Priceless …

If anyone was to wonder what attracted me to Angelika, let me try and set your mind at ease in some small way.

There are many reasons and attributes that attracted me to her. Far too many to list, but suffice it to say, she is so very special … not only to me but I would like to hope … to everyone whose life she touches.

Angelika has blogged since before we met and when I found this out, I asked to be able to read some of her posts. Many were written about us, our meeting, the growth of our relationship, emotions and they were and still are private. She did promise that when she felt the time was right, she would open them up to me.

The following is the first to be shared, revealed … and it was given to me on a day, the anniversary of the start of yet another journey in my life.

Thank you Angelika, for this and much more … I love you.

Memory Lane: Missing Boobage
July 4, 2009
by Angelika Courtois

Going down memory lane is usually fraught with inherent dangers such as a tone of “I wish I would have”, or .. “I wish I would not have” … many regrets evidenced along the way. But sometimes not, or rather, not always.

Today is Aryon’s 8 year anniversary of being diagnosed with breast cancer, which resulted in a radical double mastectomy. I was not around at that time so I have nothing really to talk about on the subject, I myself never having experienced such a traumatic event, nor having been in an intimate one-on-one relationship with someone who had.

I always joke with Aryon about this … hy has been my first in many ways; my first ‘romantic’ lover in my overall life, my first lover/partner in Second Life, the first one I tried this emotional crap with in both worlds at my advanced age of 44, the first who can touch the woman, the Femme and the Femdom in me without trying, the one I get protective over in a sort of couple thingy, … and the first who had her boobs removed based on cancer (‘watch dem hugs Butchy, I still have boobage ya know’), and with it, placing me smack dab in the middle of the emotional, psychological and physical journey that she had to go through until I met her, and even after.

When I write about the Lesbian Butch, which is Aryon, I usually use hym, indicating masculine female, self identified. Aryon also calls herself a lesbian and for this article, I will switch back and forth, the hym and she words.

Aryon is 54. It is publicly known, so I am not spilling any beans that were meant to be simmering in a pot under some airtight lid, that Aryon was sexually molested as a growing child, having hys face smashed in via a baseball bat by a girlfriend later, abused (physically, mentally, emotionally) by superiors in hys military, then raped by a man while in the military which resulted in a child – which hy elected to keep and raise … then an emotionally and psychologically abusive alcoholic wife/partner of 26+ years, who at the time of the diagnosis, turned away, stayed turned away albeit living in the same household, until she died in their marriage bed, hym waking up and finding her next to hym, gone. To say that the road for Aryon had been rough is an understatement under the best of circumstances, but regardless, when I met her, in Second Life, 2007, November, I had no clue.

I saw a masculine body (avatar), interacted with Aryon verbally, and got to know the inside, rather than anything else. I of course found out about the double mastectomy, but what did I care right? I was not planning on meeting, or having sex, so all that, all that history that shaped hym onto who I met, made no difference to me. We danced, explored Second Life, had fun. Every so often I would get a glimpse into hys psyche or emotional state; sometimes at the most oddest of time I could hear the voice catch, or hym traveling down memory lane, sharing with me small bits and pieces, eventually leading to the assembling of the human puzzle that was hym, making me see who hy was.

Going down memory lane requires a sort of survival approach to traveling, however, as most international sojourners will confirm, this can still lead to a rather bumpy road traveled no matter how prepared you may be, though the experience need not be without its benefits. It is a question of how prepared one is for the potholes along the way and how skilled one is in navigating them. Was I prepared? No clue. And truly I needed no clue. One of the best aspects of exploration another, and the self, is to just go with the flow, and make adjustments as you go along.

It was time we met in person, or so I thought. Spur of the moment person I can be if motivated. If I was going to take this further (i.e. into some sort of a relationship even if just online), it was imperative to me that we matched outside of Second Life, especially considering this was my first emotional investment ever. I flew to England in spring 2008, and I recall it vividly, very much so.

Pleasantries, fun, joking, a bit of flirting, being picked up at the airport, drive to Hotel, the initial hug, how are you thing, and then simply “let me see”. Hy froze in some way, yet hy knew, I had told hym, it mattered not but yes, it needed to be addressed when we met. I had told hym over and over when hy doubted while we got to know each other in Second Life, it did not matter to me, and I am sure hy believed me, but I also know I was the first after hys partner’s death that would ‘see hym this way’ and I also knew she had turned away in disgust. It became important, moving from irrelevance to very important in the scheme of physical closeness.

Hy unbuttoned hys dress shirt, hys hands having a slight tremor, barely noticeable unless you paid attention; hys body language on alert, as hy pulled hys white undershirt up, exposing hymself, exposing hys fears, hopes, dreams and anything that had been bottled up for so long. I recall tilting my head, scanning the scars that ran from the arm pits to almost meet in the middle across the place one would find boobage, no smile playing across my face, my focus entirely on hys body language, and the deeply scarred chest in front of me. My right hand moved on its own, without hesitation I was told later, (did I utter ‘may I’?), coming up, tracing with my index finger the scars from one end to the next, feeling hys body tense, chest heaving a bit faster, waiting for the rejection I am sure.

