Mom had her first chemo treatment yesterday. We arrived at the hospital at 10am, had an appointment with the doctor, and then were led into the chemo ward. It was a long room with a row of recliners along one wall, in front of windows that provided some nice sunlight. It was quiet, most of the chairs still empty, and mom chose one in the middle, with a plastic teddy bear sitting on the windowsill.
A nurse named Ariana came over and explained the procedure. She accessed the port that had been installed last week, and the flow of hydration and various scary chemicals began. Over the course of about three hours, there were two bags of fluid, a dose of ativan, a dose of a long-acting antiemetic, two types of chemo, and finally an anticoagulant to clear the port.
It was simultaneously totally uneventful and completely terrifying. Long hours - about six all told - of sitting, talking with various people, knitting, holding mom's hand, and watching things drip in tubes. Trying to push away the thought that I'm sitting there being supportive, watching my mom get willingly poisoned. Alternately not feeling much, and occasionally biting down tears as thoughts of the year to come refused to be ignored.
We went out to dinner afterwards at a Vietnamese restaurant that she likes, stopped at a pharmacy, and then went home. I escaped upstairs and hid in my old bedroom for a while when we got there, having temporarily reached the end of my ability to be an upright, functional adult. I called Aiden, barely managed not to burst into tears in his voicemail, then just lay there being blank for a while. Eventually I returned to the public space, made some tea, and read a book.
By 8:30, mom was clearly flagging, and went off to bed. I encouraged her to wake up during the night long enough to take her assigned antiemetic, since waking up for a few minutes would be infinitely better than waking up puking. I finished the movie we'd been watching, then went up to bed myself. Picking up my phone, I saw that I had 9 missed calls and several Facebook and text messages from Aiden and Shelby. Apparently I had worried them when I left my phone upstairs to charge and disappeared.
We chatted for a few minutes before I went to sleep. I was grateful to find that Aiden had left me a voicemail. I needed to hear his voice but was crying too hard to call.
I was up at 6 this morning, headed back to work. Mom called to me as I was leaving, and I went to check on her. She was smiling and said she felt okay except for some stomach cramps, and she had taken her medicine as directed. I gave her a kiss and headed out on a long, cold motorcycle ride back home. She looks okay now, but I know this is only the beginning of a long trek through a valley, and it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I can smile through anything, and I will - she's depending on me for my positive attitude. But behind the face, I know I'm going to spend a lot of time taping up my heart.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Thursday, September 18, 2014
The Itch and the Mustache
I have a three-year itch. I know, it's supposed to be seven, but try telling that to my high-energy, easily-bored subconscious. Status quo is not stimulating.
My latest need for upheaval centers around my employment and finances. I'm sick of this damn job, and I've got a plan to get out of it that centers dually around that inheritance check I mentioned and some lifestyle changes. I've been reading my way through the archives of a blog called Mr. Money Mustache (Financial Freedom Through Badassity) and charting my way out.
Here's my plan. I'm going to sell my car as soon as possible (yesterday would be great), pay off the loan, buy a cheap replacement car, and pour any leftover cash into my debts. When the Damn Check shows up, I'm going to pay off the rest of my debts (credit card and student loans), and invest anything that's left over. I'll keep working the 9-5 just long enough to build up a small cash cushion, then pay Shelby a few months' advance rent and move in with her and Aiden. I'm going to restart the webcomic I began in 2010, that by 2012 was paying me more than enough per month to cover the rent that Shelby requested.
Those are the major things. There are smaller ones, too, to help it all go forward. My motorcycle is finally fixed to the point where she's ready to be inspected, and I'm going to ride her as far into cold weather as I can handle. I'll install a 12V plug and get some heated gear (used, of course) and handgrips. She gets 60mpg...how can I not? I'm cooking almost all of my food myself now, and I don't really eat breakfast. I'm walking to work and biking to the grocery store. I'm telling Verizon to fuck off and replacing my phone with one from Republic Wireless.
I actually had nightmares last night that I bought things I didn't need, and felt a little silly when I woke up in a panic, trying to figure out how to return them.
I'm also geeking out about investing, learning about the different types of retirement accounts and rollovers and personal investing and interest rates and risk calculation, and and and...I love numbers. I really do.
The biggest day-to-day change will obviously be living with Aiden and Shelby. Shelby initially suggested the idea several months back, and I considered it lightly; it didn't seem like something I really wanted to do at the time. I saw it as an unnecessary upset to the relationship that would cause more problems than it would solve. I'm particular about my personal space, and I find it a difficult and time-consuming process to accustom myself to new roommates or housemates. I need my me-time to recharge, and I get grumpy and nasty when there's interference with that process. Even if Aiden, Shelby, and little Aiden were as quiet as my current roommate, it would still be three times the noise level I currently operate in. And none of them are that quiet.
Thinking about this potential issue yesterday, I had what appears to be a pretty brilliant idea, an image of what life could look like in this new situation, and now I'm excited. I have to separate my working hours and area from my non-working ones, and I have to be able to spend some time in my introvert bubble on a regular basis. I also know that I'm going to miss the mornings when I can get up early and have the house to myself...
...or not. If I combine those things, I can have all of the above. I can get up early, make my coffee, have the house to myself while everyone else is still asleep, and get started on my work. By the time everyone else gets up, I'll be holed up at my desk (what's currently a spare room will be mine for a drafting/music space). I can join Aiden and Shelby for breakfast, return to work when she goes to work, and then come out and be social when my work is done.
Have I mentioned I'm excited?
My latest need for upheaval centers around my employment and finances. I'm sick of this damn job, and I've got a plan to get out of it that centers dually around that inheritance check I mentioned and some lifestyle changes. I've been reading my way through the archives of a blog called Mr. Money Mustache (Financial Freedom Through Badassity) and charting my way out.
Here's my plan. I'm going to sell my car as soon as possible (yesterday would be great), pay off the loan, buy a cheap replacement car, and pour any leftover cash into my debts. When the Damn Check shows up, I'm going to pay off the rest of my debts (credit card and student loans), and invest anything that's left over. I'll keep working the 9-5 just long enough to build up a small cash cushion, then pay Shelby a few months' advance rent and move in with her and Aiden. I'm going to restart the webcomic I began in 2010, that by 2012 was paying me more than enough per month to cover the rent that Shelby requested.
Those are the major things. There are smaller ones, too, to help it all go forward. My motorcycle is finally fixed to the point where she's ready to be inspected, and I'm going to ride her as far into cold weather as I can handle. I'll install a 12V plug and get some heated gear (used, of course) and handgrips. She gets 60mpg...how can I not? I'm cooking almost all of my food myself now, and I don't really eat breakfast. I'm walking to work and biking to the grocery store. I'm telling Verizon to fuck off and replacing my phone with one from Republic Wireless.
I actually had nightmares last night that I bought things I didn't need, and felt a little silly when I woke up in a panic, trying to figure out how to return them.
I'm also geeking out about investing, learning about the different types of retirement accounts and rollovers and personal investing and interest rates and risk calculation, and and and...I love numbers. I really do.
The biggest day-to-day change will obviously be living with Aiden and Shelby. Shelby initially suggested the idea several months back, and I considered it lightly; it didn't seem like something I really wanted to do at the time. I saw it as an unnecessary upset to the relationship that would cause more problems than it would solve. I'm particular about my personal space, and I find it a difficult and time-consuming process to accustom myself to new roommates or housemates. I need my me-time to recharge, and I get grumpy and nasty when there's interference with that process. Even if Aiden, Shelby, and little Aiden were as quiet as my current roommate, it would still be three times the noise level I currently operate in. And none of them are that quiet.
