I’ve only dated one person seriously. Seriously for me means I thought I could marry him, and have his children. I thought I not only could but that it was going to happen. I’d already planned it out in my head. Obviously it didn’t happen. But one thing that I remember about this person is how I felt safe. Watching movies together, eating dinners and sex aside, he made me feel protected. I really wanted and needed that. And when it was gone I think I tried to be tough. I tried to be the man and the woman, and to show that size and temperament aside, I could protect my own ass. But you know, you can’t always; especially if you’re spontaneous sometimes, and you do things without thinking. And maybe that is why I don’t leave the house much these days.
Two years ago, after a night at the bars, a guy asked to use my bathroom. I said ok and when he came out of it he kissed me. And I let him. And he took my pants off and I let him do that. And he spanked me and slapped my face and this isn’t a love story. He left when he was done and I was sore. And my face was swollen and bruised. That same morning I had to fly home for Christmas and when my dad asked what happened to my swollen face I told him it was allergies. And it was weird and I didn’t know really what it was. And I haven’t talked about it since.
It’s hard to feel like I can mean something to someone. I have been with a couple of guys since and they stayed the night but they also were just playing games. I don’t know where my heart is, but it hurts. I don’t know what my body wants, because I want to feel pain but I want it from someone who loves me.
Clou le Fou
In conjunction with my photography exploring negative space, I have also been writing in that silent time between midnight and 4am, and here I have gathered memories and words from that space between dreams and reality.