Scars can be physical, emotional or mental. Whatever their shape or form we all bear them in one way or the other. Our scars are part of what makes us human. They are a testament to our fragility and vulnerability.They serve as reminders of our mortality and they always tell a story of the places we have been and what we have been through. Some of us wear them as badges of honour, displaying them for the rest of the world to see. These are usually the more visible physical scars. The ones that boldly declare that, ‘I have overcome and I am a warrior.’
But when it comes to the emotional or mental scars most of us work very hard to hide these from the glare of the world. However, more often than not it is these scars that become an integral part of who we are. They define us and our relationships with others, for better or worse. In most cases these scars are a result of a traumatic experience. Unfortunately most people don’t get the help they need to deal with the trauma that brought about the scars.Even though these scars are indelibly imprinted across our hearts and psyche we don’t always acknowledge how much they change us.Instead we worry about how the world would judge or treat us differently if they knew the stories behind these scars. And because we hide these scars from our friends, family and lovers they never familiarise themselves with our struggle and will never quite fully understand us or our actions.
Once in a while though someone comes along and they get close enough to see the scars that we are so desperately trying to hide.In such cases we are then forced to deal with the very demons we have been trying to pretend do not exist. And if we are lucky these people might help us deal with the lingering trauma that remains from these scars. If we let them.
I have written about some of my own scars both physical and emotional on this blog before. It has often been a cathartic process that has gone a long way in helping me own my scars. Today I want to write from a different perspective, that of the other person, who inadvertently discovers another’s scars and what that experience is like.
I once became close with this woman who on the surface was one of the most beautiful, vivacious, confident women you could ever meet. She was an independent and focused career woman. She had literally grabbed this life thing by the balls and had it at her mercy. When she walked into a room people noticed. She had this indefinable mystique and aura about her that seemed to simultaneously draw you in and keep you at a distance. Everyone seemed to know her and if they didn’t they wanted to get to know her. But her physical presence was merely a superficial mask that hid an even more amazing inner beauty that manifested itself in her graciousness, intellect and wit.
And from the get go I was enamoured with her. In so many ways she embodied many of the qualities that I find attractive in women. She was also a few years older than me. At the time we met I was 27 and she was 30. She alsomade it abundantly clear from the very beginning that she wasn’t looking for anything serious. I was totally on board. In fact I was just happy to be in the presence of such an amazing woman, but before I get carried away let me get to the story of how we met.
The circumstances of our meeting were quite fortuitous if I am to be entirely honest. It had been a rather quite night out at one of my favourite lounge bars. And as I was getting ready to call it a night I started making my way to the exit and that is when we literally bumped into each other. In the process I spilled the drink she had in her hand. Real smooth, I know. Embarrassed I apologized profusely for my clumsiness and offered to replace her drink. She gave me this smile that said aaawww cute, before politely declining my offer saying she was on her way out anyway. Maybe it was her smile, (it definitely was her smile) and also the fact that she took the whole incident within her stride that resonated with me and before I knew it I instinctively offered to make up for it another time. This again was out of character for me as nine times out of ten I would have just walked away with my tail between my legs but I didn’t. She already had a hold of me and to my surprise she agreed. As exchanged numbers one of her girlfriends mouthed ‘Girl he cute’. For once it seemed my clumsiness had turned to be quite the able wingman.
We met up post spill gate a couple of days later and we hit it off immediately. What started off as sundowners turned into another late night in which she invited me to join her and a couple of her others friends. Seeing us you would have thought we had known each other forever. Over the following days and weeks we increasingly spent more and more time together. During that time we were seeing each other I began to notice that she liked to be in control. Initially I put it down to her being older than me and it didn’t really bother me at first.
This was until we started getting intimate with each other. That is when I realized that her need to be in control extended to our sex life. She always had to be on top and always resisted any attempts I made to take the lead or change the status quo in any way. Admittedly she had the most unbelievable pelvic muscle control so I wasn’t really complaining too much. She knew what she wanted and how she wanted it and I was living la vida loca.
Everything was going well but I still struggled to understand her need to always be in control on the sexual front. Was it because I was younger than her and she assumed that I didn’t know what I was doing or wouldn’t be able to satisfy her needs? The more I thought about this the harder it became to just ignore this aspect of our ‘relationship’.
One day whilst laying in bed post coitus I casually teased her on her need to always be in control during sex. I hinted that I would surprise her if she let me. She immediately shot me down. In a flash she went from warm and relaxed to agitated and defensive and this caught me completely off guard. This was the first time I had seen this side of her. I quickly abandoned my attempts of getting to the bottom of the whole issue, but this was only after she had told me in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t like the way things were I could be on my way. She reminded me that she made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t looking for anything serious. ‘This wasn’t a love thang.’ Anyway I dropped it and for the next couple of days we carried on as usual and pretended this little episode never happened.
Unbeknown to me I had struck a raw nerve with my teasing and I was soon to found out exactly how much in the most dramatic of circumstances. A couple of days later she encouraged me take the lead for the first time. At first I was hesitant but she cajoled me with her teasing and unlike her days earlier I gladly obliged. I felt her gradually let go and let me in ways she hadn’t before and as we both lost in the intensity of each other and it was beautiful … at first. Then mid coitus her body tensed rather abruptly. I froze mid stroke. Before I could say anything she pushed me off her and she started sobbing uncontrollably.
‘Are you OK? No response, just more sobbing.
She clearly wasn’t OK.
To be continued …