Thinking about this potential issue yesterday, I had what appears to be a pretty brilliant idea, an image of what life could look like in this new situation, and now I'm excited. I have to separate my working hours and area from my non-working ones, and I have to be able to spend some time in my introvert bubble on a regular basis. I also know that I'm going to miss the mornings when I can get up early and have the house to myself...
...or not. If I combine those things, I can have all of the above. I can get up early, make my coffee, have the house to myself while everyone else is still asleep, and get started on my work. By the time everyone else gets up, I'll be holed up at my desk (what's currently a spare room will be mine for a drafting/music space). I can join Aiden and Shelby for breakfast, return to work when she goes to work, and then come out and be social when my work is done.
Have I mentioned I'm excited?
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Mom
When I was sixteen, my mother came home one day with a scary announcement: she had cancer. One of her breasts was full of calcifications, a condition called DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ). A surgeon had told her she needed a mastectomy, but she wasn't comfortable with that and was looking for other options.
Her search for other options became a complete lifestyle change. She went from being a fairly normal suburban mother in terms of her eating and living habits to being what I would call a hippie-dippie granola bar. She explored and read and talked to people, and became a born-again health nut. The emotionally-closed mother I had always known suddenly started getting in touch with her feelings and crying at random, and while I certainly couldn't blame her, it made me uncomfortable.
Then she started trying to get me on the bandwagon, and I ran like hell. Good luck telling your teenage daughter, who's full of her own angsty drama, that the way you brought her up was actually all wrong and now it needs to change. It became a point of pride for me that I could hide any and all of my emotions, no matter the situation, that I was as solid as a rock and absolutely unflappable. She alternately told me that she appreciated my cool head, and that I was going to do myself damage bottling all my feelings. I stuck to my guns. I was in a place in my life where I had no close friends, so I had no one to share with anyway. I became the sullen goth girl who floated through the halls at school, talking to no one, sharing nothing, slipping quietly into depression while no one watched.
Mom went to energy healers and naturopaths, who acted like therapists and helped her to see that my dad's addiction was poisonous to all of us. (Duh.) He grew angry with her for listening to "those crazy people" who were blaming him for all her problems. I listened to both sides, refusing to provide opinions or emotions to anyone.
The next time I heard about the cancer was the following year. We were on a family ski trip to Colorado with my then girlfriend, Petunia. My mom had made an appointment with some kind of natural healer out there. I wasn't sure what they were doing, and mom didn't want to talk about it. I could never tell whether she was shy about her treatments or whether she was trying not to burden me with information she felt I didn't need. Either way, I never pushed. And I don't think I ever heard about the cancer again. That was nine years ago.
Two weeks ago, mom called me and said we needed to talk. She had bad news, and wanted to tell me in person. We made plans to meet for dinner the following night, and I spent the next 24 hours freaking out about what could be wrong. All I could imagine was that the cancer was back. That was the only thing I could dig up from the past for use as a clue.
I was right. It turns out that the silence I had taken to mean as respite had actually been ignorance. The cancer is back, bigger and badder and more of a threat. It was never actually gone. She chose not to deal with it, and my faith that she wouldn't have made such a stupid choice simultaneously came to light and was destroyed.
Some test results came in a week later, and there's good news and bad. The good news is that it's not metastasized, which had been a concern due to a swollen lymph gland. The bad news is they are still recommending aggressive chemo as well as a mastectomy. Her next step is getting a second opinion and considering her options, and the way she said those things put me on edge. She is considering whether or not to do the chemo. If she chooses not to, I'm going to have a lot to say about that. She ignored it once, and while it is her body and her choice, I'm not just going to pretend it's fine if she tries to do that again. Look what happened last time.
Her search for other options became a complete lifestyle change. She went from being a fairly normal suburban mother in terms of her eating and living habits to being what I would call a hippie-dippie granola bar. She explored and read and talked to people, and became a born-again health nut. The emotionally-closed mother I had always known suddenly started getting in touch with her feelings and crying at random, and while I certainly couldn't blame her, it made me uncomfortable.
Then she started trying to get me on the bandwagon, and I ran like hell. Good luck telling your teenage daughter, who's full of her own angsty drama, that the way you brought her up was actually all wrong and now it needs to change. It became a point of pride for me that I could hide any and all of my emotions, no matter the situation, that I was as solid as a rock and absolutely unflappable. She alternately told me that she appreciated my cool head, and that I was going to do myself damage bottling all my feelings. I stuck to my guns. I was in a place in my life where I had no close friends, so I had no one to share with anyway. I became the sullen goth girl who floated through the halls at school, talking to no one, sharing nothing, slipping quietly into depression while no one watched.
Mom went to energy healers and naturopaths, who acted like therapists and helped her to see that my dad's addiction was poisonous to all of us. (Duh.) He grew angry with her for listening to "those crazy people" who were blaming him for all her problems. I listened to both sides, refusing to provide opinions or emotions to anyone.
The next time I heard about the cancer was the following year. We were on a family ski trip to Colorado with my then girlfriend, Petunia. My mom had made an appointment with some kind of natural healer out there. I wasn't sure what they were doing, and mom didn't want to talk about it. I could never tell whether she was shy about her treatments or whether she was trying not to burden me with information she felt I didn't need. Either way, I never pushed. And I don't think I ever heard about the cancer again. That was nine years ago.
Two weeks ago, mom called me and said we needed to talk. She had bad news, and wanted to tell me in person. We made plans to meet for dinner the following night, and I spent the next 24 hours freaking out about what could be wrong. All I could imagine was that the cancer was back. That was the only thing I could dig up from the past for use as a clue.
I was right. It turns out that the silence I had taken to mean as respite had actually been ignorance. The cancer is back, bigger and badder and more of a threat. It was never actually gone. She chose not to deal with it, and my faith that she wouldn't have made such a stupid choice simultaneously came to light and was destroyed.
Some test results came in a week later, and there's good news and bad. The good news is that it's not metastasized, which had been a concern due to a swollen lymph gland. The bad news is they are still recommending aggressive chemo as well as a mastectomy. Her next step is getting a second opinion and considering her options, and the way she said those things put me on edge. She is considering whether or not to do the chemo. If she chooses not to, I'm going to have a lot to say about that. She ignored it once, and while it is her body and her choice, I'm not just going to pretend it's fine if she tries to do that again. Look what happened last time.
Monday, July 28, 2014
No Worth in Words
My friend Bruce's birthday is today, and we had a party for him last night. Food, games, cake, general hanging out. There were a few people in the group that I hadn't met before. They fit right in. And I came to the sad realization that I do not.
The people that I attract as friends are usually various forms of geeky. I'm a geek myself; computer programmer and communications technician. But those aren't the forms of geek I attract. My non-derby friends are all RPGers, video gamers, LARPers, Trekkies, and Dr. Who nerds. They're super awesome people and I adore them. They have lots of conversations that I don't understand, and I've stopped asking to be read into those conversations because there are too many and it takes too much explaining. At any get-together there will be some stretch of time where I sit in my corner and listen politely until the conversation moves on to something I understand. I'm fine with that.
But last night, the conversation never moved on. They went from geekdom to geekdom to geekdom, never hitting on one that interested me even slightly. I sat in my corner and listened politely for hours. Eventually I left, having decided I would rather be asleep, thinking I would've been better off staying at the pool party that I had left to attend Bruce's birthday (although I wouldn't actually have skipped out on his birthday party).
To catch up on all of their fandoms so I could actually participate in these conversations would take hundreds of hours of watching TV and movies and playing video games, none of which I have the remotest interest in doing. The self-reflection sent me looking for a mirror I can't quite find...what is it that I do? What do I talk about when I talk? I'm constantly busy, but how do I spend my time, if not on the aforementioned things? The answer seems to be derby...is there anything left in my life but derby? Have I become a dumb jock?
