XXplorher
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 1, 1999
- Posts
- 2,711
The Forgotten, Part 2
-Joe Satriani,
Flying in a Blue Dream
Ah yes, so this is the sound of my bleeding heart. Quite literally, bleeding out what it would never get back.
Once upon a time, she cheated on me (such a tiny word, ‘cheated’. Not nearly representative of the viciously agonizing rape that an unfaithful partner can forever tattoo into your paper-thin vulnerability. The removal of something you’ll not ever recapture. Brutality beyond any other).
I remember the conversation.
It was this.
This song.
First time I heard this song I knew I’d already heard it before. I was like, wait… I know that. No, it’s… fuck.
I feel entirely strange to think that the singular - most devastating and most criminally debilitating – moment of my life, is perfectly captured, by a song with no words.
But it is.
THIS, is a conversation. You can hear the two of them against each other. How the weight shifts. How the rage lifts. The pleading, the remorse, and the ruin - the devastation.
I remember walking along an empty creekbed, unstable, perfectly rounded rocks everywhere. Right next to a fucking highly populated roadway, not far from a highway, in the middle of the day. I don’t know why we were there. How did we get there and when? I’d been told the night before and I remember nothing after that until that creek the next day. I was numb. All I remember was not being able to respond. To anything. She couldn’t say or do anything to get me to respond to anything at all. All day. We just wandered. I needed to walk places.
Until there we were walking on those perfectly wrong placed rocks… and it suddenly came.
“Why? Explain it to me… Why?!”
I began talking questions without asking.
She responded, desperate to assure me. But nothing that came out of her mouth made any damned bit of difference. And the more I heard from her, the more I knew that would always be the case. I’d never understand. Ever.
After that, I was suddenly in the shower/bath. Scrubbing the shit out of my balls, trying to get ‘him’ off me (for real. I could not get it off. The ‘incident’ took place 3mo before I was able to confirm it. It was like my genitals were suddenly covered in BP Oil). I’d locked her out of there but she broke the door open somehow and got in (we were intense like that in our late teens, eh).
She was then in the bathroom crying hysterically at the visual of me sobbing ugly while scrubbing my cock and balls into a rash of red. I was far more interested in getting that done, than I was in responding to her.
After an extended period, well beyond reason, I realized I could never achieve that. I’d never get the stain off.
And that I might need to start worrying about myself, a lot more than I ever do ‘her’. Cuz this infidelity thing might not be something I can survive all that well.
So I told her that… in many, unending words that ran together like letters, forming nothing of any singularity. There was only, uncertainty. Would forever be – uncertainty.
That was the day that my inherent trust forever left me. Stolen away. By a throw-away incident. A ‘mistake’ she’d never intended to make.
You’d think that by 25yrs later I’d have recovered from that.
But I haven’t.
It still rules me forever.
Hopefully at some point there will be a reason for that which proves beneficial. Until then there’s only the odd appreciation that Joe Satriani could make guitar tell the tale better than I ever will, eh. And that does make me feel better about it.
Hmm... apologize for adding all that to the tune recommendation? Naw. No fear there.
-Joe Satriani,
Flying in a Blue Dream
Ah yes, so this is the sound of my bleeding heart. Quite literally, bleeding out what it would never get back.
Once upon a time, she cheated on me (such a tiny word, ‘cheated’. Not nearly representative of the viciously agonizing rape that an unfaithful partner can forever tattoo into your paper-thin vulnerability. The removal of something you’ll not ever recapture. Brutality beyond any other).
I remember the conversation.
It was this.
This song.
First time I heard this song I knew I’d already heard it before. I was like, wait… I know that. No, it’s… fuck.
I feel entirely strange to think that the singular - most devastating and most criminally debilitating – moment of my life, is perfectly captured, by a song with no words.
But it is.
THIS, is a conversation. You can hear the two of them against each other. How the weight shifts. How the rage lifts. The pleading, the remorse, and the ruin - the devastation.
I remember walking along an empty creekbed, unstable, perfectly rounded rocks everywhere. Right next to a fucking highly populated roadway, not far from a highway, in the middle of the day. I don’t know why we were there. How did we get there and when? I’d been told the night before and I remember nothing after that until that creek the next day. I was numb. All I remember was not being able to respond. To anything. She couldn’t say or do anything to get me to respond to anything at all. All day. We just wandered. I needed to walk places.
Until there we were walking on those perfectly wrong placed rocks… and it suddenly came.
“Why? Explain it to me… Why?!”
I began talking questions without asking.
She responded, desperate to assure me. But nothing that came out of her mouth made any damned bit of difference. And the more I heard from her, the more I knew that would always be the case. I’d never understand. Ever.
After that, I was suddenly in the shower/bath. Scrubbing the shit out of my balls, trying to get ‘him’ off me (for real. I could not get it off. The ‘incident’ took place 3mo before I was able to confirm it. It was like my genitals were suddenly covered in BP Oil). I’d locked her out of there but she broke the door open somehow and got in (we were intense like that in our late teens, eh).
She was then in the bathroom crying hysterically at the visual of me sobbing ugly while scrubbing my cock and balls into a rash of red. I was far more interested in getting that done, than I was in responding to her.
After an extended period, well beyond reason, I realized I could never achieve that. I’d never get the stain off.
And that I might need to start worrying about myself, a lot more than I ever do ‘her’. Cuz this infidelity thing might not be something I can survive all that well.
So I told her that… in many, unending words that ran together like letters, forming nothing of any singularity. There was only, uncertainty. Would forever be – uncertainty.
That was the day that my inherent trust forever left me. Stolen away. By a throw-away incident. A ‘mistake’ she’d never intended to make.
You’d think that by 25yrs later I’d have recovered from that.
But I haven’t.
It still rules me forever.
Hopefully at some point there will be a reason for that which proves beneficial. Until then there’s only the odd appreciation that Joe Satriani could make guitar tell the tale better than I ever will, eh. And that does make me feel better about it.
Hmm... apologize for adding all that to the tune recommendation? Naw. No fear there.
