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My soulmate


Guest enzo-bardi

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Guest enzo-bardi

A true story

My girlfriend has started stuffing for me

It’s been one year and a couple of months we’re together

Before that she already was my best friend

And one pleasant night of summer while we were sitting on the benches of an empty café

I had started telling her I had a weird sexual fantasy

She wanted to know more about it, she had already told me about her past, bad, relationships

But I had some troubles mustering the courage to put it in words

I was afraid of her judgement

But she was the sweetest of creatures when she heard my confession

That I was turned on by girls who put on a bit of weight, like three, five or ten kilograms

By girls who were a little curvy

She laughed and told me I was really cute and she expected something way worse

From the embarrassed way I was formulating my confession

I told her it had always been a thorn in my foot

I wanted to get rid of this strange thing, but it stuck to me

Fortunately at the time I had stopped masturbating three months before, and during these three months I hadn’t thought about my fetish

Which was quite incredible as it had never happened to me since I was a kid

 

A couple of months later, we started being attracted

We hesitated to live this attraction since we both love two other persons

Me the writer I love another writress, she the paintress loves another painter

But those two persons kept on rejecting and eluding us

So meanwhile, since the attraction was very strong, we decided to live it between us

I had never had a sexual or romantic relationship at the time, despite being already twenty five

I had been too much of an idealist all my life, and yet I was also turned on by this weird fantasy of mine

I read stories, watched videos, I tried to stop myself but couldn’t

And always wondered if I’d ever be capable of having a real relationship with a woman

I had strong ideals about love though, I knew there was a special girl for me somewhere in the world, this writress girl I already mentionned (you can read that story on my blog)

But it was impossible to reconcile my fetish and my love ideals

So, back to my relationship with my best friend the paintress

We started living out our attraction

And slowly my fear of sexuality started leaving me

And I discovered she had another fear, the need of pleasing her partner before pleasing herself

For one year and two months we experimented, slowly growing into our understanding of ourselves and the other

Our friendship further grew and deepened, if such a thing is possible

Until a point when she became ready to live my fantasies

Not only to please me, but because it attracts her too

It attracts her to see me so strongly attracted

She already knew I was sometimes attracted to her after we had eaten, even when we had already fulfilled our desire a couple of hours before

She knew I was attracted to her shapeliness, she’s thin but not skinny

She used to be skinny when I didn’t know her

But for one year she worked at the mcdonald and gained a bit of weight

She was 48 kgs at the start, and when she told me all this story she said she was 54, which is not much for her 165 cm

Since she’s quite sporty, her body is very healthy, just a bit shapely, like ancient renaissance women in paintings used to be

During the year we’ve dated I often cooked for her since I like cooking

Very healthy things, I don’t like meat much, so more of grains and feculents and a lot of vegetables

Perhaps I was serving her too large portions, as I’m a man and she’s a woman

And I gave her nearly equal portions to mine

Perhaps she liked too much my cooking

Perhaps numbers aren’t correct simply, since mathematics isn’t her strong

But she “gained” 2 kgs over a year bringing her to 56

I had never tried consciously or unsconsciously fattening her up

I didn’t need that to be attracted to her

In the process her belly sticks a little bit more, but I believe it already stuck a bit when we started our physical relationship

She sometimes accused me of fattening up, when she’s angry with me or insecure

But she knows it’s not the truth

I tell her her tiny belly is probably due to the fact that she did some pole dance after the mcdonald gain to muscle herself, then stopped

Anyway, she started accepting it and liking it since it is more womanly

What I’d like to highlight too is that since before the beginning of our relationship she told me she didn’t like to shave her body hairs

And I encouraged her to keep them

And even when we moved together I still encouraged her to keep them

Why should women cut their body hair in such a frantic way when men don’t?

