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I've never slept around. Stupid things I've done in the past have generally involved diving back into the independent escort scene. I'm not the kind of girl who goes to a bar and picks up anybody for a one night stand. I lived my first one this New Year's Eve.
Who am I generally with on NYE? Best friend. So I was feeling kind of lonely, especially since all the other friends' plans didn't involve me or if they did, involved me immersing myself in a crowd of other friends I didn't know. With her, it was different - the only time of year I was willing to put my social anxiety aside and go celebrate in a bar. You can tolerate too much noise and people at least one night a year... But no Isabelle this year. So I thought, live a little and post an ad on Craigslist. I did. I didn't put it in the 'casual encounters' section; I was clear I wasn't fishing for a physical experience. I just wanted to not stay home alone on New Year's... Would any one join me? Many wanted to. I chose one on a cute pic and a toss of a coin.
The bit that follows may be triggering for some people, first of which, me. I'd like to be able to use the right words but I can't. Words feel like monsters whenever they're related to intimate shit that happened to me, today's entry's trigger-theme.
We met. We clicked. Totally my type - surprising. Smart, witty, sexy. I was wowed all night. We drank champagne, then midnight came and then my memory goes fuzz. I don't understand what happened to me.
I remember kissing him. At the bar. I remember at one point, suddenly changing. Losing the shy me. A bit before midnight. I don't remember the count-down, though I remember we were still there when it happened. I only remember distorted faces and lights. Confetti maybe. I remember being wisked away quickly and heading toward his house. I remember the snow. I remember trying to light a cigarette and finding I had no lighter; asking that nice couple over there in a parked car if they had one. The gentleman saying sure, and lighting me with the car lighter; N. (my date) telling me no, to come now. I remember door in, light, mailboxes, elevator. I remember ding, a hall, a number - fuzzy - on the door. I remember it exactly like I remember my years working at the escort agency. If you've read my earlier posts, those dreamy hotel hallways. I don't understand the connection, but I think there is one.
I remember in his house, going straight for the books, as I do at everybody's house I've never visited. What books does he read? I remember lots of computer related stuff, being bored and looking for other stuff to look at. The place: a big nice loft with a big nice tv. I remember vaguely something about the tv being a computer. Is that a computer? Yes. I remember lots of wows. I remember a bed. I don't remember how I got on it or what followed after.
I woke up the next morning with some pain in areas I won't use the right words to describe except to say they should not feel raw. I didn't really check myself at his house. I don't know why. I rationalized the pain as 'I guess it was really good sex I can't remember.'(???) He wanted to go at it again. I was uncomfortable. He sensed it. 'I don't know you...' He stopped. Apologized. We got dressed; went for breakfast. He was nice. That's the thing. Everything I do remember about him is really nice, all the way to the kiss good-bye by the side of the taxi, but when I saw what I saw back home I felt a bit freaked out. How could I not remember that? That would have hurt... There was blood.
Of course, first thing I started thinking about was that drug. The date drug. I drank a lot, but not enough to black out like that; the equivalent of one champagne bottle over 3 hours (I've done much better with Isabelle). The suddenly becoming less inhibited part, the loss of memory... but when I googled rohypnol it didn't fit. Apparantly one has 10 minutes before incapacitated and loss of memory seems to be complete - I remember bits, here and there. Flashes. Like I remember him stopping eventually because he couldn't orgasm. Nothing between that bit and noticing the plushness of the sheets as I fell into them like on a cloud to sleep. Oh yes. There are other flashes of in between I remember, but they are confusing. Like, that girl who was in that bed wasn't me. Like, I was above, filming it, just like I remember every other time I dissociate - at least, I think that's what you call it.
What happened to me? How did I end up there? Was I drugged? No. Was a bottle of champagne really sufficient for that kind of black-out? I don't think so. I remember him noticing how I'd changed. Did I change into that other persona? Does 'she' even exist? I remember the next morning him saying I was quite the character, many times, and me not understanding what he meant. We laughed a lot. Conversation flowed. That tv? Yes, I did ask if it was a computer and yes it was. Some sort of big Apple tv with a keyboard instead of a remote control. Apparantly, we watched a movie on it.
The whole experience reminds me of the first experience I had in that past as an escort I don't want to remember.
I feel both paranoid and like self-flagellating. Like I'm trying to justify bad behavior on external forces - alcohol or drugs. Like I'm trying to cast him in some evil category like the first person who raped me. It was the same. I went there willingly. I was impressed the whole time. I wowed as much at his house as I did at N.'s... We were laughing, I remember that. And then blank. And then feeling like crying when I got home and undressed to take a shower. Fear. A little like how I feel when I can't recall a single detail between my arriving to that first agency owner's house and the ride back home.
I've had many of these black-outs throughout my life; with clients and every guy I dated in the ten years since. Where I can only remember sex starting and sex ending, but where the timeline after start and before end disappears in a big black hole. I always black out sex.
Why does that happen to me? What is it? Why does it still happen? It's never happened like this before. If someone had hurt me, I'd remember. Wouldn't the pain have shocked me back into reality? I don't remember it happening!
The horrifying bit - the bit about words I can't say, is vaguely remembering being into it. I get a flash of the agency owner's room as I write it, I don't know why. With him, what I remember clearly is the feeling of being shocked into submission. Not being into it at all but not knowing how to get out of it.
I remember words I said on New Years Eve. I know I could recall their physical reprentations - the timeline, if I could believe they are not dangerous. Like if I confront them, the ground won't open in front of me and I won't be swaying at the edge of a huge dark precipice.
I don't understand what happened to me in the way the little girl I was couldn't understand the next morning. Before the agency guy.
Maybe I should write to N. and ask him what happened, but I figured I'd wait to see if he writes back. If he doesn't, I can make the answer whatever I want. Something evil; a man in a series of men who only sought me for the pleasure they could derive from me; me turning into that woman that they want. Or something that happened, that isn't related to me or my character. Something that might stop happening if I started putting words in my black-outs.
NYE is fresh. Mrs. E this Thursday.