Audio Intercourse: Pig vs. Pervert, part 7

One of the last installments of my "Pig vs. Pervert" series. I'm running out of audio space online, so enjoy it while it lasts.

Memory

"You're Dead" : some of the last words he felt necessary to say to me.

I had him pinned down, on the bed, that bed, that evil bed, and I was trying to remind him what he did to me.

He did not believe me.

He does not believe in the truth.

He lied and said it never happened, or changed the subject altogether.

"Do you remember putting your hands around my throat like this!?" I yelled.

"Are you crazy!?" he asked, never, ever, ever daring to answer any of my questions.

I could not reach his throat, he was flailing just as hard as I always did - every time - and now for the 6th and hopefully the last time...

I was a little bit sad, and completely furious. He had gotten physical again.

It started and ended the way it always does.

Drugs.

Sex.

Love.

Drugs.

Abuse.

Torture.

Jealousy.

Fighting.

Jealousy.

Control.

Rape.

Loss of Control.


And in the morning, like every morning, when I was in mourning, he had no intention to recognize what happened.

I wondered, to myself, without asking, if this is what he learned from his Father - and why would he bear witness to that history just to make the same mistake again.


I did not want it to come to this again.


Jealousy.

Control.

Fighting.

Yelling,

Screaming.

Throwing Things.

Broken Mirror.

Yelling.

Yelling.

Yelling.




Abuse.

Torture.


"Tell that to the police, 'I don't remember'": some of the last words I felt it necessary to say to him.

Bimbo Savant

While the title of this blog "Verbal Intercourse" has enough pith to go without explanation, some may wonder why I chose the moniker Bimbo Savant for all things considering my "Love, Sex and Relationshits"escapades.

Like much of what I divulge in my work, I cannot take sole credit for this creativity. One of my favorite writers, Erica Jong, mentioned somewhere in her book on and about writing, Seducing the Demon: Writing for my Life: [paraphrasing here] "Words belong to everyone."

This statement is a constant reminder of the "writer's toolbox" (a notable term coined by Stephen King in his similar effort On Writing: a Memoir of the Craft) that the writer must always hone through inspiration (reading : writing as teaching : learning).

I am a consummate quoter of films.

The term Bimbo Savant comes from two films, the 1988 Oscar winning film Rain Man staring Dustin Hoffman and the then not-so-creepy Tom Cruise; and the turn of the century romantic comedy, Love & Sex, with brilliant actors Famke Janssen and Jon Favreau.

It is a bittersweet love story, and arguably one of my favorite films. It's the story of a writer writing for a women's magazine and her effort to write a glossy and journalistic story about the plight and delight of love and the importance of sex (sound familiar?).

Without going into details, the film is completely brilliant in every respect, from writing to art production, including some stunning and hilarious cameos the likes of Cheri Oteri and more. It is highly recommended and the entire film is available on Youtube.

I have stolen many lines from this film and rearranged the words for my own situations. For example, my exboyfriend, the German American Virgo with the Prince Albert: We got around to saying "I cheese sandwich you" - a reputable quote from the film in the context of enduring love and the words "I Love You" loosing their intensity when you are with someone for such a long time. As they are eating cheese sandwiches on a park bench, laughing, talking about the future (surely the beginning of the relationship), they agree that this comedic way is better. After a while, and after mentioning how drab and obligatory I thought the statement "I Love You" was/is, me and the Fireman Prince Albert German American Boyfriend Fuckbuddy With The Racist German Mother decided to say "cheese sandwich" as a continuation of this joke, and some sort of effort to get us to laugh more  (something more times than most missing from my relationships - laughter, that is).

There are other things I have stolen (case in point and the MO of this post forthcoming) - Fovreaus's character also comes up with a bit about forbidden, impossible, intense, complicated, crazy love:

"I mean, I can't even be around you. You're sitting here and you're like this incredibly juicy ham sandwich that I just want to stuff in my mouth and I can't because, like, my lips are sewn shut."

I used the latter portion of this line when I "ended" a multifaceted emotional affair with this crazy and amazing Scorpio, after time and time again trying to somehow let go of each other. It was a kind of really magical moment, and it sealed the deal on our agreement that there is no way to make impossible possible, despite the passion that was seething between us. Also, this was one of the many reasons I left The Husband and came to Europe.

