The boss in my bed.

I ventured out again yesterday to have another visit with a trusted friend.  I'm beginning to find my strength.

Thank you my friends.  Thank you for the sushi date 2 nights ago.  Thank you for the support last night that was abruptly halted by a tea mob that took over our space, leaving us to giggle as we fled.

The tea people stared at us in confusion as to how we could exit!  There was a slide show about those wonderful, drinkable, water staining leaves!

Before we were interrupted in our fantastic sharing each other's feelings, I was reminded that I haven't been allowing myself to feel safe.  I've forgotten about the adult who has learned the lessons of safety that could comfort that broken little girl.

I am understood in the fears of Papi's male transformation, because my dear friend is dating an F-M and has very similar feelings about the need to be with a woman, or at least an assemblance of a woman.  We both have had rather unsettling experiences with bio-males in the past.

We both have had the feeling that men can cause anxiety, degradation and repulsion.  It's not about us feeling that all males are this way, it's just the ones that have the ability to make you feel you are nothing.

We've experienced those male beings before we took that grandeur step out of the closet with fervor.

As we made our grand entrance to that gay world stage, our boas and hair were gently being swept by a fan's forced air, helping us look the part of the powerful, amazing femme.  We promptly strutted center stage, allowing that awkward entrance door swing forever shut.  We granted the waiting audience their time to stare in awe.

Here we are world!

Behind that door, we leave memories of being trapped beneath the bio-male, our hearts breaking as we live the lie of authorizing that male to take our body.  We dream of what a wonderful world it could be if we were to step out on that stage.

We kept those dreams to ourselves as the body holding us down was pumping madly.  It was merely for their own pleasure.  You may as well have been a blow up doll.  Or for that matter, a hole in the wall.  Hell, the palm of a hand.

They can use any of the above because it's not about the heart.  It's not about the soul.  It's about an object deemed for their pleasure.

The only difference between those holes and our bodies, is that we are moist and warm.

As you lie suffocating beneath this being that is larger than you, you feel like your air is that of the blow up doll.  It is being forced out of you and all you can do is disassociate from the moment and count the tile holes on the ceiling.

You try to ignore the fact that there is a body part invading your sacred space.

There is no pleasure.  

Once you just let it be over with, you can carry on with your body as your own again.  However, after this feeling of being regarded as nothing more than a cavity, your body may be your own, but your mind certainly doesn't see it that way, and your psyche has decided to shut off.

Don't think about what just happened, or it may make you realize you're having feelings of horror.

You wouldn't want the wet streaks to roll down your face, for if they did, that bio-male beside you may mistake them for joy; that they've done such a great job that it brought you to tears.

There is no you.

There is revulsion of this physical body that has stolen your sphere, and there is fear that it might happen again.

The feeling of my love turning into this monster that inhabited my life prior to finally coming out of the closet is upon me.  I'm in search of tender touches from my love who would do anything to make me feel good.

I need the presence of mind and body that intends on making sure we both have an experience of enchantment.

I realized through my words here with 'you', my imaginary friend, that my desire in sex must adjust.

Papi and I enjoyed our aggressive encounters for the past few years.  We have had animalistic sex.

Now, with that fear of being triggered by the possibility of a male inside my love, I must change how I receive my intimacy.  I need the soft touchings of the woman I married.  The gentle reminder that my love still has a woman inside.

An assemblance.

There is also a possibility that I may switch from a bottom to a top.  Perhaps it's time to be the boss in my bed?