As much as we have control over our choices, we do not have control over the choice’s others.
So, you might be wondering how something that was so ‘great’ ended so badly? Well. Daisy takes full responsibility for speaking words that probably caused the issue. But the responsibility for what happened? Daisy is in recovery from a lifesaving operation and on a good day might remember if she’s brushed her teeth if she is lucky. But that’s in no way a given.
So really? They are both to blame for where they are now, and today, she yet again deleted his number, because as much as she loves him and wants to help him, she also knows now, other than magic, she has no way of changing him, she can only wait and pray.
He had warned her that he could have sex with her and not care, and she had heard this, she had absorbed this information, she had understood that this was the case. But she supposes the part of her that feels his hugs to be real, that lies in his arms and feels the warmth of his smooth body, doesn’t want to believe he could be so heartless.
Surely, when you look at someone and tell them they are beautiful, and how much they turn you on, after a while, your heart of stone may start to soften? Maybe she was delusional, but this morning, Friday, 19th of the 4th of the 19th, a pattern of numbers not lost on her love of symmetry, he set the alarm 30 minutes earlier so they could make ‘love’ (his words), and she thought, she foolishly thought, that this was more than an animal desire.
That he was someone who wanted to be in her, who wanted to make her whimper and moan with pleasure. To glow with the warmth of ecstasy and pleasure.
She hadn’t known that his plan was to set his alarm this little bit earlier, so she had risen as soon as she was awake and gone for a shower and then also washed her hair because it seemed a sensible thing to get everything done in one go. It was going to a rushed job as she was so exhausted, she needed to have a seat in the shower these days. Once seated with the water cascading over her, she let the water warm her. She closed her eyes and thought of him, his naked body. His aroma. The feel of his touch. When she returned to her room, he was preparing himself for a shower, they had kissed, and it was a tender kiss, the lips dusting each other and little sparks of electricity flying off, but slowly so that they were like the ember of a fire rather than the shooting brightness of live wires.
Back in her now empty bedroom (he was in the shower), she had dried her hair naked, looking at her body, and how, through the guidance of a gym plan and careful food planning it was transforming into a strong healthier one. Twisting to the side she looked at herself with the type of acceptance that had taken years to attain. Really looking at her scar, seeing it.
Once finished she scribbles a note on a yellow post-it note that says,
‘Gone to make coffee. But no knickers,’ and was just attaching it to the bedspread when he reappeared damp and tousled. The message at first confused him until she had clarified it and then he had swept her up in an embrace and then flipped her around and down on the bed, pulling the black velour Juicy Couture’s, so old, that they now have holes everywhere that are so inappropriate down to Daisy’s knees and parting her button cheeks. There is no question she feels a pang of fear when so exposed. Bad things are etched into her mind, and so as he begins to explore with his tongue such a naughty location, Daisy tries desperately to relax into it while knowing that although in theory, she has control he has a weakness for the back passage.
“Are you enjoying what I am doing to you?”
Daisy paused, wanting to be honest, but scared in case this is a stage one to somewhere I really don’t want to go yet.
“Err, yes. It’s, errs, nice, nicer than I thought it would be…”
He chuckles. But?
“Err, well, I suppose I’m just worried in case this is leading to something else?”
Now he properly laughs, and although she should be comforted, he has an amazing ability to make her anxious too.
“No, no. I am just doing this for this. This on its own. I like doing this to you. It’s odd granted but pleasant?”
“Yes, I suppose I surprise myself by liking it I suppose,” she says emboldened now the risk has been removed from the activity.
He continues on a bit longer then penetrates her in the regular orifice from an awkward angle from behind her. He finds a sweet spot and she murmurs with appreciation, enjoying his weight.
After a time, he turns her back over and she finds herself legs up around her ears again. The thrusting is deep and filling, and when she remembers not to be scared to look at him, she sees his face contorted with pleasure. (safer to have her eyes closed so no one can see her, as she gets so embarrassed.)
They collapse exhausted, her still wearing that trendy cut off t-shirt and him naked, his body, long and stretched out and over the end of the bed, that he really doesn’t fit.
Daisy looks at his feet. Daisy hates feet passionately. They make her feel uncomfortable, to the point she feels almost unwell. Toes, like fat or thin bent sausages, with nails that so often are unkempt in the worst-case scenario are yellow, and hard skin that isn’t cared for. No, feet she could really do without in her life, but his are, dare she say it nice feet. Decent solid, un-scary and sculpted in such a way that you could actually draw or photograph them for artistic reasons without retching. She can imagine licking his toes, or maybe even sucking them. Not now, not right now as she is so tired, but maybe one day.
“I think you should go down on me, so I can come.”
Daisy is a little surprised by how this request sounds like a demand, but maybe that’s just her? Either way, he always does most of the work and effort, so she acquiesces without complaint and moves down to the starting position. Daisy is disadvantaged by tiredness and lack of mouth saliva though, and despite her efforts to reach a good speed and wetness, she is forced to reach for lubricant. Daisy squirts the clear substance onto her hand and strokes it down the shaft.
