Reposted with permission from fetlife guest blogger: bbgirl111 See original post here!
22 years old and the rest of my life ahead of me. I’m standing at the end of an aisle that will lead me to you.
You.
My 28 year old husband-to-be.
You, who claim to love and cherish all of me.
Except you don’t know all of me. Darknesses I’ve eluded to the last 2 years have never come to the surface. And so there you stand, sure that you WILL love me all of our days.
So SO many times I’ve wished to go back to that day and tell you who I really am.
The disgusting, horrific, delicious, disturbing, sexy things I need done to me in order to feel safe and loved. Owned.
I wish I’d given that poor guy, in his expensive tux, some idea of what he was in for. Told him how it was impossible that his proper upbringing and rigid black & white thinking would be what I neede at all. He should have been warned that his little good girl bride wanted to be conquered and destroyed. Completely and utterly broken down into a mush of nothingness until he put her back together.
I will never forget the look of repulsion on your face,
when, 13 years later, I showed you what I wanted. A video of Victoria Voxxx being tortured and fucked until she literally could not move. She had to be cut from her ties and carried like a rag doll to bed.
Your face was red like mine when the clip ended…but not for the same reason.
For a moment, my heart skipped, because as you rose your lip trembled. I saw actual rage in you and it excited me! Until you turned your back to me and mumbled through your teeth…. “I would kill anyone who’d do those things to you.”
Alone in our bedroom, I sobbed.
As lonely as ever. The real me was presented to the love of my life…and he rejected me once more. Probably for the 100th…god no, thousandth time? The immense pain of really finally losing you forever washed over me as I laid on the floor crying until I couldn’t move.
With no one around to carry my broken body to bed, I slept there. In the morning you found me, stared down at my and my swollen eyes and quietly closed the bedroom door. Your foot steps down the hall forever echoing in my head.
One day I will have the courage to tell you just how sorry I am.
For pulling the carpet out from under you. For selling you damaged goods. A lie. For parading around in dainty sun dresses your mom bought me, pouring tea and fixing dinners and smiling at you through my broken heart for SO long. You didn’t do this to us. I did. And my penance is the massive emptiness I feel everyday…all day.
My penance is being untouched. Unloved. Unfucked. Completely fucking invisible.
A passion-less hell of my own creation. As I drift off to sleep each night, me in one room and you still down the hall in another, I think of what would have become of us if I never made those steps down the aisle to you. How happy you could have been.