All of these aforementioned characters in the story of my life are chronicled in past posts here:

Coming Back

The second link is to my once private blog (UNTIL TODAY) entitled The Darker Side that I used for all the darker elements of my existence, mostly including indiscretions with married men and all that stuff I couldn't "write like no one is looking". I no longer need the shackles of autonomy, so please enjoy this blog as I will be posting some nasty stuff there in the future.

Intermezzo

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Now,  getting to the point.

I was the youngest of three children, the nerd (my brother and sister both star athletes). I became a star athlete too, but nobody noticed. Anyway, long story less long, I was the smart one and was poised to enter university on the accelerated gifted and talented (#stuffwhitepeoplelike) until I had to move schools, from Maryland to New Jersey, right around the time I was taking care of my father. He encouraged me to do this and stressed the importance of education. I could not find a program in Maryland to help (Prince George's County is not known for its excellence in school systems) so I had to head back to Jersey with Mom. My father died shortly after and it slowed down my progress a bit.

The first book I read as soon as I learned to write just after Kindergarten was The Stand by Stephen King. Needless to say, my ambition continued superfluously from then on.

But this ass, this frame, this body - it is deceptive and alluring, so my street and book smarts combined has molded me into the smart, sexy hardass that I am today. But I've always been bad at math. Hence the name.

 

Property Lions Gate Films

bimbo |ˈbimbō| (also bimbette |bimˈbet|)
noun ( pl. -bos) informal
an attractive but empty-headed young woman, esp. one perceived as a willing sex object.
ORIGIN early 20th cent. (originally in the sense [fellow, man] ): from Italian, literally ‘little child.’

savant |saˈvänt; sə-|
noun
a learned person, esp. a distinguished scientist. See also idiot savant .
ORIGIN early 18th cent.: French, literally ‘knowing (person),’ present participle (used as a noun) of savoir.

idiot savant
noun ( pl. idiot savants or idiots savants pronunc. same)
a person who is considered to be mentally handicapped but displays brilliance in a specific area, esp. one involving memory.
ORIGIN late 20th cent.: French, literally ‘learned idiot.’

Comment Intercourse

I wanted to make special note of the comment left from my last post Leather Vest Love Story:


Anonymous said...

I can't help but be reminded of an experience of my own several years ago. A monster, much like the one you describe in your story (ies) somehow worked his way into my life. In the end, his lies and cowardly ways were so successful because of the front he portrayed at the beginning of the relationship. Lies, manipulation and the refusal to take responsibility for any wrong doing were his tactics for making an exit in the end, rather than just being the man I thought he was and saying he wanted out. I realized after it was over that I probably never knew him-if be could be so sly in his lies and manipulation in the end, there's no telling what else was nothing but empty meaningless shit.

The thing that I found most staggering is that he had the balls to dump his insecurities all over me-but the damn fool had been documenting his lying ways the whole time he was doing them. I guess be either figured I would never find out-or he didn't care. It's of no concern to me at this point because a bastard like this doesn't deserve a second thought.

My biggest regret was not finding out sooner what a piece of shit be really was-but this is just one of those instances where you gotta just believe karma will find him and repay his gifts he so generously gave me.

Again-great writing here. It's therapeutic in a way to hear that I'm not the only one who has met such evil in the flesh.

MY RESPONSE:

First - thank you for your comment, I really appreciate your sympathy and empathy.

I don't know how to explain my appreciation in words, but is that not the job of a writer? To say what we all cannot or don't say?

Much of the reason why I document this story is not because it is unique, but rather the opposite. This is an all too common story that goes unnoticed due to the overwhelming stigma and the burden of being emasculated by male on male domestic abuse - physical, emotional, psychological... leading up to and including rape.

I have no pity for you, only for the man who thought it just to treat you in a way that you did not deserve. I am sorry that you had to go through that, and I am happy that you are not only survivor, but you have the courage to move forward and the intelligence to understand that he was a complete douche bag, not you.

There are many major issues that it is necessary to address with this Devil in my life, and I am now on a crusade against his horrible crimes.

All drugs and psychological illness aside, one of the foremost defects of his personality is the complete lack of remorse for his wrong doing. He has no inclination to take responsibility for his heinous actions against me and everyone else he has courted before me. My duty now is to make sure it never happens to anyone else ever again. Ever.