“How does that taste?” he suddenly inquires, and Daisy realises that she is far too tired to be doing any of this, but that asking her for a flavour evaluation will push her over the edge.
“I really couldn’t answer that right now, but I may focus on this?” she says, gesturing to the semi-hard penis that lays flaci-hard expectantly in front of her. He laughs and she proceeds with reasonable success to the point he tells her that she is doing it ‘really well’, and that she ‘has it’, and that’s great, and then she is knocked again by this wave of tiredness and the slightest change happens and she’s lost it, and he says it’s not quite the same, and now she realises this is going to be a non-starter. Daisy has a moment of selfishness, and peels off her top, before clambering forward and positioning herself over his now hard member. She negotiates the entrance of said cock inside her. Once there, she moves her hips forward sinking her body into him so that she can fully appreciate his depth and then grind. Grinding is replaced by an up and down motion using Daisy’s stomach muscles, and he closes his eyes to enjoy her. Her breasts bounce over him, those stomach muscles tight and working, and every once in a while, he looks at her and smiles, and she wants to ask him what he is smiling about but right now is not the time. Eventually after what seems like a very long and exhausting time, Daisy finds a position which tickles her in such a way as to make her feel ‘nice’, if she moves herself to where it feels good, and although it’s not an orgasm by the level of the O Wand, or what it feels like when he is inside of her. It is a warm undulating feeling of goodness. She pauses. Drinking it in.
Her body held straight and a little leaned back with her eyes closed, just enjoying this. This, whatever it is.
“Did you come?”
This seems to him important, and she wants to believe it’s because he wants her to experience pleasure, but something in the back of my mind wonders, probably wrongly that he wants to know his success rate.
“Err, one of my versions of pleasure” she mutters sliding off him and next to him.
He gets up to go to the bathroom and Daisy follows him out. He says something, and she doesn’t quite catch it. She doesn’t sometimes. She doesn’t know why. Wax in the ears? Medication? Her illness? Sometimes she just doesn’t catch something, and this is one of those occasions.
“What was that?” she asks him as she walks towards the parent’s en suite.
“Oh nothing” he mutters from the bathroom, and her heart sinks. If it was positive you would want the person to hear it, to repeat it, to make sure they had it and held the compliment. Like a present you give them, and it’s nice when they are well received, but something negative? Something bad? You don’t repeat it. If you have said it and got away with it, you run, maybe thinking better of having spoken in the first place. That’s where her mind went anyway.
“Oh great, another negative comment…” Daisy turns to walk away, but he spins out of the bathroom, and they face each other. Two naked young almost adults, communication failing them.
“I didn’t say anything negative, and do you know what? I think you have had some really shitty men in your life, and you project your negativity on to me. I don’t like it. It’s not fair. And to be honest, I am getting bored with it.”
There is an archway, a door frame that separates them, and he stretches his long arms with those very sexy arms up, so he is a huge form of blonde blue-eyed youth angrily staring at her.
Daisy could have apologised. Daisy could have walked away. Daisy could have, should have, but she didn’t.
Maybe he is right. Probably he is right. He is often right, but that’s not the point right now. It’s not why she is calling him up on this. She only has so much patience. She will only put up with so much.
When someone says enough odd, negative almost nasty things to you, there comes a point when you find it hard to laugh them off as ‘their insecurities’. It grows tiring to pretend it is
fine to be treated this way, no matter how attractive the offender might be. It wears you down.
You are stronger and more confident than you were in your youth, you begin to let those doubts settle into the cracks and as the temperature chills, the water freezes, and the cracks grow bigger, gaping more dangerous.
She stands up as tall as she can be. Shoulders back, chest, and pert breasts with erect nipples out, and face up, looking straight at him up. Eye contact. She is not afraid. She has nothing left to lose. In hindsight, she really doesn’t think he gets much backchat. Definitely not as much as she backchats to him, but that’s by the by, right then and there she was going to stand her ground, because foolishly, naively when things don’t work between people, she thinks you should try and heal the wounds.
If there is an problem, an issue untended to, it’s like a cork, you can push it down under the water and hold it, but it will still bob up some time, and even if it’s under a rock, wedged, it’s only a matter of time before it will eventually shoot up, erupting from the water surface into the world with an explosion of energy and water. So foolishly, she faced up to the 6ft problem in front of her and told him what her issue was. (Warning this is what she thinks she said, but let’s be certain of one fact – it’s probably only roughly close to the truth, and her truth at that.)
“You have repeatedly asked me to come while we make love, and in my experience, the best sex I have had is with people I trust, and right now, I don’t trust you. You hurt me. I hurt you, and we are starting afresh but there is still pain, and I am trying my best to move on, but it’s hard when you care about someone and yet you are scared. Scared that you might get hurt again and I’m sorry, but you have repeatedly said things to me which seemed nasty or cruel, and I am just trying to protect myself. I don’t know what you said, but if it was positive why didn’t you repeat it? Do you know how hard it is to try and relax with someone that has told you categorically, (and now I put on a sort of odd voice as though it’s him talking, but rather high pitched and maybe a little mocking but that was accidental) ‘That we can be fuck buddies but I can be a total psychopath and not care about you while I fuck you’ can you even begin to imagine how that feels when you are with someone? Knowing that hangs in the background of whatever you are doing or experiencing? I know you don’t believe we can ever be in a relationship. I get that is how you feel, but really? Can’t you see how hard it is for me to relax knowing that I’ve done things wrong in the past and you won’t, you can’t forgive me and move on?” she pauses for breath. Her thoughts are a jumble. She feels a bit choked up, but she is desperately scrabbling at the strands of her thoughts to being honest with him.
