Please note, this is a cringe-worthy post just for me. I promised myself I wouldn't gloss and I don't plan to so if you are easily shocked, read elsewhere today. I'm sorry. And to think this is heavily edited. I left everything out because it was that bad.
The beautiful roses were to mark two months since Jacob asked me to be with him. A picture that will never leave my head. I even remember what he was wearing. He had on his old worn threadbare jeans, a white thermal long-sleeved tshirt with a blue Habitat for Humanity tshirt over it, and his converse hightops. He was covered with sawdust and his hands were filthy. He had woodchips in his hair and hadn't shaved in four days. His pockets were full of nails. They were starting the addition that day, he was framing walls. It was like he just made up his mind, put down his hammer and walked over, and that's exactly what he did.
And two months is an incredibly short period of time and yet so much has happened. And so much is still to happen. I have come so far but I still have a very long road ahead, longer than I thought.
I'm seriously fucked up.
And since I have no shame, I'm going to write about it. But I am ashamed, embarassed and in awe of exactly how fucked up I am. It's positively amazing to me, and you have been warned.
Sexually fucked-up.
Yes.
Why am I writing about this? To get through it, because it's what I do. Because I'm tired of it.
Cole wasn't so nice in the sex department. Depraved would be a word I would use. I didn't know any different until now, I was fifteen when we got together. I wasn't a virgin, I had slept with two guys before him, I was such a wannabe bad-girl, being bad to catch his eye, and I succeeded. Be careful what you wish for, chickens. He was rough, violent. He was almost 20. He liked it that way. Eventually I liked it that way. I don't even know how to begin to explain that. I really don't. Can't miss what you never had, I guess.
I was going to be his equal. I was going to tame this darkly dangerous guy. Hilarious. And it escalated.
He had fantasies he told me about when we were having sex. He had always been obsessed with wanting to share me, and later with the idea of an open marriage, which is where Jacob came in perfectly, in Cole's mind. He could control my access to Jacob. An open marriage is a great idea, right? It meant he wasn't a jealous husband (sarcasm goes here). Maybe that's why I have so many male friends, maybe? I know, not fair at all, that's anger.
Eventually in bed he even would describe me having sex with Jacob while Cole watched, even though Cole would be the one having sex with me. His fantasies, told to me through whispers in the dark. Those were the times I think I liked it. I could picture that, I got into it thinking about Jake and I got off. Then Cole would get mad, he would get rough, he'd choke me, hurt me, leave me crying out in pain. The more I cried out the more turned on he would get. So yeah, do the math on that. If I enjoyed myself I paid for it. As long as he was in control it was okay, though. And I didn't like that. I would beg for him to stop and he wouldn't. I learned to take what I was given and give it back just as well. Hurt or be hurt. Hurt and be hurt anyways. Obey him and stay alive.
Funny the things you get used to. Not funny, but you get the idea.
So try undoing that. Just try. The first time I slept with Jake it was amazing. Surprising and suprisingly difficult. He couldn't understand what the hell I wanted, I couldn't articulate what I wanted because I had no idea. I was waiting for him to be rough, to throw me around, to make me cry out from pain. I'm sure that night he thought I was so fucked up maybe he had made a terrible mistake. It was bittersweet to finally be with him and suddenly find out how fucked up I really was, all at once.
And Jacob didn't give in and get rough. Instead he made me feel good, he made me cry out with happiness. He makes all that ugliness disappear. He's showing me how sex could be good and thorough too, crazy and beyond wonderful without being so twisted and harsh. That is bittersweet. He wants to fix this.
Twisted and harsh is fine if that's what you like but a steady diet of it against your will isn't healthy.
So I'm freaky. I feel like I need all that to get off now and I don't. Every night I wage a battle of wills with myself not to tense up and not to try to hurt Jacob and not to push him past his own limits of decency because I'm used to it being sick. I'm used to being submissive to Cole's whims and Jacob hates this. I have used that word before here and now you know why. It's a way of life. It's brainwashing.
Jake has so much patience. He said we should wait, I don't want to wait. He asks for me only to trust him. To just respond to what he does and not worry about anything else for now, and just do what feels good. Or not.
We can stop anytime you want to, Bridge.
Harder than it sounds. One night I asked him to choke me for release and he freaked right out and everything ground to a halt. I was humiliated. He was half sick with rage at Cole. I didn't want him to even look at me.
Depraved.
What a stupid word for a stupid girl.
I've got so much to undo and I'm going to undo it even if it embarasses the shit out me.
Cole used to pride himself on boasting about me being June Cleaver in the living room and a freaky porn star in the bedroom. I know he's told the guys things about me, things I could do to him, I know Jake wasn't spared tales of Bridget in the bedroom. And even then I was somehow okay with that. Cole must love me, he was proud of me, he was boasting, showing me off. He was envied. I was flattered at the thought that my male friends had fantasies about me because of Cole's words.
How sick. Because they really had no idea. They do now because I told them. Quietly I'm putting it out there so I can deal with all of it and get past it and put it on Cole and let myself off the hook because I didn't want a life like that. I'm not that girl. I never was. I played a role for my own safety and I stayed glued in one place while I came unglued on the inside. I have to let that go now. Bless them, they've been very grown up about it, even though I have no promises that it changes the picture of me that they have in their heads.
And it is getting better. Every night I re-learn what feels good and what I want on my own terms, at my own speed. Every night I'm almost surprised to remember that I'm not going to get hurt anymore. Sort of like an x-rated version of the psychological and physical restoration I'm going through. Learning to trust that I can be myself all the time and I don't have to give up anything to anyone ever. Unless I want to.
