Obla-di obla-da....
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Posted:Sep 7, 2008 2:08 pm
Last Updated:Nov 29, 2008 10:45 am
2065 Views
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...life goes on...
And it did. Life with the Meteor was mostly uneventful, with periods of rage, expressed by him.
I should have been wise enough to leave, but I was so invested in having a successful marriage, and too proud to admit that I had made a mistake by marrying him. We settled in to life together, living more as roommates, than husband and wife.
Everyday, for months I would ask, hint, beg, plead, seduce, whatever, to no avail. He didn't want me that way. I'd beat myself up, thinking if only I were thinner, prettier, had bigger boobs, smaller boobs, a tighter pussy, a juicier ass, a more talented tongue, whatever. Nothing ever worked. I tired talking about it, bringing it up, it only made him angry.
So, I masturbated. A LOT! I burned out the motors of many, many vibes, so much that I figured out how to rig 'em so I didn't have to go out and buy a new one every time the motor burned out. Hell sometimes I didn't even turn it on at all. I fucked myself, at the height of my masturbation addiction, 25 times a day. I did it when he was there.... when he wasn't there... even while he was laying in bed next to me, asleep. Nothing could get him to be interested in having sex with his wife.
Why? Because he was too busy screwing around outside the home.
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Finally, I got this one up!!!
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Posted:Sep 7, 2008 10:58 am
Last Updated:May 29, 2024 11:10 pm
1925 Views
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On Friday, I attempted to post the next blog in this series....
Each time, SOMETHING happened to prevent that. A combination of losing power, getting busy, and my stupid laptop and it's desire to taunt me. No matter.
I am forced to begin again. Which is frustrating, because I never save as I write, it is typically a stream of consciousness and my memory working to spin the tale, that has been my life so far.
I write, as if I am speaking to you. I do not write in words that I wouldn't say if you were sitting right next to me, on the phone, or in an e-mail. I write as honest as my memory can be, ya know given that perspective and perception occasionally cloud the whole truth.
So, allow me to continue with the truth of my life, told with bias by me.
Okay, so where did I leave off.... Ah, that's right, the incident with my puppy.
I went through my life everyday very cautiously. He didn't REALLY want me to work. I was still in the romantic fog that I was in some 1950's war movie. Wife stays home to raise the and take care of her husband, and if there aren't any yet, she prepares the home for her husband each day in an effort to make his life easier, sacrificing her needs, want, and desires.
I wouldn't have called myself naive, but I had romantic ideals about life, marriage, and the role that I should take as a woman in it.
I still believe that women are the fairer sex, and that men should be masculine, and have an innate need to care for the women in his life, and in exchange women, create beauty, provide solace, and offer sensitivity to the man. It is mutual. A give and take.
That said, I believed it was MY job, to ensure that a traditional household was maintained. I created a very strict cleaning, cooking, and entertainment schedule. I ran that place like a war ship! I kept up with that regime, almost daily, and it helped me to ignore that my world was falling down around me.
He hated for me to volunteer for any activities outside the house, so at first, making friends was difficult. But as soon as I knew my way around a little, I would lay in wait, anytime a new family moved on to my block.
As soon as they pulled in to the driveway, to check the place out, I would guess about how many family members there were, and anticipate what their needs might be while they wait for the moving truck to come a few weeks later. I'd quickly get to work, baking something. A cake, pie, cookies, whatever I had ingredients for, and the mind to create. As soon as it was prepared, I would copy down a list of important numbers, for different places on base, and set to work.
I usually tried to approach the newcomers while they were outside. I didn't want to offend, or startle them. I was usually received with a gracious 'Thank You' and then not called upon until after they settled in, a few weeks later.
I became my very own "Welcoming Committee", and I was happy to know that I might be helping someone out, OR making a new friend.
I did this because I wanted to, but also because I didn't want anyone to feel the way I felt in the first few months as a new military spouse.
Did I happen to mention The Meteor, was an asshole?