Firstly, the "dumb jock" stereotype implies a lie, that being a meathead makes you dumb. To the contrary, working out regularly and taking good care of your body actually improves your brain function. Logically, I know that I cannot have become a dumb jock.
What can I talk about? Derby, in great depth and at great length. Communications technology, with lesser depth and breadth. I've been working in the field for five years now, and I know I've learned a lot, but I still feel dumb in comparison to all the things I don't know. I ride a motorcycle, but I don't geek out about it; I just ride it. I shoot guns, but I don't discuss ammo types or barrel bores. A while back, I spent a lot of time studying relationships, and for a while I could've talked relationship theory pretty intensely...but not anymore (another post, another time to explain that one). I spin circus props but I don't study those either. I don't nerd out about cars, or comics, or movies, or computers.
I'm a doer, not a talker. I would much rather pick something up, take it apart, program it, modify it, make it into something else, throw it, chase it, break it and repair it, or just build something new. I don't want to sit in a chair for hours and discuss it.
Somehow this makes me feel really stupid.
The people that I attract as friends are usually various forms of geeky. I'm a geek myself; computer programmer and communications technician. But those aren't the forms of geek I attract. My non-derby friends are all RPGers, video gamers, LARPers, Trekkies, and Dr. Who nerds. They're super awesome people and I adore them. They have lots of conversations that I don't understand, and I've stopped asking to be read into those conversations because there are too many and it takes too much explaining. At any get-together there will be some stretch of time where I sit in my corner and listen politely until the conversation moves on to something I understand. I'm fine with that.
But last night, the conversation never moved on. They went from geekdom to geekdom to geekdom, never hitting on one that interested me even slightly. I sat in my corner and listened politely for hours. Eventually I left, having decided I would rather be asleep, thinking I would've been better off staying at the pool party that I had left to attend Bruce's birthday (although I wouldn't actually have skipped out on his birthday party).
To catch up on all of their fandoms so I could actually participate in these conversations would take hundreds of hours of watching TV and movies and playing video games, none of which I have the remotest interest in doing. The self-reflection sent me looking for a mirror I can't quite find...what is it that I do? What do I talk about when I talk? I'm constantly busy, but how do I spend my time, if not on the aforementioned things? The answer seems to be derby...is there anything left in my life but derby? Have I become a dumb jock?
Firstly, the "dumb jock" stereotype implies a lie, that being a meathead makes you dumb. To the contrary, working out regularly and taking good care of your body actually improves your brain function. Logically, I know that I cannot have become a dumb jock.
What can I talk about? Derby, in great depth and at great length. Communications technology, with lesser depth and breadth. I've been working in the field for five years now, and I know I've learned a lot, but I still feel dumb in comparison to all the things I don't know. I ride a motorcycle, but I don't geek out about it; I just ride it. I shoot guns, but I don't discuss ammo types or barrel bores. A while back, I spent a lot of time studying relationships, and for a while I could've talked relationship theory pretty intensely...but not anymore (another post, another time to explain that one). I spin circus props but I don't study those either. I don't nerd out about cars, or comics, or movies, or computers.
I'm a doer, not a talker. I would much rather pick something up, take it apart, program it, modify it, make it into something else, throw it, chase it, break it and repair it, or just build something new. I don't want to sit in a chair for hours and discuss it.
Somehow this makes me feel really stupid.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Meltdown: Productive
This weekend ended with an emotional meltdown on my part, that got passed on to Shelby on Monday night. On the bright side, I got something out in the open that had been bothering me, and I also think we as a group are getting better at fighting in a more productive way.
Saturday night my team had a game, and we took a rough beating, but left with the satisfaction that we had accomplished the non-points-related goals we had set for ourselves. On Sunday, Aiden, Shelby, and I hung out at the pool with my derby wife, Ninja, and had a lovely relaxing afternoon. Then Ninja went to a movie with another friend, and the three of us and the kid had dinner and drinks at the house. After dinner I cleaned up and did dishes - our usual balance, since Shelby provides the food and Aiden cooks.
When I finished the dishes, I realized the house was completely silent, and went around looking for everyone. I found the two of them outside smoking pot (the kid was in bed). I made a "WTF" gesture at Aiden through the door, and he just smiled obliviously.
Sometimes when I get angry I rage and pout and stomp off in a huff...but when something is really, seriously wrong, there's a creepy calm that falls over me. I went upstairs, packed my bag, returned to the kitchen, grabbed my computer and my derby gear and all the things that I had left around, and packed up my car. My next action in the past would've been to drive away without saying goodbye, but I had promised both of them that I would work on opening my mouth and speaking when there was a problem, so I went back inside.
I was finishing my drink when they reappeared. "We've been plotting against you," Shelby said. I wasn't mad at her, so I managed not to lose my shit. I just stared at her, downed the last sip of gin, and put the glass in the sink. Aiden went upstairs, and Shelby went to do something in the living room. I took a deep breath, resisted the urge to run one more time, and went upstairs. Aiden was in the bedroom.
"How is it okay," I asked, "to go outside and get fucking high while I do your dishes? What am I, some kind of slave?" I don't like addressing problems with words because I tend to fall apart, and I was losing it fast. I plowed through the rest of my statement before I lost the ability to speak. "That is so disrespectful. I am so hurt right now." And I burst into tears.
Aiden looked shocked. "I didn't mean it like that. I totally see how it came across that way. I'm sorry," he said. Shelby appeared behind me. I don't know if she had heard me or if she's that intuitive, but she immediately knew what was wrong. She took a seat in a chair. I inched toward the door, but Aiden shut it and put his arm against it, probably knowing I was on the verge of making a break for it. I twitched and considered asking him to open it again, but instead I backed away from him as he stepped forward, trapping myself in the corner made by the wall and the bureau.
The starting accusation sounds silly unless you know what's behind it, which is a lot. They prodded me with some questions, and once I got going, I almost couldn't stop. The summary is that Aiden displays addictive behaviors that are triggery to me. Not only do I worry about him, but I worry more and in a more deeply personal way than many people would, because my father was an alcoholic and his addiction tore apart our family before eventually killing him.
I first became aware that he was an addict when I was fourteen, and over the next six years, I watched things fall apart. Our family grew strained. My mom tended toward the "see what consequences your actions have wrought" type of spouse, and harbored a lot of anger toward him, which I adopted. He went to rehab three times, and was never clean for more than six months. He told us he had ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) and only had a couple of years to live. Then it turned out he was lying. Then he had cancer. But he lied about that too.
My mom kicked him out of the house and he moved to the next town. He had lived there about two years when he went to the emergency room because he was having trouble walking. While there, he had a seizure, and they sedated him. He never woke up again.
I'm not afraid to tell anyone who asks what happened. The usual explanation is, "My dad was an alcoholic with PTSD from the Vietnam war and he drank himself to death." I can say it with absolutely no emotion, and I do so fairly often. My mom tried to tell me that it wasn't appropriate that people know that, and I basically told her to go fuck herself. I refuse to perpetuate the lies with which alcoholic families are so often riddled. I'm not ashamed of who he was or what he did, and if his story can help someone else, I will be happy to tell it a million times.
But I forget that people don't see the emotion behind it. I'm not a fragile person, and I have a pretty solid awareness of my own feelings that allows me a fair amount of control over them. This is undoubtedly the most triggery subject in my life by far, but even then, 99% of the time it's not a problem. I drink; my friends drink; it doesn't concern me.
