How it ended [FF]

I’ve tried to write this so many ways. Ultimately, I ended on the truth. Shielding the reality doesn’t protect anyone.

I owe a lot to M. Our sex changed me at my very core. Before it felt like an act, but sex with M felt weirdly like a lifestyle. I was obsessed with fucking her… But I was also just kind of obsessed with her generally.

M was fearless. We once had a professor say something racist. She flipped him off and walked out. When he threatened her with disciplinary action, she laughed in his face and said she’d love the chance to tell everyone what he said.

She didn’t face any disciplinary action.

M was the most physically beautiful person I’ve ever seen. She had brown skin and straight black hair to her waist. When people asked her “what” she was, she’d always give a different answer that never quite made sense. It would throw people off.

“I’m Norwegian” was here favorite line.

She had green eyes and usually wore thick glasses. She was never dressed “appropriate” in any sense of the word. She wore leather, corsets, red lipstick, and heels. She NEVER wore a bra and I’m fairly certain she didn’t own a brush. She didn’t need to wear makeup but she did anyway.

She was the ultimate “fuck you” to the male gaze. She told me once men treated her like a plaything regardless of what she wore, so she dressed like a whore.

She fucked with men a lot. Granted, she kind of fucked with everyone, but she especially hated men. I could never exactly get a straight answer why, but I suspect it has something to do with the way she couldn’t really find peace. She was distractingly beautiful and people didn’t really know how to act around her. We couldn’t even do something like go grocery shopping without her getting hit in. She didn’t have patience for it.

M was an artist. She could play any instrument, draw freehand from memory, and loved cooking.

She was an artist in bed too. Damn it, our sex life was the thing to legends. Until I met K, I honestly didn’t know if I would have sex like that again. It was all-consuming.

She was a very slow and meticulous lover. She took her time and loved playing with me. She would find different ways to get my body to respond and was obsessed with pleasure. Every bit of pain she gave me in bed was just to feel more. She said crazy shit, but was surprisingly loving.

We fucked everyday. I was so fucking addicted to her. She made me see my body different because her eyes would light up with each new piece of skin I showed. I was shy back then, but she made me love my body and sex.

M loved me so deeply and I don’t know if I’ve ever loved anyone the way I loved her. Our relationship was so fucking passionate that I lost a part of myself when we ended.

M was a drug addict… That’s the thing about her I dance around a lot, but I suppose that’s how this story really begins.

This is not the story of the last time we fucked. Before I got married, M was kind of a consistent sex partner throughout my life. She’d pop up at various points when I was most vulnerable, fuck me into submission and make sure I ate, and then disappear again.

*She met K once… That was entertaining. She toyed with him all night like they were going to fuck and then she went home with our waitress. NGL, watching him get rejected was weirdly satisfying.*

This is the story of when I knew we didn’t have a future or capacity for a relationship that had any resemblance of normalcy. I don’t think she will ever have a relationship like that.

Being with a drug addict is a full-time job. I wanted to control it, but sometimes I’d lose her for days. I’d spend time with her, but still miss my girlfriend terribly because she was such a mess. She was just gone.

And then she’d disappear periodically and it terrified me.

Once she was gone for 48 hours and I sent her a text that said we were over. I’m not sure I believed it myself, but something in me had cracked.

She came to my house when she resurfaced and I sat across the room from her.

“Your hands are shaking,” she noted when I grabbed a tissue.

*You see, I’m an addict too. It just so happens that she was my drug of choice.*

We got into a fight because she had fucked someone else. She did that sometimes for money and it made me physically ill. I didn’t react at first though. I just told her to get out.

“Why don’t you get angry? It’s like I don’t know anything about you. It’s frustrating.”

So I got angry. I broke a plate against a wall and THEN told her to get out.

“Viola,” she stopped me. “Calm down.”

“Fuck you!” I screamed before she kissed me.

*Shit… She was kind of a hard person to resist.*

I’m not exactly proud of what happened next, but you have to understand the rage I was experiencing. If I looked at a dude the wrong way she’d explode, but she periodically cheated. Sometimes for cash and sometimes because she was incredibly frustrated by my inability to “come out.” Our relationship was a secret and she hated it… She fucked other girls to mess with me.

*Yes, we were toxic AF.*

So I called her a whore and pushed her to her knees. She tore my sweatpants off and underwear down and reached a hand to my breast as her tongue hit my clit. She swirled her tongue around quickly and then started with long strokes. She squeezed my nipple and flicked me once. I put my hand over hers and squeezed harder. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted it to bruise. I wanted to shut off and feel nothing but her tongue in between my legs and her hand cupping my breast so hard I moaned in pain.

I called her a whore again.

When her other hand went to my ass and started fingering my entrance gently, I grabbed her hair and shoved her head harder against me. I was shaking as I climaxed and my head spun from the sensation.

I cried as I came down and apologized. She watched me from the floor but didn’t say anything. She just grabbed my hand, took me to bed, and tucked me in gently.

“I love you,” she said quietly.

She dropped out of school for a while after that and disappeared. I told myself she was on some grand adventure, but the reality was she was just high.

That certainly wasn’t the last time we fucked. Ironically the next time I saw her was in rehab and I almost got her kicked out because her roommate walked in on her eating my ass… I think that story alone describes M and me in a single anecdote.

I loved her. I really did. I just couldn’t fix her and our relationship was tearing me apart.

We talk often enough. I sent her this story, in fact. She didn’t respond because she hasn’t responded to anyone in a while.

Her life is a lot more stable now and she respects my marriage enough that we can have a genuine friendship (*my husband teeters between being aroused and terrified when we’re around her*).

She’s currently off the radar which happens a few times a year. I miss her but I trust she’ll be ok. M is nothing if not a fighters

*When you read this, I want you to know how much I love you. You changed the course of my life. When you resurface give me a call and please be safe in the meantime. You’re too important to me for something to happen to you.*

So yeah, that’s how we ended.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/yx1fh3/how_it_ended_ff