The Thirteen Gifts

"Birthstone" - Definition: gift of a precious material, traditionally associated with a month and believed to attract good fortune.

Opal

October's child is born for woe,

And life's vicissitudes must know,

But lay an opal on her breast,

And hope will lull those woes to rest.

Halloween parties and bonfire smoke. A year ago today my husband was in hospital, I was tearing myself apart from the inside, and my world seemed to be falling apart, piece by piece. The celtic new year begins on Samhain - 'Summer's End' - and for me, it was not just my summer, nor even just my year that had ended. Black as burnt branches in the fire; silver as the shimmer of frost, red as my heart was raw. Opals are fire and ice - too much trouble caused by heat in my cunt, too little warmth returned to my heart in love, burnt from passion and lack of grace.

Yet because of you, October and all its woe was a gift, a new year's gift. A burning out of old wood to make room for the new growth to come. And somewhere in the world, although as yet unknown to me, you were waiting. Waiting for me, as I was waiting all my life, for you. Although it would be some time still before we both knew that.

Topaz

Who first comes to this world below

In dreary November's fog and snow,

Should prize the topaz amber hue,

Emblem of friends and lovers true.

I threw my last ember of hope into the wet mist and watched for fire. Eleven months ago I huddled in my cave, grey outside and inside, damp misery clinging to every moment. But something in the fog was shining. I braved making contact with you, in desperation for the relief of pain, and the desire to be fucked like I needed to be fucked. From the first we talked of everything and nothing - rape play, hosing me down with your piss, the contradiction of a whore who'd never been fucked, and the delicate joy of words. I feared a false dawn, that your fire would be nothing more than illusion, lights in a gas fire rather than true flame. But Topaz is constancy, loyalty, friendship, the balance of emotions, and the strength of the shoulder to lean on. And you showed me all of this.

I wasn't ready to believe that you could be a friend and lover true, but you lent your strength to me despite my fear. This was your gift to me in the first month I knew you.

Turquoise

If cold December gave you birth

The month of snow and ice and mirth

Place on your hand a turquoise blue;

Success will bless whate'er you do.

A splash of bright colour in the ice. Ten months ago I met you in person. I saw the way you moved, the sensual, coiled violence living inside you, and realised I needed you to fuck me, rough and hard. You were funny and kind and clever, and I laughed for the first time since October on the night I met you.

You made it easy to be me, I didn't have to hide anything as I slutted around, flirted, kissed pretty women tasting of mulled wine bent over the table in front of you. I taunted you, begged you to fuck me in an alleyway, but you were gentle with me, seeing the fear underneath my brashness. From that first night, you protected me - even against myself. I begged you to beat me and fuck me - you stroked my hand. I opened myself to your kiss - instead you bit my lip as you looked into my eyes. Every bit as sensual, leaving me wanting you, leaving me wanting so much more.

Turquoise is for honesty, healing, regeneration and protection. You waited for me to come to you, knowing that if you moved too fast I would disappear. Again and again I pushed you away, tearful even as I did so, icy streets and frost inside the car. I wouldn't let you inside my heart or my body.

You wanted to beat me until I bled, fuck me until I was raw, bugger me until I was stretched open on your cock. You wanted to fucking ruin me - and yet all this month you held yourself back. We kissed, stroked, held; you pinched and bit me - but nothing more. You let me heal and lick my wounds while your arms held me safe, gently steered me away from self-destruction, and waited, waited, waited until I was ready to let you enter. This was your gift to me in the month we first kissed.

Garnet

By her who in January was born

No gem save garnets shall be worn

They will ensure her constancy

True friendship and fidelity.

Blood spatters in the snow. Ten months ago we played for the first time. Unsure, hesitant, scared still, I invited you into my house. "Are you afraid?", you asked me.

My eyes pupil-blackened and wide with fear, I nodded yes, my mouth slipping open in terror.

"Well crawl over there to the phone and call someone who gives a fuck."

Spit flew into my face from the violence of your words. You opened your fist and slapped me, first one cheek then the other. My breasts, shoulder and wrists were left bruise-dappled, ripe from your taking. I was swollen for you, bare and open, waiting, breathless, waiting...and and...