I started noticing a while ago - actually, the second time that I ever hung out at Aiden and Shelby's place - that he exhibited behaviors around pot that made me uncomfortable. It was a small thing at first, and I ignored it. Very gradually the small things collected and started to bother me more.
The time she asked him, "You're usually itching to go smoke a bowl by now, what's wrong with you?" The time he said he had to go smoke before we worked on the kitchen or he wouldn't be able to work. The several times he's gone to smoke before sex, like he needs to be high to enjoy us. The time she told me, "I just do it because he does it. He needs it." The time I asked him what would happen if he didn't smoke before sex and he couldn't answer me. The time he ran off after sex and before sleeping to go smoke. The time he left me alone at fire camp to go smoke with complete strangers after we had just been warned by the coordinators about the zero-tolerance policy that would get us kicked out for any substance use. The chronic cough I don't think he even realizes he has. The fact that he'll go do it by himself even when Shelby won't go with him. The illogical amount of money he spends on drugs when his boss doesn't even pay him half the time, and I've heard Shelby guilt him about it.
It adds up to a picture that gives me a fucking panic attack. And I felt like I couldn't say anything, for several reasons... (1) It's not something I understand. Pot doesn't do anything to me, so I can't gain any direct empathy for what's happening when he's high. I just know he's different, and it freaks me out. (2) It's not my business to tell him what to do. I don't want to be the controlling bitch who makes demands. (3) I don't have a problem with drinking, and that should be my trigger if anything is, so I feel kind of hypocritical complaining about the pot when I'm happy to drink all night long.
But my emotions finally overcame my logic, and I sobbed and yelled and got icky feelings all over everyone. Shelby was amazing. She sat down and listened and answered my questions and agreed or disagreed where it was relevant, without getting emotional or taking any sides. When she said, "Oh yeah, his addictive personality drives me crazy," I almost started crying again, this time in relief. I wasn't making it up out of my damaged paranoia.
Her theory is that it's actually the cigarettes that are driving Aiden's addictive behaviors and not the pot; that he smokes pot as an excuse for a nicotine fix. She said she had stopped going outside with him recently because she didn't want to condone it. I had noticed that, and had been grateful to her every time she stayed inside, but it didn't change his behavior at all.
They both said they knew it had bothered me to a certain extent, but hadn't known how much (said Aiden) or what to do about it (said Shelby). Aiden said the fact that it bothered me enough to make me freak out and cry - something I don't think he's ever seen me do - made a big impression. Shelby told me it was sweet that I cared that much about him, and I said that was kind of embarrassing. She asked why, then thought about it and said I was totally right, it was embarrassing, and we had a laugh.
After many words and many tears, the going-forward is that they're going to quit cigarettes and see what happens from there. I told him the most important thing is to be honest with me. I understand that quitting is not a straight-line process; there will be slip-ups, and that's okay. What would absolutely not be okay is lying to me about it. My experience with addiction has given me a pretty bleak view on how it goes, particularly on how many lies will be told to salvage the addiction at the expense of the loved ones. I'm aware that that experience was not had with Aiden, however, and I'm going to do my best not to smear it all over him.
I spent Monday in a truck with two of the guys from work. We drove 800 miles between 5am and midnight to pick up some equipment in another state. When we decided in the afternoon to do the whole trip in one day rather than staying over, I told Aiden I'd have the next day off, and he called in to work so we could hang out. We got back to town just shy of midnight, and I took a shower and snuck into bed next to Aiden. When Shelby got up and he asked where she was going, I realized no one was actually asleep and something was fishy.
"She's mad at me," Aiden said when she had stepped out the door.
"Oh? Why?"
"Because I had a hard time with the rule when it was in place." He was referencing something that happened back in February, when Shelby had been feeling insecure about my presence in the relationship and tried to deal with it by making a rule that Aiden and I couldn't have sex unless she was around. It went badly for everyone. We didn't actually break the rule, but we had a very hard time following it, and since most of it was a grey area anyway, I'm not sure that we entirely obeyed it, either.
"Oh. Yeah. That came up in conversation last night." I'd mentioned in passing while coming off my own meltdown that I'd had to push him off me once to stay within the bounds of the rule. Shelby said later that she hadn't thought about it at the time, but the next day it had floated to the surface again and she had become angry, feeling that he had tried to take credit for more trust than he'd actually earned.
After a bunch of restlessness and Aiden chasing Shelby around the house, I finally dropped off to sleep. The next morning she had gone to work by the time I woke up, and he came back to bed to snuggle and make puppy eyes at me. I would've been fine with discussing what was going on for a while, but experience told me that he wouldn't snap out of his pouty state until she decided to stop being mad at him, and that could be days. I considered going home rather than wasting my day off, then thought maybe we could still go do something fun.
Then he asked me if I'd be willing to work on the kitchen with him. After an 18-hour work day, on my day off, in his girlfriend's kitchen, in a desperate attempt to make her less mad at him...I said hell no. Not my job, in every possible sense. I went in to work instead, deciding to take a different day off that would hopefully not be wasted.
Shelby messaged me as I was driving out of town and said she hoped she hadn't ruined my day. I said it was already ruined but I wasn't mad at her, that I had left and was going to take a different day off. She suggested I go back, and I explained why that wouldn't be helpful. She was apologetic.
"I didn't mean to ruin your day...but I guess ruining his kind of does that." I said not to worry about it; I probably would've been every bit as pissed in the same situation. She explained to me what she was upset about - that he does things that seem sneaky and sets off her paranoia triggers - and when I got to work, I responded with my own side - that I understood her anger, but the rule had been excessively difficult to follow. She understood that too, and we moved on.
I love how logical she can be when angry. It really works much better for me than trying to empathize emotionally in the stereotypically "female" way. She was concerned that I saw her as naive and stupid, knowing what had happened and that she didn't know about it. I said absolutely not; if anything, that situation makes me the really stupid one, because anything that he does to her, he will more than likely do to me too, eventually...and yet I hang around. Now who's naive? Shelby laughed and said that we're both dumb, but at least we get along.
Aiden also apologized when I told him I was annoyed about his kitchen request. He said he never means to trample the flowers in the garden, but sometimes he does, and then flattens everything trying to make it better. Awkward Turtle stumbles through the room, bumping into walls, knocking over chairs, and apologizing for his clumsiness...
Saturday night my team had a game, and we took a rough beating, but left with the satisfaction that we had accomplished the non-points-related goals we had set for ourselves. On Sunday, Aiden, Shelby, and I hung out at the pool with my derby wife, Ninja, and had a lovely relaxing afternoon. Then Ninja went to a movie with another friend, and the three of us and the kid had dinner and drinks at the house. After dinner I cleaned up and did dishes - our usual balance, since Shelby provides the food and Aiden cooks.
When I finished the dishes, I realized the house was completely silent, and went around looking for everyone. I found the two of them outside smoking pot (the kid was in bed). I made a "WTF" gesture at Aiden through the door, and he just smiled obliviously.
Sometimes when I get angry I rage and pout and stomp off in a huff...but when something is really, seriously wrong, there's a creepy calm that falls over me. I went upstairs, packed my bag, returned to the kitchen, grabbed my computer and my derby gear and all the things that I had left around, and packed up my car. My next action in the past would've been to drive away without saying goodbye, but I had promised both of them that I would work on opening my mouth and speaking when there was a problem, so I went back inside.
I was finishing my drink when they reappeared. "We've been plotting against you," Shelby said. I wasn't mad at her, so I managed not to lose my shit. I just stared at her, downed the last sip of gin, and put the glass in the sink. Aiden went upstairs, and Shelby went to do something in the living room. I took a deep breath, resisted the urge to run one more time, and went upstairs. Aiden was in the bedroom.
