Seduce & Destroy

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That’s one year ago that I flew to New York to escape a love story that screwed me up.

One year later, I’m writing this on the pebbly beach of Brighton, facing the silver sea. I’m on the run again from a sentimental mind fuck. How? Why? The damage is minimal though so I’m only taking a couple of days out of my regular life frame to recover.

It’s this girl, the Death Expert (see previous post). She got into my life 13 days ago, threw a couple of bombs and got out of it as brutally as she burst in. Oh dear extremes. I cherish you, you know that, but I wouldn’t be against a bit of balance too.

I saw her Monday through Sunday and everytime we had sex it was going spiritually deeper. She was opening me new mental spaces, I was surrendering the whole of my body and soul underneath her. I was giving into her to break all the remnants of my boundaries. It was an insane cerebral and physical journey, and I know it was mutual. It felt like there were no limits on earth within the time-space we created in my minuscule bedroom. I really was falling in love with her through the mental freedom that our sexual connection was inundating me with. I never experienced that before. Falling in love with someone through sexual chemistry. Our connection was paving the way to so much more. We could talk about so personal stuff, intimate stuff, real stuff, in ways that I wouldn’t have in another context or with another person.

Those 7 days were so fucking special.

Last time we had sex, between Saturday and Sunday, it was hyper emotional, and I never say that. I tend to keep away from emotion, because I don’t like being disturbed or needy or dependent. But we were kissing in ways that rocked my world, I felt there was so much more to it. I was entirely present to myself, my head was turned off. Oh my God. I’ll remember that.

After that night, I didn’t see her for 3 days. Late on Wednesday, she finally invited me over for tea. I thought she was inviting me for “tea”, cause I know how our cuppas were always ending. 50 Shades of Earl Grey.

I knocked her door right before midnight. It was the first time I was seeing where she lives. She looked different when she opened. She had been snorting coke for I don’t know how long. It wasn’t the girl I had met the week before and started seriously falling for. All night, I was the helpless spectator of her coke addiction. She snorted line after line in front of me for 3 hours. Every time she had a line, I had another lemon and ginger tea. It didn’t even seem to be that fun up there in the artificial paradise.

I left at 2.30am when the gram was gone. She gave me a strange look in the door frame. I knew she knew that she had lost the plot with me. And I felt for the first time that evening that she really really liked me as much as I liked her.

The following day, she texted me incoherent and aggressive blame around mid-day. In a nutshell: “My flatmates and I thought you were a bad-mannered straight slut last night.” Yeah, it took me a while to understand that she was accusing me to have hit all evening on her male flat mate wearing a robe. Needless to say I didn’t get into the debate. “OK. Thank you for the fun. Bye now!”

The most raging was to see my sexual orientation being challenged by the lesbian stoner who fucked me all week. If someone on earth knows what I like in bed, that’s her. Beyond the injustice of the situation, it hurt me that she used my femininity and sensuality to make me doubt about myself, like the average macho dumb guy would do at the local pub. You’re pretty? You’re a minx. You’re feminine? You can’t really be gay.

That was so fucking violent.

Ironically, I had this conversation with her on the day we met, in her car. I explained her with humility that my main struggle in life was resisting what people project on me, cause I get perceived the wrong way all the time. I seem to mirror their shit to a lot of people who don’t particularly like it and choose to attack me as their best defence. I know that song so well that these lost wankers just scratch the surface of my skin now. I know it’s kinda empowering to put me down, because I’m wild and healthy and my life is fabulous without any substance up my nose or down my veins. I’m not patronising about drugs, I don’t give a shit if people enjoy mistreating their body. Just don’t blame me about it.

In situations of crisis, I have my personal life saviors in the person of my gay husbands. λ, my Paris hubby, sponged the first wave of shock. I always cry in his bosom first. He was following the action live, like he’s been doing with my life drama since 2007. We always end up laughing about it, especially when it is not funny. Then, I organised my escape to Brighton to see Í, my Brit hubby. I knew his beautiful soul would recharge me and cleanse me from that unnecessary noise and dirt. God bless the awesome gay men who console my heart and play with my hair.

Í‘s flat is full of odd antique toys. We decided to bake a beetroot and chocolate cake cause he never baked a cake his whole life, but bought a cake tin 6 months ago. We went to do groceries like a funny little couple. We did pastry, watched the movie Magnolia in each other’s arms (which gave me the title to this blog post). We took a burning bath. He’s the only man that I love to see naked. He took the measuring glass and inundated me with hot water, saying: “Love and intimacy”. He knew I was aching. He’s searching his happiness too. We scrubbed each other’s body very gently, with all the care we have for each other.