You pushed me - pushed my mind, opened me to embracing possibilities and unfamiliar play, but you did not push the fat head of your cock into my unwilling pussy, you did not open my cunt on the thick shaft of your dick - because I had told you no, and you listened. Garnet enhances sexuality, sensuality - red gems shimmering in the jewel chest of my memory.

You gave me back a little of the power which had been taken from me. You gave me pain and you gave me fear. These were your gifts to me in the first month we played together.

Amethyst

The February born shall find

Sincerity and peace of mind,

Freedom from passion and from care,

If they, the amethyst will wear.

Corridors and alleyways, all mixed up. At last, an outlet for my passion. You made me cum everywhere, anywhere, however you chose, wherever, whenever you chose. Your cock was only ever out of my mouth so that you could get your fingers in my slutty pussy. You ripped my orgasms from me, tearing, mauling, dragging them out of me - until I was shuddering, unable to walk, staggering, ruined with lust. Down alleyways against a lamppost, on sofas in pubs, in public toilets, in my hallway before I'd barely closed the front door, you took me. On my bed, on the floor, on the sofa, in your car, in nightclubs - your fingers always on, or in, me.

You learned how much I love to please, how much I adore giving for the sake of giving. Amethyst is for stability, peace, contentment and calm, and these things became mine, as I learned to trust you, and to trust myself again. We spoke words of love, whispered and exchanged; heart's balm, heart's peace.

You gave me sexual contentment for the first time in all of my life. You fell in love with me, and I with you. These were your gifts to me, in the second month of our life together.

Bloodstone

By her who in March was born

No gem save bloodstone shall be worn

They will ensure her constancy

True friendship and fidelity.

Dark dens and musky animals scents, rumpled furs making a nest, stinking of sweat and cum. Safety, warmth, happiness. "Fuck me anywhere, any time, in any way, that pleases you", I said. And you did.

So many years since I'd welcomed a new lover into my body. I was remade, like a young girl losing her maidenhead. You spilled my blood on the sheets, made your mark on my body. Knives, leather, fluid bonds that do not constrain yet are unbreakable. Bloodstone opens all doors for its owner, breaks down the walls of prisons and brings the possessor that which he desires. And we do desire each other so much that we cannot stave off our skin hunger for long.

You beat me until I bled, fucked me until I was raw, buggered me until I was stretched open on your cock. You fucking ruined me. You pushed the fat head of your cock into my willing pussy, and you opened my cunt on the thick shaft of your dick. These were your gifts to me, in the third month of our life together.

Diamond

She who from April dates her years,

diamonds shall wear,

lest bitter tears

For vain repentance flow.

Spring sunshine, new growth and the earth heating up. As I started to lean into you, my life became suffused with your presence. I started to trust you were not going anywhere. Little things meant so much. A walk by the riverside, dragging me through the undergrowth, a quick rape. Borrowing our friend's flat and dungeon, exploring the limits of what my body can stand.

Beginning to understand what it means for you to be my dominant partner, and what it means when I submit to you. A blurring of the lines between play and everyday life. You are always dominant to me, always. Sometimes I will submit easily, fluidly, contentedly - and sometimes you'll force me. But I always submit. You give me no other option. You rip away my defenses, leave me nowhere to hide. The diamond stands for abundance, enhancing relationships and increasing inner strength. You give me an abundance of love, of pain, of fucking, of care, of support. You shower me with it so that I no longer feel starved, scratching around in the poor dry earth. Instead you soak me in warm summer rain.

I no longer fear constantly that what has been given, will be taken away. This is your gift to me, in the fourth month of our life together.

Emerald

Who first beholds the light of day

In spring's sweet, flower month of May

And wears an emerald all her life

Shall be a loved and a loving wife.

Burning kindling, firewood, sparks and embers in the air, drifting down like tiny comets. You asked me to jump over the fire with you, and I did, becoming your wife in all ways that matter. You asked me for forever - and I smeared your sweat on my body as I told you, 'yes'.