"How is it okay," I asked, "to go outside and get fucking high while I do your dishes? What am I, some kind of slave?" I don't like addressing problems with words because I tend to fall apart, and I was losing it fast. I plowed through the rest of my statement before I lost the ability to speak. "That is so disrespectful. I am so hurt right now." And I burst into tears.
Aiden looked shocked. "I didn't mean it like that. I totally see how it came across that way. I'm sorry," he said. Shelby appeared behind me. I don't know if she had heard me or if she's that intuitive, but she immediately knew what was wrong. She took a seat in a chair. I inched toward the door, but Aiden shut it and put his arm against it, probably knowing I was on the verge of making a break for it. I twitched and considered asking him to open it again, but instead I backed away from him as he stepped forward, trapping myself in the corner made by the wall and the bureau.
The starting accusation sounds silly unless you know what's behind it, which is a lot. They prodded me with some questions, and once I got going, I almost couldn't stop. The summary is that Aiden displays addictive behaviors that are triggery to me. Not only do I worry about him, but I worry more and in a more deeply personal way than many people would, because my father was an alcoholic and his addiction tore apart our family before eventually killing him.
I first became aware that he was an addict when I was fourteen, and over the next six years, I watched things fall apart. Our family grew strained. My mom tended toward the "see what consequences your actions have wrought" type of spouse, and harbored a lot of anger toward him, which I adopted. He went to rehab three times, and was never clean for more than six months. He told us he had ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease) and only had a couple of years to live. Then it turned out he was lying. Then he had cancer. But he lied about that too.
My mom kicked him out of the house and he moved to the next town. He had lived there about two years when he went to the emergency room because he was having trouble walking. While there, he had a seizure, and they sedated him. He never woke up again.
I'm not afraid to tell anyone who asks what happened. The usual explanation is, "My dad was an alcoholic with PTSD from the Vietnam war and he drank himself to death." I can say it with absolutely no emotion, and I do so fairly often. My mom tried to tell me that it wasn't appropriate that people know that, and I basically told her to go fuck herself. I refuse to perpetuate the lies with which alcoholic families are so often riddled. I'm not ashamed of who he was or what he did, and if his story can help someone else, I will be happy to tell it a million times.
But I forget that people don't see the emotion behind it. I'm not a fragile person, and I have a pretty solid awareness of my own feelings that allows me a fair amount of control over them. This is undoubtedly the most triggery subject in my life by far, but even then, 99% of the time it's not a problem. I drink; my friends drink; it doesn't concern me.
I started noticing a while ago - actually, the second time that I ever hung out at Aiden and Shelby's place - that he exhibited behaviors around pot that made me uncomfortable. It was a small thing at first, and I ignored it. Very gradually the small things collected and started to bother me more.
The time she asked him, "You're usually itching to go smoke a bowl by now, what's wrong with you?" The time he said he had to go smoke before we worked on the kitchen or he wouldn't be able to work. The several times he's gone to smoke before sex, like he needs to be high to enjoy us. The time she told me, "I just do it because he does it. He needs it." The time I asked him what would happen if he didn't smoke before sex and he couldn't answer me. The time he ran off after sex and before sleeping to go smoke. The time he left me alone at fire camp to go smoke with complete strangers after we had just been warned by the coordinators about the zero-tolerance policy that would get us kicked out for any substance use. The chronic cough I don't think he even realizes he has. The fact that he'll go do it by himself even when Shelby won't go with him. The illogical amount of money he spends on drugs when his boss doesn't even pay him half the time, and I've heard Shelby guilt him about it.
It adds up to a picture that gives me a fucking panic attack. And I felt like I couldn't say anything, for several reasons... (1) It's not something I understand. Pot doesn't do anything to me, so I can't gain any direct empathy for what's happening when he's high. I just know he's different, and it freaks me out. (2) It's not my business to tell him what to do. I don't want to be the controlling bitch who makes demands. (3) I don't have a problem with drinking, and that should be my trigger if anything is, so I feel kind of hypocritical complaining about the pot when I'm happy to drink all night long.
But my emotions finally overcame my logic, and I sobbed and yelled and got icky feelings all over everyone. Shelby was amazing. She sat down and listened and answered my questions and agreed or disagreed where it was relevant, without getting emotional or taking any sides. When she said, "Oh yeah, his addictive personality drives me crazy," I almost started crying again, this time in relief. I wasn't making it up out of my damaged paranoia.
Her theory is that it's actually the cigarettes that are driving Aiden's addictive behaviors and not the pot; that he smokes pot as an excuse for a nicotine fix. She said she had stopped going outside with him recently because she didn't want to condone it. I had noticed that, and had been grateful to her every time she stayed inside, but it didn't change his behavior at all.
They both said they knew it had bothered me to a certain extent, but hadn't known how much (said Aiden) or what to do about it (said Shelby). Aiden said the fact that it bothered me enough to make me freak out and cry - something I don't think he's ever seen me do - made a big impression. Shelby told me it was sweet that I cared that much about him, and I said that was kind of embarrassing. She asked why, then thought about it and said I was totally right, it was embarrassing, and we had a laugh.
After many words and many tears, the going-forward is that they're going to quit cigarettes and see what happens from there. I told him the most important thing is to be honest with me. I understand that quitting is not a straight-line process; there will be slip-ups, and that's okay. What would absolutely not be okay is lying to me about it. My experience with addiction has given me a pretty bleak view on how it goes, particularly on how many lies will be told to salvage the addiction at the expense of the loved ones. I'm aware that that experience was not had with Aiden, however, and I'm going to do my best not to smear it all over him.
I spent Monday in a truck with two of the guys from work. We drove 800 miles between 5am and midnight to pick up some equipment in another state. When we decided in the afternoon to do the whole trip in one day rather than staying over, I told Aiden I'd have the next day off, and he called in to work so we could hang out. We got back to town just shy of midnight, and I took a shower and snuck into bed next to Aiden. When Shelby got up and he asked where she was going, I realized no one was actually asleep and something was fishy.
"She's mad at me," Aiden said when she had stepped out the door.
"Oh? Why?"
"Because I had a hard time with the rule when it was in place." He was referencing something that happened back in February, when Shelby had been feeling insecure about my presence in the relationship and tried to deal with it by making a rule that Aiden and I couldn't have sex unless she was around. It went badly for everyone. We didn't actually break the rule, but we had a very hard time following it, and since most of it was a grey area anyway, I'm not sure that we entirely obeyed it, either.
"Oh. Yeah. That came up in conversation last night." I'd mentioned in passing while coming off my own meltdown that I'd had to push him off me once to stay within the bounds of the rule. Shelby said later that she hadn't thought about it at the time, but the next day it had floated to the surface again and she had become angry, feeling that he had tried to take credit for more trust than he'd actually earned.
After a bunch of restlessness and Aiden chasing Shelby around the house, I finally dropped off to sleep. The next morning she had gone to work by the time I woke up, and he came back to bed to snuggle and make puppy eyes at me. I would've been fine with discussing what was going on for a while, but experience told me that he wouldn't snap out of his pouty state until she decided to stop being mad at him, and that could be days. I considered going home rather than wasting my day off, then thought maybe we could still go do something fun.
Then he asked me if I'd be willing to work on the kitchen with him. After an 18-hour work day, on my day off, in his girlfriend's kitchen, in a desperate attempt to make her less mad at him...I said hell no. Not my job, in every possible sense. I went in to work instead, deciding to take a different day off that would hopefully not be wasted.
