insidesuzyssoul











{August 22, 2011}   Suzy’s Diary 6th Entry: Ground zero

The Wake-up Call

Mood : devastated, empty

 

Dear diary ,
Oh my god oh my god oh my god!
Tonight was the worst night of my life! We just got back from the swinging club and I think that maybe it’s over between Dexter and me. I can’t stand it, I don’t understand.
What did I do?
All I know is that I’ve just spent an hour standing next to Dexter in silence waiting for a bus, feeling like the loneliest person on the planet. Now he’s lying next to me, not saying a word as I write this.
I never thought I’d find myself in this situation with Dexter. We can usually talk about anything. But right now, it looks like I’m the last person he wants to talk to, and quite frankly, I’m amazed that he’s still here at all. I’m sitting here barely able to see the screen as I type this on my laptop; the tears are running down my face.

Maybe if I tell you what happened tonight, I may be able to see more clearly where things went wrong for me. I sure hope so; I so want this relationship to work and would do anything to keep it. At the moment it feels like it’s hanging on by a thread.

Okay, this is what happened.
We had invited two other couples along to the club, a sexy experienced black couple who were travelling down quite a distance to meet us, and another interracial age gap couple similar to us. I had been chatting to the woman from the latter couple (Dee) for quite a while online and we had developed quite a rapport. I was looking forward to meeting her in the flesh. It had taken some time to gain her trust as her man without her knowledge made the initial contact. He had chatted to me online and his conversation had quickly turned sexual. She had felt quite threatened by this, so I had spent time reassuring her that I was not going to try and steal her man, quite the opposite, I was more interested in her. Her self-esteem wasn’t great, despite being a very attractive woman and I had spent quite a few hours reassuring her through online conversations that both Dexter and I found her attractive.
We arrived at the club, which was busier than usual. I went to the ladies room to change into my rubber dress for the night. It was hard to get on, but eventually I did it.
I chatted to Dangermouse who looked pretty worse for wear. It was early in the night but she had clearly been drinking heavily. She sprayed me with silicone spray so I was all shiny while she related her story of how she hated her own body since she had been taking steroids as part of her medication for her illness. She had been seriously ill, close to death in fact, and I think that this had impacted emotionally on her very hard. It would explain her reckless, self-destructive behaviour that we would witness later on. I sauntered out of the ladies’ and basked in the attention that I received. Oh I felt good.

We spotted Dee and Jerome (Jerome looked so young! There was no attraction for me there at all!)  we tried to make them feel at home. That was hard as they were both clearly terrified. Dexter chatted away with them and did a sterling job of making them feel at home as much as possible. I was ever conscious that the other couple were due to arrive and I went outside to welcome them in. The woman was very sexy indeed. I hadn’t had the opportunity to chat to her; all the initial contact was made by her man. I hoped she found me as attractive as I found her. I didn’t really feel any way towards her man. He was a nice enough man, but didn’t make me feel like she made me feel.
My attention was seriously divided that night. So I ended up chatting to Steve and Beverly, the black couple and thought that Dexter would look after Jerome and Dee and come and join the conversation with Steve, Bev and myself when he was ready to do so. I ended up kissing Beverly and going down on her; it seemed the natural thing to do. I wondered where Dexter was. I would have loved for him to join in with me. I felt a pair of hands creep towards me. I panicked…who’s hands were they? I looked down and realised they were Steve’s. Although I didn’t really want his involvement, I thought it would have been rude of me to take them away, so I allowed him to touch me, and I returned my attention to the very gorgeous creature in front of me. I felt another pair of hands touching me from behind as I was kissing Beverly, so I ducked down to kiss elsewhere, avoiding the touch from behind. I really didn’t want this to turn into a free for all, ideally I would have been happy to just play with Beverly and Dexter.
Dexter called me to look at an attractive woman who was being fucked by some geeky dude. She was a squirter just like me. I was a little confused at the significance of this interruption. I had seen that scenario at swinging clubs a hundred times over.
He walked off.
I stopped playing with Bev and wondered where he had gone. Why was he acting so strangely? Oh well, I was here to enjoy myself and I wasn’t going to spend my time walking around looking for him. I didn’t want to restrict Dexter’s movements in the club; that would have made me look really possessive. He would find me if he needed me, I figured.

