About Those Midnight Confessions... DON'T!

"Disclosure Day" was when my heart was ripped out of my chest by the man I loved.

While in bed together, the last day of vacation, the love of my life, my true soulmate, the man I wanted to grow old with, to die in his loving embrace, confided in me.

"I spent several years in the porn industry."

Yes, Porn Industry.

I wanted to die. He could've told me this months' earlier before I got roped in, but nope. I felt sucker punched.

His arms wrapped tightly around me, he said with pride, "My ex-wife was a famous Dominatrix."

Yes, that counted as a Kodak moment. Stunned into silence, I finally asked, "Were you into it?"

"I was curious at first," he said. "But it wore off fast."

Fast as in ten movies starring in BDSM - bondage, domination, sadism and masochism.

Boy, did I choose a winner. I knew he was special and different than all the other men in my life. Now I know why.

I don't understand BDSM except it's about degradation, humiliation, pain and all sorts of fucked up shit in which I'm not interested.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, unnerved that the man who just made love to me has no doubt done stuff I find abhorrent.

He hesitated. "Well, my best friend calls me, 'Porn,' so I might as well tell you now. His fiance calls me, 'Porn-o-graph-y.'"

I groaned. This guy, the sweet, kind, lovely man who I got to know over nine months, the substance of my dreams, turned into my worst nightmare. My stomach lurched. No doubt, he saw the expression on my face: a rictus grin indicating shock. No doubt, he felt my naked body tremble in his embrace.

"Don't worry," he said, "They're on VCR and off the market."

Great. Reassuring to say the least.

"Did you have sex in these films?"

"Oh no," he said. I didn't believe him for a moment. I bet a shemale fucked him up the ass. Because he added with a note of righteousness, "The porn industry tests for diseases all the time."

I wanted to kill myself and rip my flesh off. In that precise order.

"Did you show your dick?"

"Yes, you can see my genitalia." No doubt displaying his cock, balls and rectum. Terrific.

While my head reeled, I said, "I can't say I'm too happy to hear about your past. But that's your past which has nothing to do with today." Then, I equivocated. "Or does it? Please tell me now - are you interested any more in this or any other fetish stuff? I need to know. I don't want to be put in a position down the road when you say, 'Oh, by the way, I'd really like to try...' and I can't do it."

He wryly laughed. "No, I'm not interested at all. It lost its fascination twelve years ago."

"Only twelve years?" I started to shake.

"That's a long time," he insisted. "Listen, you can ask me anything about what I did. I'll tell you."

He knew I'd rather impale myself on a blunt butter knife than ask.

At this point, dear Reader, you may wonder why I didn't get rid of him besides my tolerance for aberrant behavior.

He made this admission at the tail end of a romantic vacation. Up to that moment, we had an amazing time. There was some kind of connection going on which I had never experienced beforehand: he made me feel safe, happy, comfortable and loved. For those of you who wondered about the sex: it was normal. Nothing weird or kinky there. It wasn't the best sex I ever had by far, yet, the only difference was he knew exactly how to please me without a tutorial.

He had to go ahead and open up his mouth with that disclosure and ruin everything. It wasn't the porn; it wasn't precisely the BDSM. Yes, I dealt with the man of today who I adored and it wasn't right to punish him for the bad choices in his past. Even so, I can't discount his past. It's not as if I had to deal with a man who didn't cut his toenails on a regular basis. This was some serious shit; I can barely deal with my own issues, but combined with this... Because I was privy to his life story, let's leave it at dysfunctional to be kind (where 'bi-polar' kept cropping up), everything now made sense with the missing piece of the puzzle. My heart sunk. For he's damaged goods no matter how hard he tries to spin it around.

Underneath my open-mindedness, in my bed, in my life, I wished and hoped for a normal man. I reassured myself he was normal in that he held a job. Yet, I couldn't reconcile the blindingly smart man with the low-level administrative support dead-end job. Talk about a dichotomy!

