I remember the first time an unexpected reaction ever occurred in the bedroom. I had just had an earth-shattering orgasm. And as I laid there catching my breath, I felt the tears streak down my face. I was not sad. I was not upset. Yet, my emotional response at this intense moment was tears. I remember I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t do anything but breath – and the more I fought them, the more tears that came.
As I laid there silently sobbing – unable to understand why, G just laid there holding me. Wiping the tears away. Talking gently to me – but not understanding either. This moment of bliss turned into a moment of odd – a sad moment for whatever reason. It was like the physical release triggered an emotional one that I could not explain. An emotional one that I still cannot explain.
I recall when I played softball – playing catcher – taking a foul ball off the face mask. The event itself is pretty surreal – not having enough time to even blink and seeing the mask do it’s job as the ball bounces off. It is more surprising than painful.
The first time it ever happened, I picked up the ball and tossed it back. The umpire asked if I was okay – I said I was, then squatted back down into position. That is when the tears came. I had to stand back up, call time out, and toss off the mask as I dealt with my body’s choice of response to the situation – tears. I remember the coach coming over to make sure I was okay. I told her I was. The impact making my eyes water apparently. It was weird. And it seemed the more I wanted it to just be done and over with – the more the tears came.
Last night, I had something similar happen – similar to both situations described above.
A night of giggles, laughter, canes and paddles turned into me sobbing silently as my body decided it’s release was through my tear ducts and not my mouth or cunt. Usually I get vocal and wet when processing the pain. But, for some reason, it came out of my eyes. And the more I tried to fight it – not understand what was triggering it – wanting the fun, wanting the laughter back, enjoying the pain and not wanting it to stop, the more the tears flowed. And the more the energy got sucked out of the room. It fucking sucked.
Poor SB – no idea what to do or how to fix it. No idea what was going on. And a girl who had no words to provide insight. A girl who had no words. I was at a loss. And here I was, with SB – my Daddy who I care about so very much – in the most vulnerable position I had ever been in with him. A position more vulnerable than nudity – more vulnerable than any sex act. A position where I was emotionally vulnerable and raw and without words to explain what was happening.
He took care of me best he could. He stopped the scene, covered me up, curled up next to me – giving me affection and presence and love. He tried to talk to me – but didn’t push. And on top of feeling bewildered by what happened, I felt bad that I put him in that position – I felt bad that our wonderful day was ending like this. I felt bad I had no words.
I laid there most of the night trying to sort it out. The best I could do was equate it to the softball story. A weird situation – I should have called “time out” when it started. But like SB learned, I’m a fucking stubborn woman. He lectured me a bit after I explained. I could hear the pain in his voice – the pain of a man who is used to fixing things – used to knowing what exactly to do – but who found himself in the position where he did not know what happened, how to fix it, or how to make it better.
I am still processing the situation. So many emotions are still at play. I know SB and I are good. I don’t worry about that relationship or how this impacted it. Why? Neither of us are the type to let a stumble be a larger road block or show ended, if you will. It is what it is – we learn and move on.
For me, for someone who considers herself self aware – to run into something that is happening in my body that I cannot explain is weird. It is concerning. I can’t help but want to understand, to want to explain, to want to keep it from happening again. But it may never happen. I have to try to accept that. I may not understand. And I may not be able to explain. All I can do is call “time out” next time before it slides rapidly downhill like it did.
But for the time being, I can only process. I can only wish things had gone the way I had wanted them to go – wished that we had ended our evening on a high note – where he and I were both buzzing off of our energy – laughing and sharing more stories – and curled up in each others arms as we try to calm down enough to sleep. I wanted to goofy, I wanted the sharing, I wanted the nights we are becoming accustomed to having together. I guess that is the largest emotion I have yet – regret.
And that will be the hardest one for me to overcome.
Until I process through it, I will regret a lot of last night.