Oh, I did.... hmmm well ...
This next snippet... I'll explain what my experience was, what I was told, and then I will explain what is supposed to be.... for the benefit of the group.
We were married for three months, the Meteor and I, when he came home one day and told me, "I am getting deployed tomorrow, I don't know to where, or when I'll be back." I responded by asking if he will be able to contact me, or if there was some way to reach him. He told me, that I would not be able to contact him, except in an extreme emergency through the Red Cross.
Understand this: I never in my life had any experience with the military. AT ALL. I didn't know an O-3 from an E-5 ... the only thing I knew was that the uniforms were hot!
He had never introduced me to anyone, except the group of friends he hung out with, and I didn't want to run to them with every little thing. I may as well have been in a foreign country, where I don't speak the native language. Because, I barely could figure out how to get out of my neighborhood and off the base, and some people weren't very friendly.
So, he left. As far as I knew, he was going SOMEWHERE, and would be gone for an undetermined period of time. Moreover, I didn't know when I would hear from him to know if he was okay, if he was hurting, if he was safe, if he was in harm's way. I barely understood what he did, I just knew it was a Fight Line job, and he dealt with fuel, or some other chemical.
Because of issues in my youth, I had a bit of generalized anxiety. During this time, it went from being a little nervy, to being full blown terrified to leave the house. The 'what-ifs' were ruling my thoughts and actions. What if, I left the house, and couldn't find my way home? What if, I get sick, where do I go? What if there is an accident inside the house... and there is something wrong, how do I tell him I need him? I panicked. My head was swimming in this pool of thought, tainted by the 'what-ifs'.
I called the only number I knew. The shop. Where he worked. There had to be someone there... right? He'd been gone a week, and I hadn't heard from him ... so I decided I needed information. I called and spoke with a very nice Sargent named Donnie, who explained that he lived in the house directly behind mine, and that in fact when the curtain was open... he could see clearly into my living room. BUG OUT!! However, he told me that my husband was fine. Training in Canada, and would be home in about a week. I sighed heavily, in relief. Finally some information.
Donnie, notified the Chain of Command about my situation. They contacted the Meteor in Canada and told him to call his wife. They reamed him about not telling me anything, and he got into a little trouble over it.... just a tongue lashing, but he took it harder then that. The meteor called me a few hours later, yelling and screaming that I was being melodramatic, and that he would be home when he got there.
What should have happened is; as soon as he brought me to the base as his wife, he should have showed me around, he should have introduced me to key persons, people I should know in case I need to find him when he goes away. He should have introduced me to some of the wives. HE should have been proud to show me around, show me off. He should have told me the difference between a deployment, and a temporary duty assignment (TDY), he should have told me how long he would be gone (given that he knew), and where he was going. He did none of that. HE failed me.
He left me, to fend for myself, figure it out on my own, and ultimately, I learned more because of it, I learned all the things he was trying to keep me from in the first place.
I began making friends, building relationships with people outside the house. I was well liked by my neighbors, I was fun to be with, and I learned that no matter what happened inside that house, I could be myself, my whole self, when outside that house. HE couldn't hurt me. He wouldn't hurt me out side the house.
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I tried so hard....
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Posted:Sep 5, 2008 8:30 pm
Last Updated:Sep 5, 2008 10:34 pm
1812 Views
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I tried so hard to get a blog completed for today... but so many things go in the way.
Hopefully Tomorrow things will go more smoothly, and I'll be able to churn out a few!
Smooches!!
~Red
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Married to the Meteor.
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Posted:Sep 4, 2008 6:31 pm
Last Updated:Sep 4, 2008 6:41 pm
1827 Views
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I was 22 when I married. I was young, full of dreams, and fantasies about what marriage should, could, and would be, I wanted it all, and I wanted him.
I wanted the him I had gotten to know over the six months that made of our courtship. I wanted the man I could see him becoming.
Early on I noticed certain personality traits that were disturbing to me. I ignored them. I was overreacting, right?
