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Dissociate
I pull away
I don’t mean to. I want to be there, want the experience in its fullness, and yet…
There is a sense of unreality to it, a sense of… no, not falseness, not even exactly numbness. My body does the things it’s supposed to, for a bit; there is a sense of double vision, my body on the one side smiling and touching; my consciousness on the other, watching quietly, not saying a word.
When the gap between my body and my consciousness grows too wide, suddenly they snap back together and I freeze. I pull away and curl into myself. Though the threat of danger is now years in my past, still I must protect myself from (what my body has learned is) the inevitable.
The first time Jester touches me, I feel desire. It has been six months since I have been touched. But desire is not safe. My fight or flight response kicks in, and my brain chooses freeze.
I cannot speak.
I cannot say, No.
Desire is fleeting — here for maybe thirty seconds, maybe a minute, and then viciously gone.
I do not feel anything. My body is a ragdoll; and I, a silent witness to what happens to it. I watch as he fucks me, fully numb, not mourning, not caring. He doesn’t understand anything about this; he barely knows me. In the months to come he will grow to an understanding, he will learn to pay attention, to make sure I am present, to stop if I cannot speak; but now, he just fucks me.