I love her as she is, naturally beautiful

So we grew in confidence

And a couple of months ago, for the first time I encouraged her to eat a few biscuits and chocolates just before having sex

I knew she wanted to do so, but was afraid

She ate a few biscuits, three or four, but was too afraid still to let go to her fantasy, her fetish of pleasing me

Now dear reader, you will imagine it’s easy to abuse of her

That’s what her previous boyfriends ended up doing

But that’s not my aim

My aim is to heal, healing myself, healing her, if that’s possible

And I believe it is

To heal my shadows, I first need to accept them, not to fear them

Writing you this story and sharing it is part of the process of healing, of stopping to be afraid, to keep it secret

I’m even sharing our real identities with you

We are artists of the light and our ultimate goal is to bring more love to this world

But first we must undercome these difficulties, these fears that still hamper us

So back to the story, the first tiny stuffing wasn’t such a turn on

I sometimes tried to make her put tighter clothes, but she doesn’t truly have tight ones

Sometimes I caressed and played with her belly

In the kitchen when she washes the dishes, after a meal

She likes it and at the same time she’s afraid of it

One month ago we separated for a period of two months

While we skyped together once, we decided to masturbate one in front of another

I started rubbing my beast, my dick

She started rubbing her womanhood

Then she laid down and masturbated and orgasmed several times while looking at my hardened dick

Then she disappeared from the camera

And it turned me on in a way I had not imagined before

I heard a noise coming from the fridge

She came back with a glass bearing a white milky liquid

I asked her what is was, afraid and turned on

She told me it was milk and started gulping it down

Then she started rubbing her belly

She put a long shirt and her trousers

The shirt put in highlight her little belly she caressed and pinched

There were one or two inches to pinch

She showed me her ass, her breasts too, all her shapeliness

Then she took off her pant and continued caressing and squeezing her tiny belly

Then she disappeared from the camera

And she came back with another glass of milk

While she drank it in front of me I couldn’t contain myself any longer and orgasmed

And unfortunately so busy was she with her glass of milk she missed the ejaculation

One of her favorite part in her fetish

After that I couldn’t stop thinking of her in that way, each time I masturbated I thought of her, introducing some of my fantasies of her drinking milk, eating

But of course she was afraid of what she had done, I was as well

And one week passed

Once I did her a video alone, I masturbated in front the camera, the first time I ever did something of the kind

And I sent her the video, I wanted to turn her on, to please her, and I also hoped she’d do me a video of herself too

She didn’t, she doesn’t like to be pressured, she’s still too shy to do a video of herself

But a few days later we skyped again and she ate a loukoum

Then she drank a glass of milk, then ate two other loukoums, slowly, sensually

And she caressed her tiny potbelly

And I masturbated and ejaculated in front of her this time

Then she was with her family for Chistmas, so we waited another long week

When she was back on her own, a couple of days ago, we met again over the camera

She had bought a bottle of milk on a whim

Usually she doesn’t drink much milk

She told me that and of course it turned me on

She started undressing, caressing and squeezing her empty stomach

I watched her fascinated, without moving, still sitting and not showing her my body, just my obsessed, fascinated intensely attracted gaze

And she was fascinated with the intensity and the darkness of my gaze

How all the world had stopped for me, except her, my sheer attraction for all her

Sometimes we would smile to one another and laugh, but most of the time my attention went to her belly, and her attention to her belly and to my eyes

She served herself a glass of milk and gulped it down

Then another one, which she drank more slowly

Then she ate a loukoum, then a second loukoum

She caressed her full belly, masturbated, orgasmed a few times

I still watched her fascinated, without doing anything

I felt shudders of attraction in all my body

Then she tiptoed back to the fridge

And came back with her third glass of milk

And her bewitching laughing smile, amused by how attracted I was, extremely turned on too

Then she started her fourth glass of milk

With two other loukoums

Then I felt she wanted to continue but was afraid

I asked her if she didn’t want to eat something more

She said she wasn’t hungry anymore

I insisted a bit, she asked me what I wanted she to eat

I told her to choose what she liked

She told me to choose

I said a piece of chocolate and some more milk

She replied she didn’t have chocolate, but took a piece of bread with some cheese

