his “needs”

he talked about how men should treat women, how it was just wrong not to do certain things for women… hold open her car door for her, and hold other doors for her to enter first… and he did those things he always fussed about other guys not doing.  how did i not see that those were the only kind things he did?  how was i so blinded by them, that i missed the part where he was using me for sex, even though he had a good few other women regularly there for his “needs”, as he called it?

that’s what he said, you know.  the he had needs; and I just couldn’t help him.

that was the accursed phrase that had me climb into his bed and offer myself to him, say that i wanted to be able to help him.  that moment when i gave up on myself, in order, as i saw it, to care for this other in need.  more like a full castration and a jaw wiring would have helped him (and the world) with his “needs” and his problems…  and sometimes I wish I had had the sense to do that.  it couldn’t have been too hard, to pull out some scissors or a chopping knife… right?

huh.  the things these sorts of things do to us, to our minds.  that i even have that idea is ridiculous.  the pain i must have endured to want to cause such harm to another.  as much as i may have wished to want to be compassionate, i couldn’t even spit out the words to ask for the ability to be compassionate – i didn’t want to have compassion; i wanted him to suffer that almost-unbearable pain.

what held me

he said he wanted to take care of me, and to please me.  he said he wanted to “make love” to me.  i knew with all my sense that it was complete bull.  and yet something in me wouldn’t let me walk away, leave him alone, report him, even.

it was like the whole thing was okay, because – well, definitely not okay… tolerable, perhaps – was it because i was wanted?  that i somehow now was good enough that someone would want me specifically.  and not just want me, but pursue me.  and in much less than ideal circumstances.  someone who had seen, met, known others for what seemed like an eternity, found me desirable.  it made it feel as though there were something truly special and unique about me…  above all, i was wanted – i specifically – and that meant i was worth being wanted.  well, that was my experience of it, rather: i was good enough and i was wanted.

somehow that was all that mattered.  i never had those actual thoughts, of course.  they were just the underlying feeling of it all.  in my almost sub conscience, those thoughts ruled rather omnipotently, tossing loosely to the wind any contradictory thoughts and ideas to remove myself from the situation.