I cannot live with the thought of him doing this again (and he has done worse things to others). This is a very simple and clear-cut example of lunacy, and I hope that by raising awareness of this issue, I can help people find clarity and hopefully some sort of peace in knowing that they are not alone and by no means do they deserve any sort of abuse.

Please do not say things like:

"It's of no concern to me at this point because a bastard like this doesn't deserve a second thought."

It is this sort of antiquated behavior that must be abolished. It is that familiar adage about not being part of the solution.

How many nightmares have you had or times have you had when you were forced to think about him? It is not so easy.

Many (but not enough) have reached out to me but there are no real success stories yet.  You spend your life, time and money trying to heal yourself for something, without much repercussions for the assailant - unacceptable.

In life you have to pick your battles, and when the fight gets brutal and violent in every way, it is easy to back down, but then you let the rabid beast carry on to predator another prey, another victim.  For me, since this is not a singular occurrence, it is well worth fighting for.

Leather Vest Fuck Story

Here lies one of the many contradictions of jealousy and possessiveness in its purest forms.

A man with a staggering collection of pornography both tangible and virtual, including a Tumblr that is most filled with sexual references (like the rest of us), has also been privy to the likes of starring in a bareback gay porn film. (I will save the backstory for another time).

While I condone all of the aforementioned behaviors (and the one depicted below), it boggles my mind that any attempt for me to enjoy nature's duty of sexual enticement (from porn, looking at other men, flirting) is so vehemently thwarted by someone so adequately obsessed with sex.

It is no secret that men (and most women) are creatures who strive on sexual visual excitement. Men think about sex on average every 7 minutes (there are many surveys attesting to this), and it is a belief of my own making that it is impossible not to instinctively decide in one's own head whether or not they want to fuck someone in terms of complete strangers. There is no way to have eyes for one man/woman.

I look at this beast, surrounded by beasts, all one of the monster with innumerable legs and I am proud. This is a man who gave in and accepted sexuality in a plausible circumstance.

Nowadays, if you ask him about it he will lie a thousand excuses for his participation in this sleaze flick. It's laughable at best, the coincidence of it all. A German who is the sluttiest man in Europe and captain of the fetish club in the capital of sleaze that is Berlin, a porn lover, host of several sex parties per year, a man who has fucked almost a dozen porn stars, a man who follows porn stars on every social media tool out there - this is a man who continuously exposes himself to sex with several partners (with the accoutrements of drugs no less) and harps the ridiculous gospel of monogamy. He has made my life a living hell for almost two years trying to convince me of his pure and faithful ways that couldn't be farther from the truth (an entity that keeps slipping farther and farther away from him).

It does not bother me that he can't keep his dick in his pants. What frightens me is the psychotic behavior of his contradictory jealousy. Crystal Meth seems to be the fuel for his fire, a drug with unspeakable consequences for all those involved.

I've sat in his presence FOR HOURS being called all types of sluts, whores and whatnot, mostly just hours after he has fucked or fisted someone else - this fascinating element of guilt projection - yelling and screaming loud enough to prevent me from any rebuttal to state my case, slamming things down and throwing furniture with violent rage to thwart any possibility of the truth seeping in, finishing me off with a meager attempt to asphyxiate me with swift hands around my throat...he has tried this technique 5 times now - I'm still alive somehow but I must sadly mention, as embarrassing as it is, that he tells me he never tried to choke me.

When I was a little Catholic boy, I was taught that lying and murder were equally punishable under the laws of God - that has been indelibly etched into my morality and I still think both are just as bad as the other. But I am not so pious anymore, and there aren't enough Hail Marys in the world to save this lost soul.

The leather vest fuck story.

That same leather vest was hanging in the closet of his holiday flat when I saw him on Thursday, just four days after his lover/boyfriend/partner had been there. 

Every time I see that piece of shit armor vest, I get angry. I think of the connection to that community that he holds so dear but has corrupted with his tyranny. I want to burn it because he does not deserve to wear it, this affliction that perpetuates all of the worst stereotypes of gay culture. I do not worry though. There will be a day where he will burn in hell for his sins - so ironic, the Devil incarnate that he is.

Visual Intercourse

Sometimes it's okay laugh with/at this slut city called Berlin...

Memories from The Coldest Winter 2012/13

Visual Intercourse

My newest self-portrait video


Staying from DeVo Nelson on Vimeo.