My Open Relationship Tragic Story 13
I’d given up on drinking beer in the mornings. In spite of this, I continued to injure myself by slashing the insides of my arms once a week with my shaving blade. It was constantly chilly in our basement suite apartment, both figuratively and practically, because of the Ikea bed we had. I had become used to the cold, since it is one of the characteristics that distinguishes Canada from the rest of the world. Even though I missed my family, I had become used to the weather.
Arizona summers were something I never saw myself missing. The sensation of scorching heat on my skin brought back memories of simpler times and a simpler existence. To lie on a hot concrete patio till my skin went pink, to feel the perspiration dripping down the small of my back and down the length of my hairline, was something I want to do. Walking inside a facility and feeling the air conditioner blasting in my face was just what I was looking for. I simply wanted to feel anything other than sadness, to be honest.
In my office cubicle, weary and still a little drunk from the night before, the headset I was wearing was crackling. I looked down at my hands and saw the crackling. Following wires and electrical components in the hope of finding anything that might restore normalcy to the headset proved to be an arduous effort.
I hid beneath my desk after finding nothing. Because of the unpleasant flat flooring and the satin lining of my wool skirt, my knees were barely protected by the skirt. The last thing I wanted to do was smash my skull on my desk as I fumbled with cords and attempted to be as quiet and coordinated as possible while resetting the power to my computer and phone.
Being on all fours beneath my desk, I had no idea that I was going to appear odd. I became aware that I was being observed as I backed out of the driveway and hauled myself up. She looked ludicrous in her orange baseball hat and lumpy knit sweater with vertical stripes of different colours of orange, green, and brown.
A huge nose with a small bend, and even bigger lips, characterized her face and character. Clearly, she was looking at me, and she even managed a smile for me. That look was more than a kind grin; it was a statement about what she thought of me in that situation, and it was unmistakably negative.
Overall, it was a positive experience for me. Although I knew I shouldn’t like it, I didn’t believe I would be able to. Under order to be presentable to the rest of the world, I felt too dead on the inside, too restricted from trying to keep all of my emotions in control.
I had learned months before that day that my long-term partner had been having an affair with someone else. My intuition had told me something. Despite the fact that I was aware, I chose to dismiss it, trusting in her assurances that she would never do something like that.
Although she cheated on me with other females who were ‘her type,’ I felt more loved by her since I was not her typical date-night companion. I want to be the strong lady who took the initiative and walked away. We would figure it out, I convinced myself, and I convinced the rest of the world. We’ve realized our error.
Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I refused to give up the beautiful life I had imagined in my head, even if it meant putting my own life in peril.
I couldn’t have done it without Gita. I couldn’t keep her out no matter how hard I tried. It was only that expression on her face, looking at me in an amused and somewhat sexual manner that caused the first little break in my mental picture of her existence. My feelings towards her were negative. She was obnoxious, unpleasant, and outspoken.
At work, I could hear her stomping down the corridor in her enormous combat boots or tennis shoes, and I knew she was coming. She was short, in fact, she was much too short for her frame. As well as having no hair whatsoever. As well as smoking, of course. While I was working, she would look at me as if she were having sexual relations with me.
I spoke with her at work and even offered her my phone number to follow up with her afterwards. She made it clear that she wanted to have sexual relations with me. I enjoyed it because it made me feel wanted and valuable, as if I were someone worth possessing. Despite the fact that I had a girlfriend, she wanted to take me out for coffee.
The answer was a resounding yes! I made it clear to her right away that I would not be having sexual relations with her at any point. The idea didn’t appeal to me. We went to the beach for a cup of coffee and a stroll. I kept reminding myself that I wasn’t going to sleep with her while I was thinking about it. Despite the fact that she wasn’t very gorgeous, she did have something about her. It was her swagger, and the way she led me downward with her palm at my lower back, that I remember.
As she went down the side of the roadway, she exuded old-fashioned gallantry while laughing with her hearty voice. Nobody could stop her from speaking her mind, and she didn’t care what anybody thought; she let all of her thoughts out. Increasingly, I enjoyed the flirting and the attention. When I informed her that I was kinky, that I wrote erotica, and that I wanted to get spanked, she had a look on her face that I admired.