My friend Queen of Sheba introduced me to a friend of hers. He clearly wanted to play. I think she must’ve said something about my squirting because he seemed to be on a mission.  I didn’t really want to, but I had nothing else to do and I figured that if I let him touch me and made no attempt at reciprocating that would be okay. If I distanced myself from what was happening to me that would remove my burden of guilt. It was only his fingers, what was the big deal?

In previous visits to this same club before I had met Dexter, I had let countless anonymous people touch me. The strange thing was though, that although the idea was appealing, the reality of it was strangely dull. I felt removed, distanced, as if I was watching someone else being the focus of attention. I could hear myself moan and groan but couldn’t equate that with any feelings of bliss. In fact feeling anything would have been good, the best I could feel was numb.  I made noise to keep myself from being involved. I was performing, and the very point of performing is to please others. The louder I groaned, the quicker I hoped the finale of the performance would arrive.

And so I found myself in a familiar environment, in a familiar position, moaning and groaning to speed up the process. Every now and then I would bear down to achieve the much anticipated (and I think over-rated) gush. I wasn’t coming. This was no proof of orgasm.  I felt nothing. This was faking it on a dramatic level. If he thought he was doing a good job, he would end it sooner, surely? I felt uncomfortable performing. I knew deep down that it couldn’t be a healthy thing to do but I was stuck in a groove, re-enacting a familiar part in a familiar play on a familiar stage. It seemed to go on forever and I got increasingly loud as I looked towards a speedy conclusion. I looked up and saw Dexter dancing with the lady friend of the dude who had his hand inside me. At least he was having fun, I thought.
Lucky him.
Eventually the man withdrew his hand and I was free to go: job done. I had provided the prerequisite puddle on the floor to prove what a fabulous job he had done on me. If only he knew.

I found it hard to get through to Dexter. Half of the time was spent wandering around trying to find him.

In my search I couldn’t avoid noticing Dangermouse jumping onto countless naked dicks and riding away bareback. Did that woman have a death wish? And why did the men let her do that? Why did her husband let her do that too? I had really presumed that in a swinging club full of open minded adults, safe sex would have been a given. Clearly it’s better and safer not to presume.

I felt really foolish in front of our guests as they witnessed me wandering around looking for Dexter. My irritation at him grew as the night wore on. He wasn’t behaving like the Dexter I knew. He had never been like this before.  I eventually found him sitting with the interracial couple we had invited along. His face looked like thunder. I knew that he didn’t want to be there. I went to sit with him to talk to him. I asked what was wrong but he just said he was bored. I knew that was rubbish. We could sit doing nothing at home with each other and still not be bored so why should he be bored in this stimulating environment? No, I knew he was masking his true feelings, and that unwillingness to communicate honestly with me was really pissing me off. I felt totally ineffectual at dealing with the situation. If he wasn’t honest with me about the real reasons behind his mood, how could I help resolve it?
I needed the bathroom. Unthinkingly, I gave my tiny handbag to Dexter as I really had no need for it in the ladies’, and started to walk through the crowd on the dance floor towards the ladies toilet. A hand reached out and grabbed me; it belonged to the co-owner of the club who turned out to be another friend (and ex fuck-buddy) of Sheba.