I moved forward, my left arm now coming up, encircling hym into a hug as my open palms traveled from the front over hys scars to the back underneath hys shirts, my head close to hys, my clothed body now connecting with hys … responding along the lines of “I told you it did not matter”. I do not recall if I kissed hym briefly and then smacked hys chest teasingly before turning to ask for a coffee refill, or if I kissed hym for a bit first (and hys scars) before doing the ’smack get me coffee’ thing, or if I just gave hym a hug before moving away. All I recall really is that later, during what is now known as our ‘backgammon game on the bed instead of sex’ hy lost, leading eventually to making love, and no, unlike before with hys late partner, hy was not to keep hys undershirt on. I was appalled that hy even felt hy needed to offer.

Memory lane sometimes makes us forget the negatives and only recall the positives. Sometimes it’s a protective mechanism, sometimes it’s a willful attempt to make something sound better than it actually was or is, maybe to honor a dead person’s memory, or again, in some way to soften the reality of experiences lived.

To that end, here is something I wrote some time ago, it was a private entry, now appropriate to be included and made public (and fulfilling a promise to Aryon, making my private entries of our relationship journey readable, to hym as well, as I felt it was appropriate):

If hy stood in front of you today,
would you truly recognize
hys story, hys hopes, hys fears, hys dreams
the pain sometimes still seen in hys eyes
heard in hys silent voice when tears stream along hys aging face?

I know how much you sometimes wished
hy would just go away
Not to remind you
Not to bring it home to you.
But, hy was standing there.
hy had something to say, to show you.

They raped hym, they re-arranged hys face
They pushed hym down and then? You called hym ‘thing’
They tried to break hym
They took from hym in many forms
even tossed hym aside a time or two. Why did you?
Too long hy felt the damage, believing their lies,
Your silence making hym hope that some day you would accept
Too long was the wait for your touch that never came

Did you know you had the power
to spare hym just with a smile, a hand held out in sincerity
the ability to melt away the years of shame just with a simple touch
a touch of hys battle scarred body, a soul carrying just as deep?

When you averted your eyes
and were deaf to hys words, hys pleas,
hy was left thinking hy had only hymself to blame
and that hy truly had become a thing.

I ask you now, up in the place you hopefully found peace within
would you still turn away
when a million reasons would ask you to show you actually cared?
Would you listen and believe if I told you?
Would you take a stand against all odds without conditions,
without hope for something else? for someone less ‘a thing’?
Would you again love hym just for who hy was today?

No, you wouldn’t, dont bother
dont waste your precious time
I do; I have done it in your stead!

Aryon used to go down memory lane recalling positives, may it be related to hys overtly sexually active father, hys don’t tell me just do your job military experiences, hys first and only experience with a forceful dick, hys bat loving girlfriend, or hys alcohol loving wife who thought hy was a thing. Over time, such travels down memory lane turned more realistic, more accurate.

My memory lane now accompanies hys. It is one that has no fights, no abuse, no harsh words dropped to take someone down or make them feel less than fully human. Our memory lane matches, it is real, where all scars are part of the love making process, physical or otherwise, because our relationship encompasses all of what we are, who we are, and how we arrived at who we are today. My memory lane now also includes being around when Aryon got the all clear.

I try to touch her scars, everyday, hoping to help them fade into smaller lines that are less noticeable as time moves on, and I touch her physical scars every time we are together. When I make love to Aryon I try to turn the shame into an erotic zone, to be explored, to be included, to be part of us, not just hym. I don’t need boobs on Aryon, heck no, I just need Aryon for who hy is, scars and all .. because I love hym, because I am IN love with hym.

Do I succeed in it all? Maybe not, but yes, god damn, I am trying like hell to make absolutely sure that noting *I* ever do or say re-inflicts the hurt and shame of the people that have come before me. You can all go fuck yourself, you ghosts from times past, and you know why? Because you do not have the power anymore and because I said so!

It took a while for me to post this here, as a keepsake. Another priceless memory that Angelika has given me. It did and still does bring tears to my eyes.

This entry was posted in Breast Cancer, Musings and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Priceless …

  1. Bebo says:

    It is an amazing journey that you two are on. Beautiful in ways that will not be immediately seen. 🙂

  2. Amberlynn says:

    Words can not describe the feelings that come out of your story. Thank you for sharing. You both are pretty amazing.

  3. Eliza Wrigglesworth says:

    I knew a little bit about you before, and just now found your blog.

    I’m so happy you found Angelika. You really deserve all she has to offer. You’re an incredible human being, and I admire you.

    Thank you.

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