And then she drank her fifth glass of milk

She masturbated and orgasmed again

I was starting to rub my gigantic dick in front of her

Her gaze was mesmerized by that sight

And then I insisted she ate a bit more

She took two other loukoums, a piece of bread with cheese

Another piece of bread without cheese, and her sixth and last glass of milk

Her belly was fully stuffed and tight and stucking forward and hard to the touch

She rubbed it and put her pants and her shirts, highlighting her shapeliness, her full belly

And I couldn’t contain myself anymore and orgasmed

And this time she didn’t miss one bit of my ejaculation

And the sperm went on the keyboard and the screen, so taken was I in that moment

And I started wiping it away, and she laughed

And then we chatted quietly, reassuring one another

Laughing like two old comrades, two best friends, two soul mates

Even in that moment we knew we weren’t in love with each others

We love each other, we are attracted to one another

But we ultimately love our respective twin souls, the writress and the painter

My best friend and me have found each other to heal one another

And also to love one another

And inspire the world with her drawings and paintings, and with my poems and stories, and paintings too as she’s encouraged to practice that art I used to neglect, and for the first time I started loving my own paintings, which is rare

I will continue sharing this story with you

Will she stuff again, will she gain a bit of weight, will she agree to post some pictures of her here, only God knows

It’d surely excite her a lot to post some pictures of her here and get your admiration, but it would also frighten her a lot

Meanwhile I encourage you to visit our blogs

https://erikvincentizakhia.com/

http://chantal-peguiron.blogspot.ch/?view=flipcard

And to subscribe by mail if you like them (you can also find us on social media), because we are two young artists who deserve to be supported, who deserve more support we are currently getting

If you love our work, share us with other people sensitive to art in your entourage

What I believe now is that our fetish, mine and her, are related to past lives traumas

By accepting our fetishes and exploring them, I believe we are going to remember flashbacks from our past life together

And I’m going to write this story too and share it with you, I already have some inkling about it

Perhaps inspiration, remembrance, will come as I write it

Good evening to you (it’s already night here)

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Guest enzo-bardi

I met her for the first time in the street

I saw her eyes only since her face and her hair were covered by a veil

It was enough to see her eyes to recognize her though, so familiar were they to me, even if I had never met her

I saw her and there was instant recognition and I smiled to her and she smiled to me

The encounter of an instant before our lives continued following their separate paths

As our feet moved in the opposite direction and we each continued our market stroll

She was richly clothed and must have been some sort of noble women, accompanied by other women and servants

I was a mere Armenian craftsman who surely couldn’t mix with Ottoman aristocracy

But her laughing eyes and the familiarity of her expression remained engraved in my memory

Even when I was so young, even she seemed older and from another social class

 

Several years again I met her again, when I had almost forgotten her

I was doing some woodwork in the imperial harem

And she was there

And she was the Sultanah, she had become the Sultanah

The principal wife of the Sultan

Again I shouldn’t even have seen her, but she wanted to supervise herself the woodwork since she’d paint them later

She was a gifted painter, but that I didn’t know yet

She gave me some indications without showing any sense of recognition at first

But as she came closer to me and I went down from the ladder where I had been working

Our eyes met and suddenly her expression softened

Even if she was a few years older than me, her face was still childish

Not childish in a bad way, childish in dreaminess and innocence

I could see the playful child within, beyond, the Sultanah

And she could see the playful child within me

Even if we had never met we were two children who had grown together, played together, learnt together

There was a familiarity between us that nothing could explain

She smiled to me with her eyes and I smiled to her in the same way

She asked me if I knew how to read Arabic characters

I told her I did, even if they were not my strong, I could write Armenian more fluently