So much time had passed since we arrived at the beach. With the arrival of nightfall came the arrival of cold. Following her kiss, that submissive part of me started to awaken and sink down to let her to take command. The spanking I received was my fault. I let her to take me into her little apartment.
Afterwards, every second turns into days and weeks of tawdry, passionate, and kinky sex, the stuff of which trashy romance books are written. There was no request from her, and I didn’t flee from my girlfriend to her. My actions were also not hidden from anybody. For the sake of my girlfriend, I basically walked about with her as evidence that I was worthy of someone’s affection. In some ways, I felt like I’d been vindicated.
The rest was a whirlwind of resolve, disgust at my weakness in being with someone who lied so often, self-awareness, and the sexual fulfillment I had sought all along but had never been able to find in someone who could provide what I needed until then.
When I realized I couldn’t remain with Terri any longer, I recall the precise moment I made the decision. My eyes were drawn to the buildings and stores as I rode the bus back to my house after work. Massive gatherings of people. So much peace and quiet descended over me! That I couldn’t continue to live with Terri was obvious to me. I was also aware that it was time to return to my apartment.
As I prepared to leave our apartment, I packed up my belongings and accepted Gita’s offer to remain with her for the next month as I relocated back to Arizona for my job. That one month was the most enjoyable month of my stay in the city.
Before that, I was drawn to those aspects of her that afterwards turned me off. My favorite thing about her was her baldness, as well as the way she walked. That she was 10 years older than me was something I admired about her. The fact that she was of Lebanese descent intrigued me, as did the tiny accent that would suddenly appear when she spoke to her mother on the phone.
Because I didn’t like it and didn’t know what she was doing, she stopped smoking before our first date. The fact that she was proud of her butchness was something I admired about her. Her rough hands were one of my favorite things about her! No softness, secrecy, or deception were acceptable to me in this situation.
Nothing I did could fool her; she saw right through me, even when I was deceiving myself about anything.
Her primary perception of me was sexual. That month was spent chatting, eating, and releasing years of suppressed sexual energy that had been building up inside of me since childhood.
My open relationship tragic story 13
While both Gita and I had previously been active in BDSM, none of us had been in a romantic relationship, and our chats were fully candid. Because none of us had had official training, there were some difficulties. We were unaware of aftercare, but our scenarios usually resulted in sex, which in turn resulted in our relaxing together afterward, so we did have aftercare in our own manner. We were able to find our route.
Every one of my fantasies was available to her. When we were together, whether in the bedroom, out for a stroll, or eating dinner, we seamlessly transitioned between our Daddy and daughter roles. Everything seemed natural and effortless, which helped to calm a portion of the pandemonium I was attempting to control.
We role-played my greatest dream at the time, which featured myself as a young girl and a teacher who persuaded me to give him my virginity in exchange for his help. Even while I was acting it out, I couldn’t keep up with the action. I wanted desperately to be touched and carried away immediately. She was able to keep me in my place till precisely when she desired it, stripping me naked, taking advantage of me, and reacting just as I had imagined it would happen a million times in my head before.
She couldn’t keep her hands off of me even when she was alone for a short period of time. Working in the same workplace compounded my tendency to be a showoff, which was potentially harmful. Our boss was in the next stall over and it was great fun slipping into the restroom with her hand over my mouth to keep me silent. I wear skirts a lot more than I used to. I sat on the sofa nude, reading Shakespeare, and tormenting her while she was preoccupied with paperwork and bill paying duties.
She rapidly discovered that I had two distinct female personalities: one was a non-sexual young girl who enjoyed playing and coloring, and the other was a bratty sexual adolescent. We both realized that I would misbehave in order to be punished, which led to her ceasing to reprimand me altogether. I quickly realized that all I wanted to do was make her happy all of the time, and leaving Vancouver became more difficult.
I had hoped to have a pleasant fling and then return home to recuperate. I had no expectation of developing sentiments that could possibly be considered romantic. I didn’t imagine I’d be able to love someone so soon while yet feeling so devastated on the inside. I said that I wasn’t ready to visit my family after a broken romance, so I decided to prolong my stay for a few more weeks. I surprised her with a little Christmas tree in the style of Charlie Brown.