Then, we took our slutiness out. We dressed sexy with Britney Spears tracks in the background to get ready for dancing all night at the Bulldog. He has incredible pieces of vintage designer clothes that he wears or doesn’t. He gave me the most fabulous circus jacket ever. I’m hawt in it. Man. I don’t know, I’m a cool girl. I don’t think I was ever bad to anyone. Why would people treat me like this?

With every new slap in my face, I feel a massive mutation to my real self coming closer.

The Slut Limbo

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# I Have No Will

I had been off sex for almost 3 months but last night, decadence called again with the outrageous Skirt Club Party. Girls only in a top floor private flat with terrace looking over the infinite possibilities of East London.

I am on an intense phase where I am paving my way to a healthy personal future with no violence or conflict. I am therefore rewiring my brain to sweeter stuff, at the emotional and physical level. (As I am writing this, a giant LOL sign is flashing in my head… not sure why). It doesn’t feel that’s too much to demand from life, right?

But last night all my good resolutions got screwed with me.

# Covered With Sugar

It all took off (the night + my bra) with the Tequila shots game, which I inaugurated. I had to lie down on a table. The bartender that I really like and do nothing to hide it covered me with ice and sugar which 2 girls had to lick off my body. When getting to my mouth, they drank a shot and were picking a strawberry from my lips. That gets a party started.

# Sweet Pea Girl

This too beautiful to be true Hollywood looking girl arrived late with her girlfriend. Literally everyone was glued to her. She actually was the Barbie doppelganger of my iconic friend H, which weirded me out a little when I got into stuff with her. But she was taking Marilyn Monroe style facial expressions and was calling everyone ‘Sweet Pea’ so I couldn’t possibly take the whole thing seriously. She was lovely though… at every level.

# Losing it

After several episodes, I lost track at some point. I found myself in bed with about 11 other girls and we all mingled. Then, all sense of time & space of who was doing what to which part of me disappeared. And reciprocally. Limbs, lips, tongues, hands, skin, hair were spinning around me at 360º.

I have to say that in occasional moments like this I get out of my head and get intensely blinded by a violent feeling of freedom. I can even say a violent feeling of happiness. Super furtive, but super strong, like a huge shot of adrenaline. Sex is empowering like nothing else.

# Lakota Girl

The bartender that I like and do nothing to hide it is fascinating. She’s a tattooed native Amerindian girl from the Lakota tribe. I made her the most peculiar first impression though. A while ago, at the inaugural party, I was all corseted and heartbroken and I ended up throwing up in my cleavage from her too strong cocktails. She had to sponge cause she was on duty, and then she gave me a speech on binge drinking as if I was 14. That was the most funny & embarrassing way ever to find out you like someone. She keeps reminding me about this episode – we laugh about it because I love making fun of myself and for others to do so – so we have this weird connection. Last night I told her how frustrated I was that I made this first impression, but she replied that I was still tiny and cute.

After her shift, she hanged out with the few girls left and told us hilarious anecdotes. She was featured in a porn movie years ago where she did no sex but had to say a silly line to a girl doing pull-ups. The line was something like: ” Oh, look at these muscles you have!” and after she said it she was hit by the stupidity of the situation and fainted. They had to do another take. She is fabulous. I am feeling all gross teenagy around her (binge drinking aside).

# Meeting the Parents

There is an after effect to any type of getting high. Most of the girls there have boyfriends. Some are even married. There were 2 steady couples of girls. Most people go back to someone who is morally responsible for them after wildness. I think I was the only single lez (as opposed to bisexual) with no affective stability. So, yes, the cooling down can be brutal. Sometimes it may be more difficult than some others. I was all happy yesterday. No affective badtrip, no hard return to reality. Only question marks in my head.

Last time I went to this particular party was in February. I threesomed all night with 2 girls who are now a happy couple. From the dynamic of the trio, I knew from the beginning that they would end up together. Sweet! They weren’t at the party yesterday because they are on an introducing-the-parents trip. Six months from threesome to meeting the parents. I am 31 and I have never been introduced to any parents. Why? Is that a subconscious choice of mine? Is that my nature? Am I condemned to wander in the Slut Limbo for the rest of my life and write about it?

# Sunday Morning

Don’t get me wrong. I love my life. I love my freedom. I am just questioning my ability for emotional 1-2-1 in bed. I was the last one to leave the party in the early hours of Sunday. I kissed Lakota Girl and the pretty organiser of the night at the door. She told me: “You were the star of the show for a moment!” Oh yeah? My peach bum was an ephemeral centre of attention. I replied in a smile that I couldn’t see anything going on, as it all took place behind me.

At the bus stop, a tipsy guy asked me what I had been up to. I told him the truth very simply. He thought that granted him the right to put his arm around my shoulders. Life is a jungle. I was feeling good, though.

I love the sexy fog of the following day.