When we met, he was on probation for his anger management issues with his colleagues. "I hate stupid people," he railed and tweeted. Luckily, it was anger he never overtly displayed to me. He did that in his form of mindfucking. However, I was a positive influence: he was happy for the first time in years. His happiness quelled his anger and management left him alone. In essence, I saved his job.

I honestly believe he wanted to make me happy and tried to act normal for my benefit. He even announced to his friends we were in a relationship!

Then, he pulled a mindfuck. Two weeks after our vacation, he emotionally withdrew. He became iron-fisted, no longer confiding in me, nor sharing decisions. I mentioned, "I noticed how you have me on a short leash there."

He laughed. "Don't you love it?"

"No. Let me tell you, the only reason why you're able to do this is because I allow you to."

He laughed harder. "I know you. Oh, do I know you." And he yanked hard on that leash. He started by withholding love and affection. And freaked when I blogged about it.

"I'm a private man," he shrieked.

"PRIVATE? You're proud of doing porn and exposing your genitalia!" I yelled back.

Smelling defeat, he backed down. "I can't read your blog any more," he muttered. "It's too upsetting."

Mind you, Mr. Porn-o-graph-y found my BLOG upsetting? Welcome to Wonderland!

To top it off, he transmogrified into a Victorian man, prim, grim and proper with associated cruelty. He refused to say anything regarding sex and rebuffed my sexual allusions.

I said, "I really miss you. I desire you so much." Now, men love those kinds of admissions. Especially weird, geeky guys who rarely get laid, don't act appropriate in social settings, prefer to sit home alone with their pet bird and flirt online with catfish and young women. Here he has ME making that admission and I must admit, I'm a hot lady, and this is what he said:

"That's your problem, not mine."

I went berserk. "What do you mean by that?"

He laughed. "Yeah, that was rather mean."

His sadism crept in. He attacked me another way. "I've an issue with your cursing," he said to me later. "It doesn't suit you."

Mr. Porn-o-graph-y exposed his cock, balls and rectum in 10 films, doing lord knows what with who knows what and my cursing offends him? OH BOY!

"If it bothers you that much, I won't curse around you."

"I don't mind," he insisted, trying to play cool.

"Yes you do, otherwise you wouldn't bring it up. But it's a simple concession and I'll make it out of my love for you."

I felt sick to my stomach. This is a romance gone awry. This is not normal shit. It was a giant red flare: not only did the mask slip and the kink pop out, he lost interest in me. He showed his indifference by playing on twitter for seven hours instead of phoning me as promised to discuss a video project.

I texted him: Honestly, twitter's more important than me? WTF?

He wrote: I get lost on the twitter. I need to work on that.

I wrote: Where the fuck am I in your life?

We went back and forth until he finally wrote: You're right at the top.

I responded: Why couldn't you tell me this before?

He lost interest in me, but not all, evidently, for he wanted to do a vlog with me. He brought up the concept a week earlier of making a vlog. A concept my friends have egged me for the past year. This time I considered doing it with my boyfriend as a partner. I created a storyboard about him and me - it was a relationship vlog, my way of showcasing our committed relationship.

The vlog, that's what he wanted to talk about. Not the next time he'll see me, or about how he misses me, just the vlog.

Then, he hit me with the strangest request I ever heard in my life.

"Can I wear make-up and wear a dress?" It was the first time he acted animated in weeks.

"What's with your fascination with cross-dressing? I read those tweets." He tweeted incessantly about wearing make-up, shoes and dresses for over a week. I didn't know then, but he's totally into being a "Sissy Maid," a term coined by BDSM-ers for hetero (or in his case, bi-sexual) men who are demanded to dress in drag with make-up for further humiliation.

"Oh, it's funny."

"Funny?" I repeated, taken aback. "Is there something else I should know?" I felt the pit of my stomach drop. I should've expected some inner freak madness to come out, especially when I was forewarned by 40 people.

"Listen, he was married to a DOM and was into the BDSM scene. So, please, he's a freak. The kink will always be there," they advised, separate and apart.

"He insists it's over and out of his system."

"Sorry, dear, never. One day he'll expose his inner freak and you won't be able to handle it. You're way too conventional."

He finally did.