You left a bruise on my cheekbone which lasted for weeks, turning emerald green then royal purple. I wore it with more pride than a ring. You abused me with your fists, punched me, spat on me, pissed on me, raped me, choked me with your hands around my throat, with your cock closing my airways, and then wrapped me in your love, your tenderness - slept beside me content, knowing your baby was safe in your arms, and in love with you. Emeralds mean eternity, fertility, the stone of wisdom, and of love from the pure of heart. You purify me, you scald my soul clean with pain.

You give me the peace that lies in the heart of violence. That is your gift to me, in the fifth month of our life together.

Pearl

By her who in June was born

No gem save pearls shall be worn

They will ensure her constancy

True friendship and fidelity.

Moonlight tears, dry by dawn. A month which tested my strength. Tired from long hours of work, I struggle to cope when my husband is ill again, brought on by his own foolishness. It hurts me so, and I question my integrity, when my patience begins to run out. Soothed by you and your generous heart, I begin to place boundaries, carve out a space of my own, create a refuge for myself which I will not give away. I learn to turn the responsibility, the duty of care, back to where it should be. I am not a nursemaid or a drudge for my husband, you help me to see that. Pearls are for purity, integrity. I can be a slut and be pure of heart. I can be a whore and have integrity.

You teach me how to be both the girl who can't say no, and the woman who can. That is your gift to me, in the sixth month of our life together.

Ruby

The gleaming ruby should adorn,

All those who in July are born,

For thus they'll be exempt and free,

From lover's doubts and anxiety.

Sundrenched fields of hay, a puppy pile of dogs to sleep under, all of life glimmering with a brilliant allure, ripe for the taking. We revel in the joy of each other's bodies. Touching is still precious, and necessary, no less so as time passes. Parties, clubs, meals, food, drink, sleep, all are expendable in the search for more time in each other's arms. I call you Sir, or Master, when sunk deeply into submission. You call me your baby, your fucktoy, your slut, your whore.

I begin to lay down, one by one, the heavy burden of armouring my soul against attack. I allow you liberties I've never before given away. I let you see my pride, my eagerness, in pleasing you. I arm you with a thousand ways to hurt me and trust you not to use them for harm. Ruby is for devotion, courage, and happiness. I find the courage to be happy in my devotion to you.

You use my mouth until I retch bile over your cock. You use my cunt until it's swollen and sore. You tell me I'm yours, and I belong to you. And you teach me to believe it, with fist, cock, and cum. These are your gifts to me, in the seventh month of our life together.

Peridot

Wear a peridot or for thee,

No conjugal fidelity,

The August born without this stone,

`Tis said, must live unloved; alone.

Cum stained fishnet stockings, ripped by knife blades. You show me off in a dogging spot, glorying in the crowd of men who surround the car, kneeling on the bonnet to get a better look at me. You show me off in a club, before ruining me with fist, knife, and your piss, splashing steaming hot and strong-smelling, onto my face, into my mouth. You rape my mouth, and then later, territorially fill my knickers with your cum again.

You watch as my friend kisses me, and fantasise about her fisting my slutty little pussy before you fill me with your spunk. You take me to the edge, over and over again. You violate me with brutal dildos, with fingers, your hand. There is no degradation you will not subject me to. The peridot enhances fidelity, love, trust and openness. And I am open to you, body, heart and soul. I eagerly lap up the terrible treatment you abuse me with.

I embrace the dark, sick and twisted side of my sexuality. With each way you use me badly, my soul flowers, night-blooming petals opening under the moonlight. This is your gift to me, in our eighth month together.

Sapphire

A maiden born when autumn leaves

Are rustling in September's breeze,

A sapphire on her brow should bind;

To bring her joy and peace of mind.

Black leather and blacklight. In amidst a tangle of limbs and fucking, we exist in our own space, your dominance of me unquestioned as you force me to cum on your fingers, lying across your lap in a room full of strangers. You take me out to dinner - late at night because your priority is to feed me with cum before other food.