He is angry now. His eyes grow big, his nostrils flare and he looks at her hard, with an unfaltering gaze.
“There you go! I knew it! I warned you!” he explodes.
Daisy braces herself. She feels her feet grow heavy, she is preparing herself, anchoring herself down for the full force of the gale of what is coming next. It can’t be as shitty as he makes her feels sometimes.
“I knew it! I knew this would happen! I knew you would develop feelings! And I told you! I told you how this would be! You hurt me, and I’m sorry but once trust is gone, it’s gone. There is no turning back. There is no forgiveness. It’s over. You had your chance and now it’s gone, and I told, you this was just fucking. That’s all it is. I warned you! Three things! You did three things to me that I can’t forget, and now, now I can never forgive you.”
Now Daisy is getting angry.
“Three things!” she tries not to shout.
“Three things? One, yes, I have admitted that when you told me on the night before an important Masters hand in, you telling me you were bisexual was a bit overwhelming and based on past experience, I thought, at that moment, that maybe we should just be friends. But, I have, time and time again apologised for this, and I really hoped, prayed that maybe you would understand that I was overwhelmed with work and sick I was. and that I was sorry I had dealt with it badly, but I was sorry so sorry.”
“But the other two?”
“What are the other two?” she desperately wants to know, because as far as she can remember him disappearing with odd excuses and being unavailable was the key issue, but she is happy to hear her crimes and see if she can defend myself.
“I can’t remember them.”
Now she is livid.
“You can’t remember them? You can’t remember them? Then why on earth can’t we put them behind us and move on?”
At this point, he looked angry and shaken. Daisy thinks her points were valid. But she also supposes when you are unprepared for an acrimonious agreement of any kind, there is no moving forward.
“I can’t have this right now.” Ah, here we go.
Daisy takes him in with her eyes. She drinks him in. His body is beautiful. Yes, there is a slight paunch, but he isn’t overweight and those strong muscular legs, that solid torso without a hair on it, so smooth, so begging to be touched, licked. Skin, almost alabaster it’s so pale and those arms with are chiselled and shaped are long enough to reach around into all sort of naughty positions. Dirty sandy hair which needs a cut but doesn’t at the same time. Blue eyes, that you could fall into for evermore, and lips, so soft and succulent that call out to be kissed or touched. And yet, this boy, this boy who probably thinks he is a man, is angry now. Very, very angry.
“You make me feel bad. You have a go at me. And I can’t have this in my life. I can’t have relationship issues or problems. I need to focus on my business. It needs to worked on hard, and I need to get this done. This is my time and I don’t need your nasty words and comments aimed at me when I explained to you how it would be. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. That’s it. No more sex. It makes things too complicated. It’s over.”
Well, there we go.
“Fine. No more sex.”
He looks at Daisy hard again, she thinks he is waiting for what would normally happen, which would be her, begging him to reconsider, begging him to think again, begging, or trying to argue him into a change of mind. But no. Fuck it. Daisy really is totally bloody exhausted and if he wants to stop having sex with her, then fine. Good luck with that. It’s not her who cracked last time when she tried to be just friends. Yes, like a magnet she wants to stick herself to his body and grind into him, but right now, after so much negativity and shittiness, you know what? She can do without this too.
Daisy turns on her heel and heads to the ensuite, he makes a grumpy sound and turns too. I can’t believe how we could go from such a nice warm, moist sex place to this barren outcrop of disappointment and pain, but here we are, and like a weary lost traveller she is now stepping into self-preservation mode. Survival mentality.
Daisy takes another shower and turns the water up so hot it’s almost scalding. She doesn’t care. She is hurting. She is sad. But she is also tired of trying to fix this and being so thwarted by him and his stubbornness and Christianity. When last night he had asked her if she was everyone in relation to him, she had been stuck for a moment and then assumed that maybe she was ‘everyone’, but now a lone entity with the hot water cascading off her womanly form, she knew she wasn’t.
She was me, and I wasn’t like everyone else at all.
He isn’t in my bedroom when I get back, so the only evidence that anything might have happened before is the installation art piece that is ‘Bed after intercourse’. The duvet is off the end, the throw is in the corner soiled, the top sheet is a lone entity floating between this world and another and the pillows seem to be attempting some sort of Jenga stacking look. I can’t face this now. I need to find him. I need to see where we stand.
And that is how I find myself in the kitchen, saying goodbye, possibly forever to the man I love, but cannot love me. I so want there to be a happy ending to all this, but it seems to be getting harder and harder to see being a possibility.