I was robbed of my nuts, slow castration of the animal in my brain was painless through years of numbed alcoholic daze. But the final rip, tug and pull of the emotional abuse that severed the remaining strings of the manliness inside my heart, while she screamed and told me not to touch her in front of my son. Secured me, secured the animal inside.
With that began a final journey the final straight of the athlete that had to run, run for his life to a finish line that seemed to lie in a next dimension.
We are animals. We are animals. Do we know this? Some are lucky as they are never robbed, either through their own strength or just perhaps because they were lucky enough that she or someone like her did not cross their path. So some get to realise that they are animals in their instinct, need and desire. Some are lucky enough to remove some of the tenderness in the act of fucking and give heed to the animal. There is an intrinsic violent nature to the sex act that secures the existence of the species which should be natural. But somewhere we gave away our nuts, or it got ripped off by mutual consent. Some are lucky to discover that the act of penetrating and thrusting a foreign object into a females body is a violent act by nature, and no amount of cuddling or caressing can remove the intrinsic need of violence from us animals fucking.
So some are robbed, some give away their male essence in their sex. Some just do not need the violent nature, and some need it in reverse.
We find relationships, we marry. We start that lifelong relationship based on a presumption that its built on mutual respect, confidence in monogamy, confidence in commitment and expectation of a life together. We start life time partnerships on the premise that it will be exactly that. A lifetime relationship. There is no expectation that a relationship like that might end. Because we enter into it with exactly the opposite expectation; that it will last forever.
But when one party in that relationship starts a secondary relationship, it is started on the premise that it will end.
This lends an ironic sadism to secondary relationships and what they do to unsuspecting partners. Unsuspecting partners that expect exclusivity does not expect the rejection hurt and shock of the act that rips their nuts from their brains. Because they expect it to last, where as the secondary partner expects no such thing, they expect and are prepared for it to end. The secondary partner will always be emotionally stable while the primary breaks into pieces. As the end is expected. The end looms every day, and the end of the relationship makes every moment of that relationship valuable to those involved as any day could be the last, any fuck over an office table, or blow job on a kitchen counter or night in a hotel room could be the last. So the passion is not removed, the tenderness not reserved for them, the tender expectancies is reserved for the one waiting to be castrated at home to clean the kitchen counter, or to smell the wife reeking of another's cum as she walks in the house, or counting the blue marks on the loving tender wife that treats him with disdain when he dares ask why she smells like sex.
None of this however removes the fact that we remain animals, and that sex is by nature violent. It actually helps in understanding exactly that.
That we are able to be men. That we are able to fuck violently as animals do. That we can cause blue marks. That we can have them on their knees in front of us sucking cock on a kitchen counter, and bending over their office tables, or cum on their tits in hotel rooms because we are animals.
And once we remove our little safety nets of lifetime relationships and what we expect from them. Including the white picket fence, little white house, with three kids, overdraft and two Alsations. And replace that with with a small fisherman's home, with a white picket fence, a pit bull bitch and a dungeon. Then do we stand a chance of discovering that we can fuck like animals, and love.
Then we realise that our own expectation of love and what we thought it was is exactly what fucked us in the first place. What is emotion? A gentle stroke? A soft sensual kiss? A slow penetration? Or a slap on that backside with sudden unexpected rough entry to the hilt? The political correct answer would be that there is no correct answer and as much as that might be correct in most cases, when the possibility of an endless relationship is removed. Which one sounds more alluring? Sensual love making or raw passionate fucking?
People choose monogamy or should I say they choose monogamy with an ever present possibility of being attracted somewhere else to animal behaviour. Others choose polyamory, and it does not matter how much we sugar coat it the claim to say that secondary relationships fulfills different needs with different people in an honest open fashion. Serves exactly the same purpose as a monogamous person fucking a lover.
So I guess what I am saying is that it sounds easy to to say I am looking for lifetime monogamous happiness without the possibility of an end to the relationship; which idea belongs in Utopia, or I can enter each relationship as if it is the last day with that person. Each time we make love, fuck like rug rats. Each time we make love draw into the others inner animal and fuck their senses, senseless. As no amount of paperwork will remove the pedigree bitch from her cunt smelling like sex when she has fucked the leader of another pack.
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