She was surprised to hear I was lettered, it was rather unusual in the men of my conditions

But I had always had an interest toward letters, and when I was not carving the wood at night I enjoyed very much to sit quietly and read and read again the few books I owned

I even pushed it as far as writing a bit too, a few poems about fleeting feelings I could not have expressed otherwise

Books and writings chanted of a freedom I could not find around me

They sang a poetry that lacked in the people I worked with

And they were very precious to me

 

After a week of working in the Harem, a week of stolen smiles and eager expectation of nothing in particular as I did not allow myself to hope too much

A eunuch came toward me and gave me a little note

The Sultanah was inviting me to visit her at night if I was willing to take the risk of meeting her, of being caught

I wrote her I was

She replied the next day, using again the eunuch intermediary, explaining how I should introduce myself in the imperial palace, I’d have to climb on a wall, and enter her room from the window

That was the price of seeing her

She was waiting me the same night

I had no family in Istanbul, no one awaiting me in the small room I had for adobe

So after finishing my work, I went to wash my hands and my face in a fountain

Visited the souk to eat a small thing

And as the night shrouded the town and the imperial palace in darkness

I penetrated in the harem, arrived under her window that was shut because of the cold

I threw a couple of fir-cones against it as she had asked me to do, and she opened it herself throwing me a rope

I climbed without hesitating and entered one of her magnificent rooms

And suddenly I was submerged by shyness

I wasn’t in my place there

But as though she could read my thoughts she looked into my eyes and smiled

And I felt at ease with her, at home within her

She told me several eunuchs loved her and did whatever she asked them to do

That we were safe, that I didn’t have to worry

I asked her about the Sultan

Her face turned to disgust

The Sultan is old and wrinkled, and he abuses everyone and everything

Was her reply

I was surprised to see so much unruliness in a Sultanah

She invited me to sit in front of her on a low sofa with colorful drapery

And we spoke and spoke

And I felt closer and closer to her

She was not of Ottoman descent

She had grown somewhere in a hilly country of Macedonia she barely remembered

She used to run on the hills, hide in the woods, her parents were peasants

She was raised in the Christian faith as I was

Once her town had been raided by pirates and she was taken away by force

The fate of her parents and siblings she ignored, it was night and everyone was running in every direction, buildings were being ransacked, the ones already robbed were set on fire

It was a night of hell and she thought that she’d die that night

She didn’t remember much of it, but she remembered waking up on a ship, her feet chained

And she was sold as a slave to the Ottomans and since she was good looking they sent her to the harem

And she grew there and got an education and discovered her gift for painting

Because of her sensitive intelligence she was greatly admired, and as the former Sultanah died, the Sultan chose her

He admired her paintings which was a good thing, but apart from that he was irascible, continued to want to use and abuse of her body even when he was by thirty years her senior, and he treated people around him unfairly, sowing the discord between his children and in his empire

The Sultanah watched all that in suffering and growing abhorrence of this man she had to please every day

She was born free, and all what she dreamt about was becoming free again, free of going wherever it pleased her, of doing whatever she liked, of retrieving her siblings and her village in Macedonia

She didn’t hate the Ottomans, but didn’t like them either

And she behaved as a properly as a Sultanah in appearances only because she didn’t have other choice, while trying to improve the lives of the miserable people around her, something that gave meaning to her life

We spoke about that as our hands joined

And she suddenly took my hand in an impulse and kissed it tenderly

I have retrieved you, brother of mine

I came from distant Armenia, but somehow her words rang true in my heart

We were siblings, brothers and sisters

Not of blood, but of spirit

Brothers and sisters of spirit, playmates, companions

and lovers

She invited me in her large oversized velvety bed

And we started kissing as though we had parted on the eve

My body responded to hers, and hers to mine

And we kissed and kissed

And our bodies danced the dance of love and for a moment we felt full of warmth and tenderness