You abuse me with cock. You tell me how to take it, where to take it, and when to take it - and I am eager to please. Our edge play takes us a little too far, I suffer temporary damage from it. Frightened, I retreat, but you come after me. Delving deep into the trust I have for you, you find me, and bring me home. I am becoming someone new. Not impervious to damage, but able to recover from it. Sapphire brings peace, watches over long journeys, and opens the mind towards understanding. Sapphire stones are thought to maintain the hope needed in order that our deepest desires and dreams will be fulfilled one day.

You watched over me, you brought me peace, and you opened my mind to understanding. You fulfil my deepest desires, my darkest dreams, and give me grace. These are your gifts to me, in the ninth month of our life together.

Black Opal

One year ago, I was broken, and now I'm whole. I dance, paint, write, laugh, live and love in the sunlight, and under the liquid moon you make my best nightmares come true.

Your thirteenth gift: you help me to forget, by helping me to remember.

"We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full." -Marcel Proust.

As the world turns, and we come close to another summer's end, a new year's beginning, I hope for a year of chances to show you how grateful I am for these thirteen gifts.

Thankyou, my Wolf.

Shadow of the Woods

I am not bound for any public place, but for ground of my own where I have planted vines and orchard trees, and in the heat of the day climbed up into the healing shadow of the woods.
-- Wendell Berry

I have no fear of fear. I am comfortable with fear, as I am comfortable with pain. It is familiar to me, and therefore not terrifying, not like it used to be. Worry and anxiety still have the power to wrap knots around my core, clench fingers cold and white so they lose their power, sicken me and weaken me. But I am not afraid.

Nevertheless.
Sometimes, I should just shut the fuck up, sit back, and enjoy the ride.

Tears and trust. Comfort, of different kinds. He holds me, very close. So close, so warm, so safe. He will make everything better. I've never been the kind of girl who has to try hard to trust. When I give, I give everything. I don't know how to love someone, without trusting them; no reservation, no restraint, no sense of caution or holding back. My heart is without limit or inhibition.

I know he holds back - preventing himself from getting hard on this occasion as I talk about fucking, cock, sex that is right, sex that is wrong. He chooses not to rip my clothes off, stick his dick in my mouth as soon as he comes in the door. This time. Instead, he chooses to soothe me with love, soft words, gentle kindness. I pull him close, strip our clothes away, pull him into bed with me so I can feel skin on skin, words moving air onto flesh, close, closer, closest. Still he exerts his will on me, choosing not to abuse. This time. Only when my tears slow a little, and my heart beats with lust instead of lingering shame, does his will change.

He tells me with his body, where to touch him. How to touch him. In gratitude and joy I eagerly give pleasure. Hand to body, lips to skin. My tongue blissfully gathering the desire that rises from him. It is only moments though, before he takes control of the method I use to please him, forcing my head down, his hands coiled in my hair, twisted, twisting. I cannot get away, I do not want to get away, even though he fucks my mouth like a cunt, fucks it so hard I am bleeding, my tongue and lips are sore, the skin splitting as I ripen for him.

He knows that when he enters me after using me so, I will be poured out like buttery cream on my thighs, he will slide in as big and hard as he is, up to the hilt, deep in me, touching so far inside I would be hurt if I wasn't spread so open for him, my lips fluttering apart to receive him before he even touches me. He plunges inside me and takes his pleasure in me, using me like his fucktoy, even as he burns me with his love. He burns for me. And I give him everything, everything, in return.

"Tell me what you want, what you need", he demands. I know without question, without thought, what he means.

"I...I want..."

"You want cock. You want to be fucked. Say it. SAY IT!" he threatens. He raises his hand as I stammer, looks at me with warning, with violence in him. He looks at me again in threat, and I give him what he demands, he takes it from me. I fear, not the threat, not the violence, not the blow, nor the pain, but his displeasure. For want of his praise, I give him what he takes from me. I speak, and my reward is his smile. "Good girl. Good girl". He drives his dick into me, pistons in and out of me. Pulls out, flips me over, fucks me hard. Stops.

