Today I sat on the floor with my knees pulled up, leaning against the wall, crying.
The loneliness seems to bring it on, but it's not really the loneliness. It's not having my cock locked up either, nor having all my possessions stripped, and nor having to live permanently nude. It isn't even being confined to this guest house, and it isn't even being kept as a woman's slave, servant, and pet.
It's this hurt that continues to linger within me. I miss my mom and dad. I miss the time when we were actually a family. I miss being loved and cherished by them.
In my memories I can see myself sitting on my dad's shoulders as he walked through the park. I had reached up to grab a Eucalyptus leaf. It was a brief memory, but it was real. There was so much joy and innocence in that little boy. I can see my mom cuddling and kissing me while I laughed. Her body smothering me in love felt safe and warm.
Where did it all go?
It was like my dad left far too early, off to live someplace new, start a new life, and a new family. It was like my mom found a new husband, gave birth to a new son, and found a new beginning. I felt like a child-support check to my mom and a financial burden to my dad. I became that painful reminder of a failed marriage, and now baggage that neither parent wanted to tow.
I remember running away from home at 16, only to find myself returning sometime after midnight. I sat on the porch crying. My mom came out to find me, telling me how worried she was. Sometimes I wonder if I should have never come back.
Today, as I looked down upon my naked body, I saw the same human being that came into this world just as naked and penniless, except with scars that haven't healed.
I long for the touch of a warm, loving hand. A friend who truly wants to be with me, who understands the trauma of abandonment and the shame of being the unwanted step-child, is really all I want in this world.
I love the moments that Ms Julia and I have together. Even in this capacity, as her plaything, as her pet, as her confidant, the touch of her hand on my skin seems to smooth out all the wrinkles. It doesn't matter if she's kissing me softly on the forehead or pegging me hard from behind. It's the physical feel of one body on another that makes me the way I felt when I was a little boy.
Sometimes I wonder if what I'm experiencing now is part of Ms Julia's design. Is this some kind of method of retraining? Is this a way to break down my spirit and cognizance and rebuild me?
Not having any items to my name, no clothing to wear, and just crumbs of humanity, is like being a zoo animal. A caged elephant will remain mostly docile, but every so often feels that fit of rage.
But then, it doesn't really matter to me. I'm happy to be whatever she wants and in whatever capacity. I just need that loving touch of skin upon skin that lets me know that I'm trusted and that I can trust back.
