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From: declan@weirdness.com
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Subject: {ASSM} Alexandra Ch09(Slow, Romance, Literary Erotica)
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Date: Fri, 14 Dec 2007 12:10:03 -0500
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Hi
I have posted various chapters of this novel to various newsgroups and
web sites over the last few years (and from several different email
accounts). I have lost track of where I post what. So I have decided
to post the complete novel here over the next few days.
The complete novel and my other stories are also available on my
website www.DeclanStanley.com.
-----------

Alexandra Chapter 9

Having reviewed my relationship with Alexandra in order to compile
this account and having discussed what I have related and will be
relating to you with other people, there is perhaps one question I
should try to answer at this point; why did I want to continue my
relationship with Alexandra? Why did I chase after her when it was
obvious that she wasn't going to treat me with any sort of respect?
The only answer I can make is that I was in love with her. A lot of
people are going to say that it wasn't love, that it was lust. That I
just lusted after her body. And maybe they're right.
I know that at the beginning I knew nothing about her. That I just
projected an image onto her and that I fell in love with that image
and not with her. That's what falling in love at first sight is. Isn't
it?
I also discovered that there is a psychological condition were people
develop a compulsive/obsessive complex about someone, were they
project an image of their perfect partner onto someone else and chase
after them, even though the other person is in real life nothing like
that image and quite often is not in the lest bit interested in
returning that "love". Some times I think that is what happened to me.
But as time went by I think I got to know Alexandra, the real her. I
know I got to understand her far better than she ever understood me.
And I discovered a person who was quite shy and insecure. I felt very
protective of her and wanted to help her grow and mature, to become a
stronger, more self-reliant person. I wanted very much not to hurt
her, to be as gentle as I could with her. To hold her tight and wrap
her in cotton wool so she wouldn't be hurt.
Now I know that is not the way to help someone grow. That to isolate
and over protect someone only serves to stunt their growth and make
then even less self-reliant. But at the time I just didn't want to
cause her pain. I just couldn't stand the thought of her suffering.
Is that love? I don't know.
And the situation was not helped by my own insecurities, my own
immaturity, my own inexperience. I didn't want to demand things from
her. I wanted her to give what she felt she could give. What she was
able to give. I didn't want to push her into doing anything. I didn't
want to push her away from me.
I didn't want to force the issue of sex, because I didn't want to
alienate her. By this time I was convinced that she was a virgin. At
the very least I knew she hadn't had much experience with men. She
didn't know what to do with my body, she didn't know what to do in
order to make love to me. Oh she was good at kissing and necking, but
once the clothes started coming of she was lost. If she wasn't a
virgin then it had obviously been a case of a guy "doing it to her",
nobody had taught her how to take an active role in the proceedings.
But I had been a virgin myself. I was no macho stud. I wasn't used to
sweeping girls off their feet and leaving them breathless after a
night of passion. I wasn't sure how to do it, even if it had occurred
to me to try. I thought then, and still think to this day, that even
if she didn't love me she mush have at least liked me and trusted me
to have gotten so intimate with me. For her to let herself be so
vulnerable she must have trusted me. Yet in all other aspects of our
relationship she seemed to refuse to trust me. At times she acted as
if she despised me. And I hurt so badly.
But it wasn't just the sex. I've since discovered that sex is rarely
the problem, mostly it's just a reflection of the relationship. If the
relationship is good then the sex will be good. If you have an open,
honest relationship were you can both talk to each other then you have
no trouble sharing yourself sexually with someone. You can not lie to
someone when you make love to them, but it's ever so easy to fool
yourself. You can not make love to someone you don't love without it
showing, but you can pretend that they love you.
The fact is that we had what can only be described as a sever
communications problem. We used the same words, but we didn't speak
the same language. When I made love to her I was giving her the
greatest pleasure I could give. It meant that I trusted and loved her.
It was a statement of commitment to her. To love her and protect her.
To share my life with her. To support her in everything she did. But
to her what we had was a very casual relationship. When I made love to
her it was just good clean fun, a cheap trill on a Saturday night,
nothing more.
She didn't trust me. She didn't love me. She didn't want to share her
life with me. And she definitely didn't want me to try to share mine
with her. She didn't even consider what we did to be sex. You see she
was a good Irish Catholic girl. And good Irish Catholic girls don't
have sex before they get married, therefore what we did couldn't have
been sex. After all I never penetrated her vagina with my penis, had
I?
At least that's what they teach us in school. They show us their crude
block diagrams of the cross section of the male and female
reproductive organs and tell us that women have periods and men get
erections. That sex is when a man pushes his erection into a woman's
vagina and ejaculates sperm into her. And that then it's god's will if
she gets pregnant or not. They never mention making love. Apart from
using "making love" as a euphemism for having sex.
And that's all that sex was to her. We hadn't done that so we hadn't
had sex. So she didn't have to feel guilty about sinning. She didn't
have to worry about the shame of getting pregnant outside marriage.
She didn't owe me anything, because after all it was just good clean
fun, not sex. For sex you need trust and commitment and love. Fun
doesn't require any of that.
I'd wanted to have an honest, open relationship with her. Open in the
sense that we could say and do anything to each other, not open in the
sense of having other sexual partners. I'm much too possessive for
that. I had deliberately tried not to seduce her, because I think of
seduction as tricking someone into having sex with you. Of pretending
to fulfil their fantasies in order to get what you want out of them.