“Go on, dance with me!” he demanded.
Although I needed to urinate, I thought I could hang on for the length of the average record. I didn’t see the harm in dancing. How could anyone take offence to a dance? So I danced. He didn’t try and get too close, I didn’t see the harm. My rubber skirt rode up, I was aware of not wanting to expose too much flesh in this situation, so I pulled it down sharply. Oh no! It tore. A whole handful of the skirt came off in my hand exposing a great big area of my bottom Oh dear that was most unfortunate and embarrassing. My dancing partner pointed out to me that Dexter wasn’t looking too happy. That just made me mad. How unreasonable was Dexter being? I was only dancing. I hadn’t restricted his movements in the club, and jealousy was not something I thought belonged in a swingers club. The previous irritation I had been feeling for Dexter and frustration of not knowing why he was so grumpy seemed to boil up inside of me.
“Oh its ok, that’s his issues” I said.
I could understand if he was mad with me for doing something other than dancing it just seemed so unreasonable for him to be sulking right now .The dude who had played with me before came over and started to dance behind me.
That’s when I saw Dexter get really mad, he got up and grabbed me by the arm and marched me upstairs to talk. He was clearly angry to a degree to which I’d never before witnessed. Upstairs was locked so we never did get to the bottom of the problem, and the night ended up both of us standing in silence waiting for our night bus home. And here I am crying and wondering where it all went wrong….

Thursday evening

Hello diary. I feel a bit better now.
Things are clearer.
God, I love this man of mine. I’m feeling pretty fragile, as I know now just how close I was to losing him on Tuesday night.

Dexter invited me out to lunch at our local gastro pub. We hadn’t really managed to talk about that night’s goings on, so I was pretty nervous about what he was going to say to me. He sat down and opened his heart to me. Told me just how he felt. I had had no idea that he had been feeling like I was ignoring him!  That was odd to hear because I had felt almost the same.
I thought he would rather be with other people that night and I didn’t want to ‘cramp his style’ by hanging off of him. After all it was a swingers club; we were there to interact with others so I confused his hurt / rejected /ignored signals for aloofness.
It did confuse me, hence my building anger. It seems like I had behaved like an idiot without realising it. If only I had known that my lovely man wanted my interaction and attention! And to find out that those were his hands that I had ducked out of that time. No wonder he had felt so rejected. Baby, I didn’t know!

As he sat there and poured out all the hurt and anger that he had felt that night, I was overwhelmed with so many mixed emotions. I was scared that I could bring such vitriol and violence out of my man. I was touched that he cared enough about me to be so hurt by my seeming rejection of him. Most of all, I was grateful that he was still there, in front of me trying to sort this situation out. That emotional investment touched me. I had never met any other man who was prepared to look past my complexities and try and understand my troubled, confused behaviour in such a challenging situation. It all got a bit much for me as his obvious hurt and anger poured out. I fled to the bathroom to have a good cry on my own. He didn’t like to see me cry so I needed to get away to let the tears flow unrestricted. I just let it all pour out of me. I was so sorry that my lack of sensitivity at that club almost cost me the best relationship I have ever had. I was frustrated that I couldn’t seem to explain my motivation for behaving the way I did without looking like a fool. Why couldn’t I behave like other women? What was the problem with me? I knew the abuse I had gone through in the past held the key, but I had no idea of how to use it to unlock the padlock of confusion.

I just let the tears fall until I had none left. I knew I looked a mess but I felt safe in the knowledge that my man would look past that, so I bravely ventured back into the pub, crumpled tissues in hand, secretly praying that it wasn’t too packed with customers. Turned out it didn’t matter. All I saw was my man sitting there. He filled my whole world that day. When he looked at my swollen red face, with a look that only a man who deeply cared could muster, I knew we would get through this. I knew he understood that I would never knowingly go out to hurt him. Sometimes it’s good to show pain and sorrow. My dejected blotchy face was worth more than a hundred sorrys. We held hands across the table. I caught my breath in that pathetic way that a baby does after it has been sobbing for a while and my bottom lip quivered.

No more swinging clubs.
Something inside me told me they weren’t good for either of us. I clearly couldn’t handle being in that situation with a man that I loved. I couldn’t switch off knee jerk behaviour that stemmed directly from hardwiring from my difficult past. I couldn’t adapt. Dexter had often suggested that maybe the scene was contributing to my abuse issues and making them worse and he didn’t want to be responsible for that. I had always refuted that claim. I stubbornly maintained that I could stay on top of the situation and behave in an appropriate manner in a swinging club situation. Tuesday night had shown me just how wrong I could be. Dexter was right. I could not behave appropriately and with awareness in those situations. Oh it’s so hard to admit to being damaged. Someone please fix me.