Ignoring my question, he stated, "Let me review the storyboard and I'll get back to you by Wednesday."

"What about when you'll next see me?"

He hung up.

I went batshit crazy on so many different levels. All the events of the past three weeks hit me, ever since The Disclosure. The little fucker purposely withheld and denied me love and affection to keep me off balance and feeling needy, emotions I'm unfamiliar with, causing me to act erratically for two weeks. Talk about manipulation! How else could he have a woman like me in his life?

Momma don't like that.

Overwhelmed with his kinks, domination games and freakiness, I gave him an ultimatum to end this charade and texted him: How do you feel about me?

He wrote:   I told you before we even met {IRL} that I adore you. This is absent from all of your recollections.

{Note: I've asserted myself on this topic several times. He says I 'overthink' and 'overanalyze' the situation to shut me up. To no avail.}

I wrote:   I told you many times I need to HEAR it frequently. We are far apart. Why can't you say that to me more often? How hard is that to do?

He wrote:   As a constant demand, it's impossible.

I wrote:     Constant demand? I guess it is considering you rarely say it. I guess making me happy is not in the picture.

He wrote:   I'm done talking right now I'm at work.

I wrote:   Thanks for the major duty mindfucking. Your ex-wife taught you well.  Fuck you. If you can't even tell me you adore me and consider that an impossible demand because I would derive pleasure and be happy to hear that, well, you definitely don't adore me.

Then, I wrapped it up with:

I can't do the vlog. It was out of my one-sided love for you, a delusion that I was in a romance with a man who loved me back.

Still, I gave him one last shot and texted:

So you're saying you'd rather I leave you than tell me you adore me?

THAT WAS THE DEAL BREAKER! His response was his tweet where he broke up with me on twitter:

Heard about this dude, had a girlfriend from twitter. Didn't work out. WTF?!?

I recognize our entire relationship was bizarre from the onset. It makes me wonder whether the emotions I had were real or only the projection of how I love myself. One thing for certain: whatever I did feel for him, outside of pity, died. Leaving in its wake a knotted stomach, nausea and revulsion.

I'm trying not to fall into a pit of self-blame for deluding myself that he was normal. All the signs were there from the very beginning and I chose to close my eyes. When I doubt myself, as I did earlier, I simply need to look at his twitter timeline. I just read this retweet:

And for my next trick, I'll act sane so you'll fall in love with me.

Of course, only normal men enjoy this, right?

Well, guess what, kiddo, you forgot who you were dealing with, as I got my own issues:

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Anonymous said...

hahahahha you cant make this stuff up, best read in awhile.....

maura stone said...

Depends upon what you're reading, right, Tom?

Anonymous said...

yes, but this story...and I know its non-fiction is both funny and sad in a bizzare kind of way.


maura stone said...

Almost like my life.

Anonymous said...

well, after experiencing a relationship like that what else in your life could compare? It can only get better. BTW those pictures added the necessary visual, all that was missing was a chick with a stick. hahahahahaha

maura stone said...

Of course, when hitting rock bottom, anything is a giant step up. Even for me, this was way too out there. I pity his office colleagues who, no doubt, will have to deal with the maniacal personality now that I'm no longer around, one thing for which I'm grateful.

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maura stone said...

I want to thank my loyal fans for locating the porn videos & sending them to me. It was not as bad as I imagined, actually puerile. People get off on that? UGH.
If I only knew that was what he wanted, I would've tied his testicles together with a plastic tie & beat him over the head with an oar.

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Anonymous said...

Ok maura, I am going to throw up now. my penis hurts just thinking about what he has had done to his... have a good day sexy!

Anonymous said...
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maura stone said...

Thank you again for all the videos. I advise everyone NOT to purchase them because the quality is subpar: it's amateurish, poorly filmed, puerile, childish, AWKWARD and no one has good teeth! Any person who gets off on this is the deviant for this stuff is beyond lame and as exciting as three day old celery. For THAT, he should be ashamed.

Mind you, I'm not making any money off the sale of these videos so please don't purchase. INSTEAD, I recommend my books on the sidebar of this blog.