We bought each other gifts: I bought her a watch that I knew she would like, and I bought myself a digital camera. It wasn’t exactly what I had hoped for, but it turned out to be fantastic. The amount of photographs I had to take home with me, of her, my friends, and all of my favorite locations in Vancouver, was overwhelming. As soon as I returned home, I was able to email her images of Arizona, my friends, and teasing photographs of myself in different clothes and poses. She wanted me to come back, to be married, so that I could remain in the country. That night, we got into a heated dispute.
Her studio apartment was filled with yelling about my changing my name if we were married, and we were both fast to lose our cool and lose our cool together. It was a part of me that I couldn’t let go of, and I couldn’t alter my name either. What I couldn’t tell you about myself or my background was that it was me and my background. We made up, but the incident remained a source of concern in the back of my mind.
After the New Year’s holiday, I returned to Arizona. It was more difficult than I anticipated to depart.
I had a part of me that wanted to remain, but the parts of me that were still shattered beckoned me back home.
I remained with my closest buddy until I was able to get a job and an apartment of my own.
Gita and I had made the decision to have a more open and honest relationship. Our personalities did not lend themselves to becoming envious of one another, and we were both aware that having sex with someone else did not need the establishment of a romantic connection.
I had a good time since my closest buddy was single, and I enjoyed going out with her and hitting on ladies. Gita enjoyed hearing about my escapades and the nefarious things I allowed people to do to me. Regardless of how anybody interacted with me, I was always her little girl, and she was still my Mamaw.
My desire to her and her sexual attraction to me were so strong that I had only been back home for three weeks when she surprised me with a plane ticket to see her in California. I returned to Vancouver for a two-week visit. We had both purchased several books on BDSM and were anxious to put our newfound knowledge to action.
When we went to rent movies one night, she was still working in the early hours. She received The Princess Diaries 2 as a gift for her adolescent female side. She was in desperate need of a sleep and had no inclination to sit through the movie. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing during the movie, which accidentally woke her. She warned me that if I didn’t keep quiet, she would duct tape my lips shut since she knew I didn’t like for the smell of the tape. I was amazing, and I was completely silent.
When the movie was over, I gently and quietly walked over to the television to switch it off. She awakened up, and before I could react, a whispered “hello” slid out of her mouth. I knew I was in danger, even if it had been an accident, and I clamped my palm over my lips, my eyes wide with fear.
I don’t recall what movie it was that we stayed up to watch with her, but I do remember the taste of the tape in my tongue when we finished it. In an effort not to fidget, I maintained my silence and stillness. After that, she rewarded me by dragging me behind her with her strap-on and let me to scream as loud as I wanted.
During her day off before I went, we pretended to be travelers and visited places like Granville Island and the Stanley Park Aquarium. After discussing my return in a few months, we made preparations for me to be married and begin the process of obtaining a new nationality. No one brought up the topic of the name change. I was meant to take the bus to the airport on the day I returned to the United States of America.
Another surprise was when she called a cab and accompanied me to the airport, relishing every single minute we had together.
I returned home and began working in a call center for an airline company. In addition to making new acquaintances, I met another Daddy and daughter pair. Knowing that so few people could comprehend Gita and I, being with them made me feel secure and rational. Everything from my previous relationship was still there, and it came up again and again.
While attempting to put myself back together and determine if the bits of myself that had broken were still portions of myself, I became disoriented and lost my way. For my closest friend, I had rekindled old sentiments, and I was certain that she felt the same way about me. The truth is that if I had been honest with myself and paid attention to how I was feeling on the inside, I would have realized that I made the wrong decision. However, I continued to date my closest friend in spite of Gita’s disapproval.
Her accusation that I was a liar proved to be accurate. The fact that I was deceiving myself, as well as deceiving her, was a complete surprise to me. My affections for my closest buddy were gone after our college relationship ended, but there were still loose threads in the wound. But even though I knew she wasn’t into BDSM and couldn’t be that for me, I believed we might mend their broken hearts.