And I hadn't wanted her to love her fantasies, I'd wanted her to love
me.
But I now realise that I had in fact seduced her. That first night
when I'd slipped my fingers inside her panties and turned the "heavy
petting" into sex. At the time it seemed so obvious that was what I
should do. But looking back I think that it marked the first crack
that turned into the gulf of misunderstanding that grew between us.
She thought it was just good clean fun and I thought it was serious
sex.
Or rather I wanted serious sex so badly, sex as a symbol of a serious
committed relationship, that is. And all she wanted was a casual
relationship, with this new added bonus of orgasms without sex. An
extra trill while skirting the line between what was sin and what was
safe.
I began to feel guilty about having tricked her and more importantly
ashamed for having tricked myself. All the time I was congratulating
myself on how honest I was being, I was doing exactly what I was
accusing her of doing; while telling her that I wanted her love freely
given, I was trying to use sex as a means of entrapping her. Every
time I touched her I was saying "You're mine".
Every time we made love another link in the chain was forged. But the
chain wasn't binding her to me, it was binding me to her. I wanted to
give her everything I had. While she wanted none of it and seemed
oblivious that she could have it. I was getting more and more hooked
on her. While she remained adamant that the relationship was just
casual.
I realise now that I still felt guilty about not making her come on
that final night. That it had in a sense been the ultimate betrayal
that I'd accused her of so many times, though I' d never said it to
her face. To arouse her passion and to deny her an orgasm. A betrayal
of the trust I'd tried to build between us by being honest in my
intentions, even when she'd appeared to be lying to me at every stage
and at every level. To have finally sunk to her level.
Isn't it amazing how the techniques of repression affect one. Here was
I feeling guilt over not doing something that the Catholic Church
would consider a sin, when the Church would have me feel guilt over
having done it. Or for even wanting to do it. I felt guilt because
I've been thought that I should feel guilt. And even when I've, not so
much reject the Churches teaching as, formulated my own moral code
that doesn't include using guilt to try to coheres obedience, I still
end up feeling guilty for not having lived up to my own moral code.
The emotions that I've been conditioned to feel go deeper than the
intellectual observance of any particular code of law.
I've never actually had anybody tell me specifically that masturbating
a girl is a sin. But I presume it is, as masturbating for men, or
boys, is a sin. Although the reasons given to me when I asked why (I
always was a difficult student) wouldn't apply to a girl. It was
something about "bringing forth the seed" without there being a chance
of fertilisation taking place. But leaving aside the Catholic Churches
general ignorance of female sexuality, it has probably never have
occurred to the powers that be that women can masturbate. And working
on the principal that if you get pleasure from it then it must be a
sin. I'll assume that what I did with Alexandra was a sin. But I half
regret that I never did get around to asking her if she'd confessed
it. And I'll always wonder what the priests reaction would have been
if she had.
But aside from all this deep thinking on the nature of love and sin
and sexuality I discovered what my real feelings for her were. That
try as much as I could I couldn't make her out to be the villain. That
I really believe she was as much a victim as I was.
My first bitter reaction was to hurt her as much as I thought she'd
hurt me. And in the same way to. I wanted to worm my way into a
position where she completely trusted me and then totally betray her
trust. I felt that was what she had done to me. I wanted to believe
that was what she had done to me. I tried as hard as I could to
convince myself that was what she had done to me. But I couldn't.
I couldn't worm my way into her confidence, and I wouldn't have been
able to deliberately hurt her like that even if I could've. But more
importantly I couldn't believe that she'd deliberately done it to me.
I couldn't believe that she was such a fucked up little bitch, such an
evil person, that she had set out to systematically torture me, and
degrade me and humiliate me.
I knew that I wanted to believe that she had victimised me so that I
wouldn't have to take any of the responsibility. So that I could
justifiably feel self pity. So that I wouldn't have to accept that I'd
set myself up as much as she'd set me up. And even that she had been
set up and betrayed just as much as I'd been.
I realise now That she had wanted her prince in shining armour to come
galloping into her life and sweep her up and away to a fairytale
ending, just as much as I'd expected her to make me happy. That she
had wanted to trust and love me as much as I'd wanted to trust and
love her. But that she couldn't pretend to herself that I was her
prince. I didn't fit into the image of her perfect lover. And that
ultimately she didn't fit my picture of my perfect lover.
I finally had to stop dreaming and face up to the fact that I'd been
making a fool of myself. I couldn't lie to myself any longer. I
couldn't pretend that she was someone she wasn't and couldn't expect
her to behave as I wanted her to behave.
I thought now was the time to clear the air, now was the time to tell
her that there was no hard feelings. To explain that we had both
struck out. That we had both tried for something that the other
couldn't give. We both needed to give different things to each other
and get different things back. That we had shared some good times
together, but that ultimately we were incompatible with each other.
So I phoned and she wasn't in, so I left a message, but she never
called back. And I waited for her to show up at the club, but she
never came. I called again and again, but she didn't return any of
them. I eventually stopped, knowing that she believed that I was still
chasing after her, that I still wanted to renew our doomed
relationship.
And so I never got a chance to tell her that I was still fond of her.
That I wished her well. That I wanted us to still be friends.
I never got a chance to resolve all that ill feeling between us. It
was left festering and made the scars take longer to heal.
I never got a chance to tell her that at some level I would always
love her, but that we could never make it together. I never got a
chance to say goodbye.

-----------
Copyright Declan Stanley.
The full story can be found at: http://declanstanley.com/novels/alexandra/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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