Shelby messaged me as I was driving out of town and said she hoped she hadn't ruined my day. I said it was already ruined but I wasn't mad at her, that I had left and was going to take a different day off. She suggested I go back, and I explained why that wouldn't be helpful. She was apologetic.
"I didn't mean to ruin your day...but I guess ruining his kind of does that." I said not to worry about it; I probably would've been every bit as pissed in the same situation. She explained to me what she was upset about - that he does things that seem sneaky and sets off her paranoia triggers - and when I got to work, I responded with my own side - that I understood her anger, but the rule had been excessively difficult to follow. She understood that too, and we moved on.
I love how logical she can be when angry. It really works much better for me than trying to empathize emotionally in the stereotypically "female" way. She was concerned that I saw her as naive and stupid, knowing what had happened and that she didn't know about it. I said absolutely not; if anything, that situation makes me the really stupid one, because anything that he does to her, he will more than likely do to me too, eventually...and yet I hang around. Now who's naive? Shelby laughed and said that we're both dumb, but at least we get along.
Aiden also apologized when I told him I was annoyed about his kitchen request. He said he never means to trample the flowers in the garden, but sometimes he does, and then flattens everything trying to make it better. Awkward Turtle stumbles through the room, bumping into walls, knocking over chairs, and apologizing for his clumsiness...
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Night Walk, part 1 [fiction]
a story by Skylar
The darkened room became bright as electric day for a long moment, a suspended flash of lightning that told me the following thunder would be severe. I smiled, enjoying the image of Aiden's naked shoulder covered with a light sheen of sweat, burned into my retinas long after we were plunged back into darkness.
A crack echoed from the sky straight down through my bones, spilling apart and rolling through the air like an avalanche of giant boulders. The walls shook and the windows rattled.
I sat up in bed and turned to look outside, resting my chin on the windowsill to enjoy the view. Dust whipped up and blew down the sidewalk in miniature funnels, pulling grass clippings and trash along in the frenzy. A stray speck of sand, escaping the coming onslaught, flew in through the screen and stung my cheek. I brushed my face absently with the back of my hand, watching the light show in the sky put the weak glow of the streetlight to shame.
The bed shifted under me, and a moment later I felt Aiden's chin on my shoulder and his arm across my back. His skin was even hotter than the summer night.
"Hi Kitten," he whispered in my ear.
I opened my mouth to reply but was drowned out by the sudden smack of rain against the window. The drops hurled themselves through the screen and were shattered, splashing over my face and arms and creating puddles on the windowsill. A drop of sweat ran down my back.
"You're wet," Aiden said, running a finger down my spine. I shivered as his touch passed over my lower back and heat flared between my legs.
"Not wet enough," I answered, standing up on the bed. "Come on."
I leaped onto the floor and headed out of the room. I couldn't hear his footsteps, but I knew he was following me. Pulling open the back door, I stepped onto the porch and took a deep breath. The warm, soggy air smelled of freshly dampened pavement and rain; the mist splashing off the porch rails coated my thighs, and then my waist and my chest as I took another step forward. I walked down the steps and jumped into the empty street, splashing in the small rivers running down the hill. The downpour soaked my hair in seconds.
The screen door slammed and Aiden splashed down beside me. Admiring him in the dim glow of the street light on the corner, I realized neither of us had bothered to put on clothes before going out into the neighborhood. I grinned. The likelihood of anyone seeing us this deep in the night was so small, it didn't matter.
"Street swimming?" he asked, grinning back at me and raising his eyebrows.
"Hm," I said, pretending to consider it seriously. "It's a little...shallow, don't you think?"
"I think we can go plenty deep," he said, grabbing the back of my neck with one hand and kissing me hard. The rain sheeted down our faces as I wrapped my arms around him and returned the kiss. Our tongues played games, and the feel of his lips started to melt my insides. I ran my hands up his back and over his shoulders. He pressed himself closer to me, and his cock brushed my thighs as he started to get hard.
A sudden splash in the street grabbed my attention, and light washed over us as a car turned the corner.
"Shit!" I said, diving for the side of the road. I jumped over the neighbor's split-rail fence as the car got closer, and saw Aiden do the same out of the corner of my eye. We paused on the grass, waiting for the car to go by, but it pulled even with us and stopped, and a surprised face peered through the driver's window. Aiden and I looked at each other, laughed, and took off running.
We headed through the neighbor's yard, around the house, and over the fence on the other side into the street the car had come from. I crossed the road and cut through the corner of the mechanic's parking lot, Aiden following me now, and sprinted down a side street. Into and out of the yellow circle cast by another street lamp, I plunged into the dark. The scraps of light that usually shone down the street were masked by the rain, and I slowed to a jog.
Avoiding street lamps and some driveways that I knew had automatic floodlights brought us to a deserted back street that climbed a hill. The few driveways that led off it were too long for the houses to be visible. The only exception was the house on the corner, with a driveway that opened onto both streets, separating the house from a fenced-in section of yard. The area beyond the fence was dark, and a steady hum emanated from somewhere inside, barely audible over the splashing of the rain. It sounded familiar, and I had an idea.
"That sounds like fun," suggested Aiden, reading my mind.
"Gate?" I wondered out loud, feeling along the fence. I turned a corner and splashed up the driveway, running my hand along the boards as I went. Several yards on, part of the fence shifted under my touch, and a tell-tale rattle showed me the way. We stepped through the gate and I latched it behind us.
A dim light shone through some bushes, and I picked my way toward it, unsure what might be under my feet between here and there. The answer was alternately grass and some kind of concrete pavers. Aiden made his way ahead of me, more confident that he could handle whatever he might step on in the dark.
The pool showed over the tops of the knee-high bushes before we reached them. Aiden stepped over onto the surround, and a moment later I followed. The water was lit with a beautiful glow that would've disappeared in the dimmest dawn, but that was just shy of blinding in the pitch black of night. The water's surface was broken into a million tiny shards by the rain, and the blue speckled tiles below gave the whole thing an otherworldly sheen.
I wanted to jump in, but feared the splash would draw attention, so I sat on the edge and dipped my feet, then lowered myself down on my palms. The mud I had picked up in the yard swirled away from my feet like ink drops. I tried not to squeal as the cold edge of the water climbed my thighs, my stomach, and my chest. As I let go and sank all the way under, Aiden dove in beside me, somehow managing to get under the surface with barely a splash. The noise of the rain disappeared down here, erased by the steady roar of water pressing on my ears. Forcing my eyes open, I watched him sail through the water, weightless in a cloud of light, then turn sharply and come toward me.
I let out my breath and bobbed to the surface. I felt his hands brush my thighs, then his chest, and he slid himself up my body and popped out of the water. The world was one giant splash for a moment as my ears tuned in. I grabbed the lip of the pool behind me and pushed myself up on my palms. He grinned, shook his head like a dog, and put his hands on the pool deck on either side of my hips.
"I've never seen you so happy to be underwater," he said, pressing himself against me and pinning my hips to the wall with his.
"It's a great night to be wet," I said, returning his grin. I slid down, put my elbows on the rim, and wrapped my legs around his hips. Hooking my ankles together behind his ass, I held him tightly, pressing my lips against him. I felt his cock start to get hard again, and his eyes narrowed as his smile took on a twisted flavor. I shivered, wondering what terrible plan he was concocting for me.
He pushed off toward the center of the pool, and my elbows slipped off the ledge. I had just enough time to draw a quick breath before I sank. I'd never been good at floating, but upon realizing how fast I was sinking, I looked down and saw that Aiden had pushed himself under and was dragging me down with him. I unwrapped my legs and started to swim upward, but he grabbed my ankles and stopped me short, my hands reaching the air but my face still several inches from the surface.