He was curt, stubborn, rude, cold, mean, nasty, loud, and violent. I ignored it. There was an adjustment period, right?
He tried in his own way, to show me something... but apparently, I wasn't what he bargained for... he reminded me of that in subtle ways. But I think at first he tried. A least the first week.
About a month into our marriage, the Meteor and I adopted a puppy. She was my baby. I loved her from the start, and she loved me.
Before our household items arrived from the movers, I knew I should bolt. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE, my head was screaming! But, my heart was saying; relationships take work... it's just an adjustment.
I should have trusted my instincts, swallowed my pride, and listened to the voice inside me that was telling me how wrong it all was.
The day our household items arrived, I was busy unpacking the upstairs, he was unpacking downstairs.
At one point, he came upstairs, and the puppy, excited to see him got tangled in the lap corp and the lamp fell to the floor. The shade of the lamp was made of glass, it shattered. Instead of worrying about the puppy's safety, he flies into a rage and picks her up and starts hitting her ... hard. and telling her what a bad she is, I was crying hysterically, begging him to stop. He quickly directed his violence towards me. I was thinking, I can take it, I've been here before, anything he can dish out ... I can take, just so long as I don't have to witness someone hurting my baby dog.
That set the tone, for the years that followed.
It wasn't the last time he was violent towards me, or the animals, but it did have a great impact. That moment is at the deepest part of me. It rocked my foundation. Even more so, than it had before. Before it was the BMOC, I was able to get free of him. But my husband? I would never break free.... ever. I made a promise to him, a promise I intended to keep, no matter how he broke it with every single breath he took.
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After ....
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Posted:Sep 2, 2008 4:00 pm
Last Updated:May 29, 2024 11:10 pm
1847 Views
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high school, I went to a local Jr. University. I studied Music there, but didn't date a whole lot. I wanted to be taken seriously, HAH!
I was on a local chat line at the time, wasn't nice to look at or anything ... but there were a lot of local people who liked to chat about nothing. I met a pet shop owner (old enough to be my father), I met other '' like me, and I met a photographer.
The photographer was also old enough to be my father, but I didn't care ... he was going to take my picture, for FREE. One day, I was home from school, parents at work, siblings out or at school, I invited him over to take a few shots. Never met the guy, and here I am inviting a potential sexual predator over to my house ... to take my picture. He got to my house, it was raining, he asked me what sorts of pictures I was looking for, and I responded (like a smart ass), "Well, what do you think?" For all intents and purposes ... he was a really classy guy, he could have taken advantage, he could have murdered me and chopped me up and dissolved my flesh in developing liquid or whatever, and no one would have known he was there.
A few weeks later we met up to exchange the photos ... he took a good picture, not great... but good.
So any way... shortly after, I got myself into another relationship. For our purposes here, we'll call him, Ben.
Me and Ben were like peas and carrots. Inseparable from day one. I met him in a local chat room, we started talking ... and naturally the subject of sex came up. He need to get laid ... I needed to get laid.... so we met with the intention of having wild afternoon sex while his parents weren't home. He lived close to the college, so it would be convenient for both of us. For me, the sex was great! He was a nice guy ... and really the relationship didn't show any wear until we had been together almost a year. That is when his mother, called me a . He didn't defend me. He didn't defend her. He did nothing. More importantly, I did nothing.
That summer, I moved to New York City, with big dreams of fame and fortune. I transfered to college there, and embarked a new part of my life.
I was uncharacteristically celibate in NYC.
I had a boyfriend, for all intents and purposes, and I fell into a really dark place. I was there until I moved back home to Jersey after working in NYC in the entertainment industry.
I met a few guys during a short break up period, all older, all jerk offs, none did I want to sleep with.
I travelled the continental United STates for six months or so, and slept around quite a bit.
When I moved back to Jersey, I met a man that would change my life.
More on that later.
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My Senior year ...
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Posted:Sep 2, 2008 3:26 pm
Last Updated:May 29, 2024 11:10 pm
1840 Views
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and beyond.