I was young, barely 16, and I was seeing a much older, cooler man who was well loved and respected in our local community. He was an ex surfer, with the prerequisite blonde dry hair, deep tan and pale blue eyes. He ran his own seafood restaurant in the nearby seaside town and was quite the catch. I never quite understood how I had managed to catch such a man; I can’t quite remember how I was introduced to him in the first place. We didn’t date, I didn’t question that. He would just pick me up in his open top sports car and take me back to his very stylish bachelor pad at the nearby marina where we would have sex. He had a yacht moored just outside and the living room windows opened up straight onto the waterfront. This was seductive stuff. I wish I had the knowledge I have now, back then and could have seen that I was nothing more than a sexual object.
In my eyes Ronnie was my boyfriend and I was lured in by his glamorous lifestyle and his pale blue piercing eyes.
I stared up at those eyes as he lay on top of me. We had had sex three times already and now he was starting over again. Not that I was complaining, I loved making him happy. We had barely begun when there was a commotion. A big gang of men, around eight of them, walked into his house seemingly uninvited, hadn’t he locked his front door? They seemed agitated but they clearly knew Ronnie, not that Ronnie seemed pleased to see them. They burst into the bedroom; saw Ronnie and me in bed. One of the men seeing what was going on said,
‘We gonna get ourselves some of that’
I wondered what he meant.
I soon found out.
Ronnie got out of bed and went to go and speak to the men in the living room. Some of the gang leered at me, as I pulled the sheets up around my nakedness. I heard voices being raised and an argument broke out. One of the men ran into the bedroom, ran straight up to the wardrobe, opened it up and took out a suitcase. Ronnie started to shout and jump up and down to try and reach it as the man held it over his head. Ronnie was not tall, his attempts at retrieving the case were futile. Then I heard the man holding the case say:
“I’ll give you the drugs in exchange for the girl.”
The next thing I knew all the men were in the room and it was quite clear that I was some sort of drug trade-off. I froze. I didn’t know Ronnie was a drug dealer, but I suppose it explained the flash bachelor pad and yacht, the restaurant business doesn’t pull in that amount of money when I came to think about it.

Did I scream? No. Did I fight? No. Did I even protest slightly? No. I found myself in a strange state of limbo where I found myself unable to respond as man after man penetrated me and collapsed after climaxing inside me. One face blurred into the next as I stared straight up at their eyes, imploring them silently to stop. I was numb. I didn’t feel any pain or pleasure, just a deep sense of horror and fear and confusion. Why was this happening to me? Why wasn’t Ronnie doing anything to help?
I recognised the next face that loomed over me. I recognised a local man who I knew from around the way, I knew that he was due to be married in the morning. I smiled as he pushed his erect penis into my semen drenched pussy and started to pump away. I was waiting until he was about to come…
At the moment of his orgasm I sank my teeth deep into his neck and drew blood.
‘Go and explain that one to your wife in the morning when she walks down the aisle with you” I whispered.
I didn’t know if he heard me.
He swore.
“Fucking bitch! What you have to go and do that for? Watch out boys, this bitch bites!”
The rest of the men made sure they had their hands firmly over my mouth as they had their fun.
I don’t know how many times they did it. I don’t know how long it lasted.  I don’t know how I got home. I put it to the back of my head in a file labelled “stuff to ignore” and got on with my homework.
I never saw Ronnie again.

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[…] Suzy’s Diary 6th Entry: Ground zero (insidesuzyssoul.wordpress.com) […]



REBECCA DAWN says:

I am in total awe of you and Dexter’s compete openess to each other. Communication wise. I can barely communicate, let alone tell my guy how much I am hurting, I am too afraid its like emotional manipulation.
again in awe! 🙂



Walking through the fire of honesty and openness is painful and daunting, but so worth it. If you can’t talk, try writing. Even if it is to yourself at first. Trust yourself. Go on. I’m no-one special… if I can do it, trust me, you can too.



[…] Suzy’s Diary 6th Entry: Ground zero (insidesuzyssoul.wordpress.com) […]



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