He let go of one ankle and put his hand on my knee, then his other hand on my thigh, dragging me back down to the bottom. I stopped fighting and let myself sink, landing lightly on my knees. His smile was approving, and he put a hand on my chest and pushed me back against the wall, straddling my lap and kneeling on the floor so I couldn't get up.
I didn't like being that far under, and a feeling of panic welled up as I realized he had me trapped. I started to struggle, but he leaned forward and put his lips on mine, grabbing a handful of my hair and holding my head against the wall. Momentarily distracted, I kissed him back, my flailing hands slowing their chase and coming to a quiet inertia in the weightless void. I tasted chlorine and tried not to swallow it. Eventually my body demanded air, and I went to tap him on the shoulder, but he was already releasing me. We popped to the surface, gasping in the rain.
I hadn't taken more than a breath when he grabbed me by the throat and shoved me to the edge, pinning the back of my neck against the concrete rim. His fingers pressed insistently on either side of my throat, and I focused on his face as the rest of the world turned liquid and started to slide out of view. The sadistic gleam in his eyes told me I was in a world of trouble. There was no place I'd rather be, really...in this beautiful fairyland, drenched by the pouring rain...completely owned, lost...
[to be continued]
The darkened room became bright as electric day for a long moment, a suspended flash of lightning that told me the following thunder would be severe. I smiled, enjoying the image of Aiden's naked shoulder covered with a light sheen of sweat, burned into my retinas long after we were plunged back into darkness.
A crack echoed from the sky straight down through my bones, spilling apart and rolling through the air like an avalanche of giant boulders. The walls shook and the windows rattled.
I sat up in bed and turned to look outside, resting my chin on the windowsill to enjoy the view. Dust whipped up and blew down the sidewalk in miniature funnels, pulling grass clippings and trash along in the frenzy. A stray speck of sand, escaping the coming onslaught, flew in through the screen and stung my cheek. I brushed my face absently with the back of my hand, watching the light show in the sky put the weak glow of the streetlight to shame.
The bed shifted under me, and a moment later I felt Aiden's chin on my shoulder and his arm across my back. His skin was even hotter than the summer night.
"Hi Kitten," he whispered in my ear.
I opened my mouth to reply but was drowned out by the sudden smack of rain against the window. The drops hurled themselves through the screen and were shattered, splashing over my face and arms and creating puddles on the windowsill. A drop of sweat ran down my back.
"You're wet," Aiden said, running a finger down my spine. I shivered as his touch passed over my lower back and heat flared between my legs.
"Not wet enough," I answered, standing up on the bed. "Come on."
I leaped onto the floor and headed out of the room. I couldn't hear his footsteps, but I knew he was following me. Pulling open the back door, I stepped onto the porch and took a deep breath. The warm, soggy air smelled of freshly dampened pavement and rain; the mist splashing off the porch rails coated my thighs, and then my waist and my chest as I took another step forward. I walked down the steps and jumped into the empty street, splashing in the small rivers running down the hill. The downpour soaked my hair in seconds.
The screen door slammed and Aiden splashed down beside me. Admiring him in the dim glow of the street light on the corner, I realized neither of us had bothered to put on clothes before going out into the neighborhood. I grinned. The likelihood of anyone seeing us this deep in the night was so small, it didn't matter.
"Street swimming?" he asked, grinning back at me and raising his eyebrows.
"Hm," I said, pretending to consider it seriously. "It's a little...shallow, don't you think?"
"I think we can go plenty deep," he said, grabbing the back of my neck with one hand and kissing me hard. The rain sheeted down our faces as I wrapped my arms around him and returned the kiss. Our tongues played games, and the feel of his lips started to melt my insides. I ran my hands up his back and over his shoulders. He pressed himself closer to me, and his cock brushed my thighs as he started to get hard.
A sudden splash in the street grabbed my attention, and light washed over us as a car turned the corner.
"Shit!" I said, diving for the side of the road. I jumped over the neighbor's split-rail fence as the car got closer, and saw Aiden do the same out of the corner of my eye. We paused on the grass, waiting for the car to go by, but it pulled even with us and stopped, and a surprised face peered through the driver's window. Aiden and I looked at each other, laughed, and took off running.
We headed through the neighbor's yard, around the house, and over the fence on the other side into the street the car had come from. I crossed the road and cut through the corner of the mechanic's parking lot, Aiden following me now, and sprinted down a side street. Into and out of the yellow circle cast by another street lamp, I plunged into the dark. The scraps of light that usually shone down the street were masked by the rain, and I slowed to a jog.
Avoiding street lamps and some driveways that I knew had automatic floodlights brought us to a deserted back street that climbed a hill. The few driveways that led off it were too long for the houses to be visible. The only exception was the house on the corner, with a driveway that opened onto both streets, separating the house from a fenced-in section of yard. The area beyond the fence was dark, and a steady hum emanated from somewhere inside, barely audible over the splashing of the rain. It sounded familiar, and I had an idea.
"That sounds like fun," suggested Aiden, reading my mind.
"Gate?" I wondered out loud, feeling along the fence. I turned a corner and splashed up the driveway, running my hand along the boards as I went. Several yards on, part of the fence shifted under my touch, and a tell-tale rattle showed me the way. We stepped through the gate and I latched it behind us.
A dim light shone through some bushes, and I picked my way toward it, unsure what might be under my feet between here and there. The answer was alternately grass and some kind of concrete pavers. Aiden made his way ahead of me, more confident that he could handle whatever he might step on in the dark.
The pool showed over the tops of the knee-high bushes before we reached them. Aiden stepped over onto the surround, and a moment later I followed. The water was lit with a beautiful glow that would've disappeared in the dimmest dawn, but that was just shy of blinding in the pitch black of night. The water's surface was broken into a million tiny shards by the rain, and the blue speckled tiles below gave the whole thing an otherworldly sheen.
I wanted to jump in, but feared the splash would draw attention, so I sat on the edge and dipped my feet, then lowered myself down on my palms. The mud I had picked up in the yard swirled away from my feet like ink drops. I tried not to squeal as the cold edge of the water climbed my thighs, my stomach, and my chest. As I let go and sank all the way under, Aiden dove in beside me, somehow managing to get under the surface with barely a splash. The noise of the rain disappeared down here, erased by the steady roar of water pressing on my ears. Forcing my eyes open, I watched him sail through the water, weightless in a cloud of light, then turn sharply and come toward me.
I let out my breath and bobbed to the surface. I felt his hands brush my thighs, then his chest, and he slid himself up my body and popped out of the water. The world was one giant splash for a moment as my ears tuned in. I grabbed the lip of the pool behind me and pushed myself up on my palms. He grinned, shook his head like a dog, and put his hands on the pool deck on either side of my hips.
"I've never seen you so happy to be underwater," he said, pressing himself against me and pinning my hips to the wall with his.
"It's a great night to be wet," I said, returning his grin. I slid down, put my elbows on the rim, and wrapped my legs around his hips. Hooking my ankles together behind his ass, I held him tightly, pressing my lips against him. I felt his cock start to get hard again, and his eyes narrowed as his smile took on a twisted flavor. I shivered, wondering what terrible plan he was concocting for me.
He pushed off toward the center of the pool, and my elbows slipped off the ledge. I had just enough time to draw a quick breath before I sank. I'd never been good at floating, but upon realizing how fast I was sinking, I looked down and saw that Aiden had pushed himself under and was dragging me down with him. I unwrapped my legs and started to swim upward, but he grabbed my ankles and stopped me short, my hands reaching the air but my face still several inches from the surface.