"Do you want me to stop?"
Some other lover might sound gentle, caring, thoughtful, when asking such a thing. He makes it sound like a warning. 'Do what I tell you or I'll fuck you up. You know what I want. Do it.'

"No, don't stop", I whisper.

"You want to be fucked hard. Say it!"

I say it.

Again he drives into me the thought, the belief, the knowledge; the certainty that I am allowed to want sex, I am allowed to want to be fucked, I am allowed to want cock, to want his spunk, to want to be his whore, his slut, his fucktoy.

Used. Oh, the joy in it.

Abused. Ah, the trust.

When he tells me to cum, he makes it sound like 'you fucking bitch!' instead of permission to orgasm.

I beg him, I ask him, I plead with him to let me please him, I tell him I want his cock, need his cum, must be fucked, have to be fucked hard, that I need to be his slut, his fucking whore, his nasty little cum splashed fucktoy.

And I am. Because he makes me. And if I can't, he will force me anyway.

I am a good girl. HIS good girl. His semen spilling like milk into me, marks me so.

Three

"What she had begun to learn was the weight of liberty. Freedom is a heavy load, a great and strange burden for the spirit to undertake. It is not easy. It is not a gift given, but a choice made, and the choice may be a hard one. The road goes upward towards the light; but the laden traveller may never reach the end of it."
The Tombs of Atuan, Ursula Le Guin

The Sunday

The body as metaphor for soul.

This is not what happened.

Some secrets I. Keep. Still.

I listen, drenched in submission. I choose the wrong route, but I don't regret.

I fall down on the path and hurt myself I am covered in dirt from the muddy earth, I dig my fingers into it, claw frantically, scoop up palmfuls of it, smear it over me, drink it down, splash my lips and face, with fractured bones I crawl at snail's pace. Running is a distant dream and I'm good at forgetting, erase the knowledge I have ever played in the mud and danced in the dirt. The path seems too hard, my limbs too sore, I hurt, I hurt. I hurt, I hurt.

I call for you please come and help me, I can't stand by myself. You can't see the fracture, the bones aren't sticking out. I hush myself, rock quietly back and forth, my voice is steady. You call out to me the best path, point the way, tell me I'm ready. I am in pain and I cannot follow you.

I retreat, but you follow me. See, aghast, my hurts. You pick me up, take me home, bathe and splint my broken bones. You take my pain away and replace it with yours. You clean the dirt from me and replace it with your own, then make me brand new again with your softness, your love, your possession. You carry my burdens for a little while so I can begin to walk again. Months of healing condensed into hours of fucking. You force new joie de vivre inside me with your hands, with your cock.

A Saturday

A victorian, cast-iron bed. Suede lining, dark purple, in patent black leather cuffs. They hold my wrists against the metal, black-painted. Matching ankle cuffs and a spreader bar, lashed with his old and fraying belt, to the foot of the bedstead.

The rain pours down outside. He would toss me into a pit of muddy, rain washed broken glass and fuck me, uncaring of my pain or discomfort. The knowledge of this is my heart's balm, bringing me peace.

He beats me and I scream. I scream the way animals scream - unselfconscious, desperate, terrified. A gurgling sound travelling the spectrum of pitch and tone.

He climbs between my stretched wrists, and fucks my mouth. I hear the rain, and a roaring sound that is inside my own head. I'll be sick, I know I will be sick. My head is tilted back, at this angle I don't know what will happen. Will I breathe it in, will I choke? Could I die from this? My fear is stronger than my submission, I close my mouth, pull away. He forces my mouth open with his fingers, fucks me anyway.

I am grateful.

He beats me again. Defeated, broken, I sob and swear at him. I know how pitiful I am. He makes me feel ashamed, dirty. Again, I am grateful.

The rain has become a thunderstorm, I can hear thunder, see bright flashes of light, but I don't know if they're outside the window, or inside. He makes me sorry for the screaming and the insults. I am warned not to make a sound, or move. I'm terrified. He works me over until I'm screaming more and more and again in my head, but I'm too afraid, far too afraid. Tiny, hushed sobs escape my lips, I feel saliva pour from my mouth, but I can't speak. He parts my legs, I don't resist. He fucks me until he releases a flood of cum deep inside my cunt.