Despite her desire, she was unable to be that person. When I broke up with her just a few weeks later, I was filled with self-loathing and regretted my actions. Because of her emotions for me and my want to be with someone who wanted me who wasn’t a full nation away, I felt like I had taken advantage of her love for me.
After more than a year of deliberation, I finally found what I was looking for. It helped me to create a mental checklist of characteristics I was looking for in a partner. Prior to helping anybody else, I learnt how to take care of myself.
Another couple of times, I got lost. One-night stands were a thing for me. Terri and I had been together for a while and I had worked as a dancer to support us financially. Despite the fact that I was in a better frame of mind this time, I felt colder on the inside when I returned to it.
Separating myself from my personal identity and the professional identity required for work was challenging. In another femme, I met a new best friend. There were people in my life who were close to me and in whom I could put my trust. That person who I was still becoming when I met Terri, and who had been lost in the process of trying to be what she desired, appeared out of nowhere and took over my life completely.
What I loved and didn’t like about myself was obvious to me since I was myself. When I did anything, I was aware of why I was doing it and how to self-reflect on my actions and decisions. It seemed like I needed to speak to Gita again because the small girl part of me was missing her, and the adult part of me felt the same way.
We were able to take up just where we left off with a few phone calls. It was as if we’d never been apart in the first place! She surprised me again again by coming to visit soon after Christmas, which was typical of her personality and character. Showing her my hometown and the things I like about Arizona was a highlight of our visit.
The sensation of being secure and protected every morning was one of my favorite parts of the job. The fact that she adored my new best friend and that she was out with us made Gita feel good about herself, knowing she was surrounded by two gorgeous women. I wasn’t broken on the inside any more; instead, I had become more resilient to hardship.
As a result of having two homes, I had begun to miss Vancouver since my departure. The idea of slicing myself in half so that I might live in both places appealed to me. Being back in touch with Gita created a sense of urgency in me about relocating back home.
The fact that I was not interested in getting married was something I shared with her, since it was something I was not sure I wanted to do in the future either. Just for the sake of obtaining citizenship, it was deemed too hazardous.
To be honest with her and myself, I couldn’t promise that things would work out between us to the extent that I would be willing to take that chance.
I returned for a second visit, but this time for just a week.
Although it was wonderful to return to Vancouver, this was Gita’s home base. It was like a nice vacation for me when she was in Arizona since I had gone through so much during our time apart. Being in her home again allowed me to see the flaws in our relationship that had previously been hidden.
Suddenly, I saw a peculiar possessiveness in her that hadn’t before been apparent. After I returned, I learned she had been doing drugs and had lied about some of the things she had been doing while I was gone. As my sexual and BDSM experience grew ten-fold over the course of a year, I couldn’t fit her into the mold of the Daddy I want any more. Coming home from my trip, I was torn and disillusioned with the experience.
When we were together before, I believed I had transformed into the person I needed to be. Perhaps I was, but she was no longer what I need. I was less drawn to her than I had been before. Even on the phone, she could sense my withdrawal. Maybe that’s why she grew so possessive, phoning me on a regular basis, checking in on me, and frantically clinging to me while I sank away.
I’d fallen asleep on my sofa one night after being unwell and fatigued from my previous day’s activities. The only thing close to me was my mobile phone, which I had set to “quiet.” On that particular night, she called my phone 51 times! A wide spectrum of emotions were expressed in the voice messages, from concern to wrath.
I was terrified, yet at the same time, I felt relieved that she was a long distance off. I received a phone call the next day from someone who was ranting and criticizing me and attempting to tear me down, accusing me of being a liar and a gold-digging whore. Before you knew it, I’d left. What could I say? I couldn’t think of anything. Her Daddy and girlfriend were both losing control, and I couldn’t be her girl at that point.
The events of that day took place seven years ago. My thoughts of her are few and far between these days, but the wonderful moments are the ones that stand out the most. My earliest memories include her first spanking, strolling on her arm in downtown Vancouver on our way to supper, having deep late-night chats with her, and the first time I blushed and addressed her as “Daddy.”
