Creative Chamber (Part One)

A life of curves presents the slow reveal, that often pays grand dividends at the end! This much I've learned. Patience can be a virtue sometimes. "Shackled", "caged", "suppressed liberation", "aching for release"; all some of my favorite expressions of late, to describe my "sensual" reality up to date? but I'm "married". Yes "married", if that's what you want to call it, living this damn cloistered life, which in my mind does not constitute a REAL marriage. Hey? I didn't sign on for this, trust me! But then... patience dear reader, I promise to reveal all, but hang on tight, there are blind curves ahead. On closer inspection, looking back in time -- you know that ol' saying: " hindsight is 20/20", I can see where her inability to celebrate her god-given gifts (and she was a stunner, let me tell you), and her reluctance to "gift" me with her charms, all stemmed from a repressive guilt-ridden upbringing. Now that I look back -- yea ok, so I "look back" a lot! Suck mine! It comes with a life of riding a Harley and a life filled with regrets. I can remember what a cold house-hold it was to visit, during the dating phase, the "I'm going to get into that virutous virgin Catholic girls panties if it's the last thing I do tonight" phase. Yea, I was THAT guy... well... EVERY guy really. At the time I really didn't give all that much attention to the lack of physical contact between her parents, nor the strict adherence to Catholic doctrine and dogma that permeated and echoed from the family walls like some joy-crushing funeral durge. I failed to focus on the demanding mother and the overt constant competition with little brother. şişli escort Hell, it's hard to concentrate on much of anything other than pussy when your young, hung, and horny... and ohh, did I mention the drugs? Ok, so yea, suck me again, I was THAT guy too. Whether it was pot or acid, or magic shrumes, I still maintained my alterior and primary target while in that house, that being SHE, my "one true love". Ok... ok... sheesh, I'll admit it, any "true love" of mine at the time was between the neck and knees, oh and between my legs. But... she was a total "angel", honest... you just had to be there! Then there were the "dates", oh brother... it must have been love! Me behind the wheel, her as far away as possible on the passenger side, while all I kept thinking was how much I was investing in return for... well... the "return". Oh yes, for those of you who never had that blissful experience, a right of passage really, I'm talking here about "drive-in" movies, where you bring a girl you're pretty damn certain will fulfill her obligation for the privilege of sitting in your primed and polished alter of love, fuck the movie... "what movie?" But this little Bo Peep, this little virgin sheep, she seemed to be determined that virginity she would keep! Come to think of it, even at parties, while other guy's girlfriends where sitting in their laps or running their hands and fingers through their hair, or inside their shirts, or allowing a stray hand to creep up his thigh, finding and covering up the evidence of his desire to excape the scene and complete his quest for her moistening cunt, well... escort şişli yup... sure enough, there was my "date" sitting across the room. Did I say "it must have been love" yet? Yea, I did didn't I. Suck me! Get this... I fucking married her. Skip ahead some years, you know... the ones after the first 10 years of pure frigid ice that I chisled away at. Of course that's when all the hot babes were dropping their phone numbers and addresses onto my desk at my office, or into my truck window. All the offers I ignored because I just wanted one thing... HER! How many times did she ignore anything sensual I had bought home as hints, as gifts? The endless calm conversations about wants and desires, even confessing to the others who were tempting me away. Ice Queen, that was her alright. How many times did I express my needs to her? You don't know, but I sure the hell do. Instead of availing herself to any number of classy expensive evening wear acutrements I acquired for her, she would choose to wear that prison-garb "thing" (I called it). She insisted on wearing it and similar around the house or to bed. Hell, I'll bet assigned clothing in some Russian Gulag had more style than most everything she chose to "lure" me with. "Lure", now there's a funny choice of word. "Lure or even allure" never found a way into her vocabulary or her imagination, and even when I eventually told her flat out (what you already know now), that there was more than a few women who were doing their best to "LURE" me, and that I was only human, and that she better wake up if she was serious about keeping me? well, no mecidiyeköy result there either, unless you call silently staring at a blank wall a "result". No conversations, no discussions what-so-ever. No anger, no rebukes, no show of any emotion period. Silence? always that deafening silence. I went slowly mad. I developed this inner acid, this hole, this resentment, this love-hate relationship over the years, but being always the noble committed guy, coming from a committed household myself, I stuck it out. Not wanting to let the rest of the family down, or most of all the kids, I suffered for my eventual silence -- yes damn it all, I adopted her tool for my own sanity. I turned to my writing, to reading, to my dream worlds, focused all my pent up desires and fantasies on my own created inner world, my escape. Ohh the exploits I created! The livid opulant, lush and sensual worlds, poetry, lyrics... they poured through me, out of me, just as my warm wet elixir was so often self extracted as I became an expert at self pleasuring, self manipulation, exercises to prolong and emphasize the explosive conclusion to such errotic episodes. I poured my energy into my fitness, to working out, hiking. I was determined that she would not deflate me, castrate me. It was through writing actually that I met another writer, one who not only shared my love of the word, but one who shared my thirst, my hunger, my desire for something more sensual in my life. One who shared my regret at not having lived more fully, more passionately when it came to matters of our libidos, or eros spirit. She was open, honest, expressive, engaged in her own quest to seek out something less orthodox, more explosive, less restrictive. She took pride in her God given gifts, and yes, she was indeed worthy of such pride. My own "bride" had long ago forgone any such measures or interest, but then no surprise there.