We are all human, we all make mistakes. These are the things that teach us to be who we are, who we are meant to be.
My Senior year of High School was very, very busy, as are most, I was not unique in this sense. However, I was changed. I was different than most people my age. I was some how wiser, and older than my fellow classmates, even though I was the youngest in my class. I had, had experiences in my earlier years that shaped me to be somehow more sophisticated than they, in many ways. Not just sexually, but sexually was the most obvious.
I was never the best student... I had better things to do, to be honest. I had voice, acting, and dance lessons, I sang in church, at weddings, civic functions, I was heavily involved in theater projects across the state, and I studied my passions voraciously. I didn't make time for things like parties and friends, I wasn't into drinking like a lot of at that age.
So, I did what I could to get through school as quickly as possible. I also fucked as often as possible.
One day ... I went to my locker ... and for the first time there was a note inside... from a guy.
His name for purposes here was Lance. Lance was tall, a little out of shape, and a volunteer EMT for the township. Lance was a bit on the geeky side, I think he played trombone in the marching band, and he had sat in front of me in Home Room since the Seventh Grade. Lance had never spoken to me, ever! So you can imagine my surprise when this note revealed his long term attraction towards me, and how he waited all of high school, for me to be free.
It wasn't difficult for me to decide to hang out with him... and through hanging out I discovered, he was still a virgin. My deviant mind didn't need to think twice ... I knew he would be mine. I took his virginity in the Ambulance garage a few weeks later. He was fun to toy with for a while... but I figured because he was so inexperienced that he would stay ... until I was ready to let him go. I was wrong.
A few years later he wrote a letter to me ... but I was married by then... living on the other side of the country.
That summer, I was busy with a fuck buddy anyway ... the first I ever had, Sam.
I met Sam at the theater when I was 15. He was 23. He was really cute ... and older ... and he thought I was older .. we fooled around a bit ... and then somehow found out how old I was and decided he didn't want to go to jail.
So, Sam and I held off... until I was closer to 18. We hung out... went to the movies .... had anal sex on deserted roads throughout New Jersey.
More to come....
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SO ... I was a FAST little girl.
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Posted:Sep 1, 2008 5:29 pm
Last Updated:Nov 29, 2008 10:43 am
1821 Views
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I had had almost every sexual experience before my fourteenth birthday.
That said, I was such a DRAMA QUEEN. JESUS CHRIST, I would cry... at the drop of a hat ... there was ALWAYS something wrong with Little Red. She was not a happy girl. She had been 'taken' too young, lost her innocence too fast, some by her choice, some not.
I realize as an adult, that I made some very adult decisions at too young an age. I always looked older, was treated older and more maturely, so that is how I behaved.
When I became sexually active (at 13), I wanted to know everything there was to know. I wanted to make sure I was never taken off guard by any terminology, slang or otherwise. It helped that I was involved in the theater, because it put me in touch with some unscrupulous adults ... who think they are doing a a favor by telling her about all sorts of sexual games, they've played. I learned a lot from my time in the theater, and became very good at reading people too.
Some people might wonder about my family... what did they think, did they know... honestly, I don't know. But, I wasn't drinking or doing drugs, so it didn't matter I suppose.
I always wanted to know everything, so I read. ANd asked questions. And since the internet was just beginning at this time ... when I went to a friend's house that had internet ... I read some more, watched porn when I could get a hold of it, and put myself out there ... as generally 'easy' .... I'm gonna put out.
So I hooked up as much as I could ... with whomever I could. Which wasn't often for a chubby, red head, with giant boobs, and a chip on her shoulder. High school boys were afraid of me, I'm convinced. I was a snob.
I'll have to blog about it sometime... but I had a wild night at 15 with some college boys ... that if they had stopped to ask my age ... wouldn't have touched me for fear of statutory charges.
Anyway.... I still had the psycho boyfriend, so it was like that here and there until I said goodbye for good.
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