He let go of one ankle and put his hand on my knee, then his other hand on my thigh, dragging me back down to the bottom. I stopped fighting and let myself sink, landing lightly on my knees. His smile was approving, and he put a hand on my chest and pushed me back against the wall, straddling my lap and kneeling on the floor so I couldn't get up.
I didn't like being that far under, and a feeling of panic welled up as I realized he had me trapped. I started to struggle, but he leaned forward and put his lips on mine, grabbing a handful of my hair and holding my head against the wall. Momentarily distracted, I kissed him back, my flailing hands slowing their chase and coming to a quiet inertia in the weightless void. I tasted chlorine and tried not to swallow it. Eventually my body demanded air, and I went to tap him on the shoulder, but he was already releasing me. We popped to the surface, gasping in the rain.
I hadn't taken more than a breath when he grabbed me by the throat and shoved me to the edge, pinning the back of my neck against the concrete rim. His fingers pressed insistently on either side of my throat, and I focused on his face as the rest of the world turned liquid and started to slide out of view. The sadistic gleam in his eyes told me I was in a world of trouble. There was no place I'd rather be, really...in this beautiful fairyland, drenched by the pouring rain...completely owned, lost...
[to be continued]
Monday, July 14, 2014
Getting Wet
Underwater play is one of those ideas that initially occurred to me in the form, "Ha, that would be a stupid thing to do!" It waited 'til I wasn't looking anymore and then sneakily morphed from stupid to fascinating. Sometimes I don't understand how my own mind works.
When I was very little, I nearly drowned twice, once in a swimming pool and once under an inflatable boat in the ocean. Upon becoming a slightly bigger little kid, I took basic swimming lessons, and I did okay. I didn't like putting my face in the water but eventually got over it and learned to love swimming fully underwater. I learned to snorkel in the Cayman islands around the age of 10 or 12 and fell in love; I spent hours drifting in the ocean, admiring the reefs and the fish, discovering a beautiful wonderland.
Around 14 or so, I suddenly developed a fear of swimming pools. I was swimming at my neighbor's, and upon opening my eyes underwater, the sight of the distorted floor and walls and the lights and the drains looking back at me was suddenly the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. I exited with haste and never looked at pools the same way again. I'll still get in them, but they freak me the hell out. I've never really understood what happened that day.
During a class trip to Mexico around my 18th birthday, I nearly drowned again. We were swimming in the Gulf, and I stumbled off an underwater cliff, got pulled under a wave by the riptide, and sucked in a lungful of ocean. Flailing and choking, I had the presence of mind to wait for a dip between waves and scream for help before going under again. A classmate heard me, grabbed me, and swam me to shore, where I puked on my teacher's feet and then sat shivering in the hot sun for a while, processing what had just happened.
I will still get into water, but I avoid the ocean, and I usually don't put my head in. Recently, however, I've been on a roll of facing down my fears, and I decided to add this one to the list. I'm doing damn well conquering my fear of heights (which also cropped up mysteriously in my early teens), and water is my new project.
Aiden, Shelby, their friend Carrie, little Aiden, and I went to Shelby's grandparents' yesterday and spent a lovely hot afternoon in their pool. I began with a jump off the diving board and then started trying to do handstands in the shallow end. I used to be able to do them, but I couldn't seem to figure it out. Every time I put my head under, I lasted about five seconds before popping up again, fighting back panic.
Carrie pointed out there were swim goggles in the poolhouse, and I went and grabbed a pair. Not having to constantly wipe the chlorine out of my eyes would certainly help. With shiny new purple fish eyes, I left the handstands for later and started doing bobs to reaccustom myself to putting my head under the water repeatedly.
I noticed Aiden watching me intently and gave him a quizzical look.
"I've never seen you have such an intense panic response," he said. "It's really interesting."
"Have I mentioned that I don't like water?"
"Of course. It makes me think twice about playing with you in this environment."
"Well, not right away," I agreed. "I'm working on it on my own right now. But I'll get there."
By the end of the afternoon, I could go from edge to edge completely underwater. I couldn't quite make end-to-end yet, but I'll get there. I really like that particular pool because it has no floor drain, making the underwater view more scenic than threatening.
I spent the last half hour or so sharing Aiden's inner tube, cuddled up on his back with my chin on his shoulder, while the three of them discussed the merits of carnivals and theme parks. Eventually the girls got out, and Aiden turned to face me. We were still squeezed together in the inner tube, so I picked up my legs and wrapped them around his waist.
"Look what you did," he said, after a few minutes of kissing and petting. I didn't need to look; I could feel him.
I grinned. "I'd say sorry...but I'd be lying."
When I was very little, I nearly drowned twice, once in a swimming pool and once under an inflatable boat in the ocean. Upon becoming a slightly bigger little kid, I took basic swimming lessons, and I did okay. I didn't like putting my face in the water but eventually got over it and learned to love swimming fully underwater. I learned to snorkel in the Cayman islands around the age of 10 or 12 and fell in love; I spent hours drifting in the ocean, admiring the reefs and the fish, discovering a beautiful wonderland.
Around 14 or so, I suddenly developed a fear of swimming pools. I was swimming at my neighbor's, and upon opening my eyes underwater, the sight of the distorted floor and walls and the lights and the drains looking back at me was suddenly the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. I exited with haste and never looked at pools the same way again. I'll still get in them, but they freak me the hell out. I've never really understood what happened that day.
During a class trip to Mexico around my 18th birthday, I nearly drowned again. We were swimming in the Gulf, and I stumbled off an underwater cliff, got pulled under a wave by the riptide, and sucked in a lungful of ocean. Flailing and choking, I had the presence of mind to wait for a dip between waves and scream for help before going under again. A classmate heard me, grabbed me, and swam me to shore, where I puked on my teacher's feet and then sat shivering in the hot sun for a while, processing what had just happened.
I will still get into water, but I avoid the ocean, and I usually don't put my head in. Recently, however, I've been on a roll of facing down my fears, and I decided to add this one to the list. I'm doing damn well conquering my fear of heights (which also cropped up mysteriously in my early teens), and water is my new project.
Aiden, Shelby, their friend Carrie, little Aiden, and I went to Shelby's grandparents' yesterday and spent a lovely hot afternoon in their pool. I began with a jump off the diving board and then started trying to do handstands in the shallow end. I used to be able to do them, but I couldn't seem to figure it out. Every time I put my head under, I lasted about five seconds before popping up again, fighting back panic.
Carrie pointed out there were swim goggles in the poolhouse, and I went and grabbed a pair. Not having to constantly wipe the chlorine out of my eyes would certainly help. With shiny new purple fish eyes, I left the handstands for later and started doing bobs to reaccustom myself to putting my head under the water repeatedly.
I noticed Aiden watching me intently and gave him a quizzical look.
"I've never seen you have such an intense panic response," he said. "It's really interesting."
"Have I mentioned that I don't like water?"
"Of course. It makes me think twice about playing with you in this environment."
"Well, not right away," I agreed. "I'm working on it on my own right now. But I'll get there."
By the end of the afternoon, I could go from edge to edge completely underwater. I couldn't quite make end-to-end yet, but I'll get there. I really like that particular pool because it has no floor drain, making the underwater view more scenic than threatening.
I spent the last half hour or so sharing Aiden's inner tube, cuddled up on his back with my chin on his shoulder, while the three of them discussed the merits of carnivals and theme parks. Eventually the girls got out, and Aiden turned to face me. We were still squeezed together in the inner tube, so I picked up my legs and wrapped them around his waist.
"Look what you did," he said, after a few minutes of kissing and petting. I didn't need to look; I could feel him.
I grinned. "I'd say sorry...but I'd be lying."
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