He uncuffs my wrists, removes the bar, rubs my skin, draws me close, tenderly. He whispers words of love to me, cherishes me. I look at him with glassy eyes, touch my lips tentatively. He understands. "Yes baby, you can speak now, and move".

I am grateful.


A Friday

It isn't until late at night, that we eat. Food, drink, sleep, basic needs, all ignored while he slakes his thirst in me. And I, equally thirsty, drink down his lust.

Each and every day I have had him in my life, I have become...more. More confident, more at peace, more creative, more balanced. I have the confidence now to make a special effort with my dress and appearance to please him - and to tell him so. Months in the making, I am now someone who can do this without fear - fear of trying but failing, to please.

Tiny pieces of my soul, healed, flowering. Withered, forgotten, parched - parts of me I thought had died, parts of me I never knew existed; thriving now in the abundance of care and love, lavished on me. Learning to trust in this plentitude, learning not to fear that it is a finite amount to be used up, or that it will soon be taken away.

Waking, finding him not in the bed with me - hating it. As he walks in the door again my heart binds to his. He is part of me, without him, there is something missing from my own soul.

Finding the confidence to truly understand - he never does anything he doesn't want to do. I can ask - I have permission to ask, to request, to state a desire - and I can believe, trust in him to always take exactly what he wants from me, regardless.

Asking gives him more power, not less. Gives him the power to grant my desire, or not. I ask on this day - ask for the cane - and he grants it.

Different, but equal. Our pain play before has taken a different shape. This time I moaned, thrust my hips against the ground, begged for more. Sometimes, overcome, he had to stop to fuck me. Sometimes he built up the pain and took me further than I would have chosen. He fucked me until I was exhausted and dry, and then as I whimpered little tiny hopeless pain noises for him, he blew his load inside me. I am always, always, so very grateful, so very astonished, to find myself His.

Three times he fucked my cunt, came inside me.

Three times he made me his.

Body, heart and soul, I belong to him.

And I am grateful.

Learning to say "No"

This week, I have learned to say, "No".

I have learned to say, "No, it was not my fault".

For the first decade together, my husband and I struggled to cope with the fits he had, caused by diabetic hypoglycaemia. There was then a gap of 5 glorious fit-free years before he began having semi-regular seizures again.

I wrote about it at the time, here

and here

The very first time he had a convulsion, I blamed myself. I hadn't spotted the signs of hypoglycaemia in time, even though I knew he was diabetic, and I didn't take the correct action. I even got angry with him because he was acting so strangely.

I was told by a doctor at one stage that a first fit often paves the way for others. I felt that if only I could have stopped this first fit from happening, then he never would have had any. If only I had noticed in time, been more intuitive, been less suspicious, been more alert, been a better person...

But that's bullshit. Even if it hadn't happened sooner or later, I didn't cause his fits, because I didn't cause his diabetes. I did the best I could at the time.

Neither was it my fault that he continued to have them, and continued to not manage his diabetes as well as he could have. I wasn't a failure as a wife, it wasn't because I was a bad person, and not loving enough, supportive enough, caring enough. It was, and is, his own responsibility to manage his condition. I've always poured out my love, my support, my care, onto him. That's got nothing to do with why he has seizures. It is HIS job to take care of himself, first and foremost.

When he began having fits again, I was away over in Hastings with my partners of the time. I felt guilty for not being present when it happened, and I believed I might have prevented it if I had been. One of the partners in question was angry with me, unreasonably, on a matter unrelated to my husband's illness. She cut off communication with me for a while, and this compounded the feeling that I'd done something terrible and wrong, which I was being punished for. Somewhere along the line I connected the two things and deep in my heart, I felt I had caused my husband's fits to re-occur.

But that's bullshit. It was not, and is not, my fault. I had done nothing wrong, now or then.

I knew all this intellectually, but on sunday night I woke up at 4am, knowing it, unquestionably to be true, in my heart.

And so in such small ways are we healed.

The last year of my life.