’t ignore the fact that I was a human in that position), but he got bored, flipped me, went at it for a bit, got bored again and said that he’d never had sex with the same person this many times and so it wasn’t exciting anymore (it had been maybe like twenty times, at a guess). Well, my previous relationship experiences had left me poised to take particular exception to anything of this nature, so I got off the bed and told him that I was done because I wasn’t just going to be seen as some hackneyed lover. After he told me that I’d used the term ‘hackneyed’ incorrectly, paused, and then ceded that maybe I hadn’t, I hopped in the shower and got ready for a day with our friends – the people who actually seemed to enjoy my company.

I got out of the shower and he became affectionate once more. Again, I thought, this was his way of making amends. I was somewhat hurting by this point so I fancied the comfort, but it took a turn. He pinned me down onto the bed, my arms trapped by my sides under his legs, as a pulled his pork while I struggled. I think the struggle is what he needed to become ‘excited’ by our sex once more. I struggled until I gave up and waited for him to finish, which he did, all over my face, in my eyes and in my hair. He got off and I was clearly not impressed so he said, ‘Hm, girls in pornos always seem to like it,’ and that was it. I took a second shower and we left the room.

I need to end this here here for now.  I’ll write more soon.

B x

One thought on “The ‘whore’ he didn’t have to pay for

  1. Well, that certainly counts as sexual assault, at a minimum. What a fuckstick.

    I had a bf once who would “test” me by starting a fight to see if I’d come crawling back. It worked the first few times, but I eventually got tired of his shit and said “Fine, go if you want.” I was able to end it soon after that, thank goodness.

    Is he not aware that pornos are all just acting and make-believe? Bloody hell. What a turd.

    Like

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