We had forgotten who we were, all the miseries we had gone through

The past had vanished from our mind

All what remained was the awareness of the present instant bubble of tenderness and love and acceptance and home coming

 

And so we met again and again

Almost every night we saw each other

And I read her poetry, the work of other authors, then my own poems as I grew in confidence

And she showed me her sketching book, her paintings and drawings

And we explored each other body and soul hungrily

Each dawn was a painful separation

Each night a retrieval

When we couldn’t meet because of the Sultan plans to visit her, it was unbearably painful

 

It went on for months, for a couple of years

Until the persecutions against Armenians started

Each occasion was good to beat Armenians in public, to humiliate them

And soon humiliations became slaughters

Ottoman soldiers or Kurdish militias were sent to the Armenian neighborhood of the city, and they would reclaim gold, invent a process, and kill whoever was not cooperative enough

The Sultan was losing his tempers in the last years of his life

The Empire was shaken by insurrections, news such as Mount Lebanon that had retaken the coastal cities of Taraboulous and Saida, that Berbers were in open rebellions, that the Pasha of Damascus was acting as though all his promise was his playground, threatening the Pashalik of Alexandretta, daily reached our ears

And people in Istanbul started to be angry and fearful, accusing the Sultan of laxness and weakness

If he didn’t change his politics all the Empire would end up crumbling from the inside and collapsing in case the Russians or the Austrians launched an attack

The situation was dangerous and something had to be done

And what happened? Armenians and other minorities started being slaughtered

The fault was thrown on these non Turkish or Muslim minorities that weakened the Empire from the inside

We Armenians were the first ones to pay

Soon not a day passed without seeing a man dragged in the street, beaten, killed, his corpse launched in meal to stray dogs

I started moving around the town with a little dagger hidden in a belt under my tunic, since we didn’t have the right to bear weapons

 

And every night I continued meeting the Sultanah

Her voluptuous body pressed against mine shrouded by darkness

It was so reassuring to be loved by someone

She was my lover, my sister but also my mother

As she was older and better settled in life

She offered me treats whenever she could, she always thought I was famished

She gave me a few garments whenever mine had too large holes that let pass the winter cold

She was here for me in a touching way that made me almost teary

But it was so natural between us, I did not think of her as a Sultanah, but as the young playful sensitive clever woman she was within her Sultanah disguise

And I had not told anyone about these visits in the imperial palace

No it was better to keep them for myself, and beyond, I didn’t feel the need of sharing them

 

Armenians continued to be slaughtered, and it wasn’t the first time it happened in history

People around me had all dark bags under their eyes, they couldn’t sleep so worried they were it’d soon be their turn to be molested, to die

Could we be massacred one after another without saying anything, doing anything?

A rebellion started to foment

 

But I did not time to witness and participate in this rebellion

We were caught before

One night as many others I had met the Sultanah and spent all the hours between nightfall to dawn in her room

And we had chatted and spoken and laughed

And we had kissed with hunger and passion, as though it were the first time, the last time, we loved one another

She was tender beyond words with me, and I was gentle too

And when dawn broke and I had to depart regretfully

The door suddenly opened and the Sultan appeared

And the Sultanah and me both screamed in surprise and horror

My first reflex was to run away, but what about the Sultanah

So I stayed even when she shouted me to escape

In all cases it’s probable I could never have escaped from the soldiers he had brought with him and who were already filling the normally peaceful courtyard of fountains and pomegranate and fir trees

I took out my knife and tried to resist

Better to die than being caught, but again what about the Sultanah

I was strong and lean but had no military training

She produced out a dagger and we started fighting for our life

Side by side for the last time, whatever turned out to be the outcome of the fight

But soon three spearmen were in me and even when I had slightly hurt one

I was losing blood from everywhere like a tank that has been pierced by bullets and starts emptying himself

My wounds were deep and hurt but they were nothing confronted to the wound of my heart, the wound of losing the Sultanah, the fear of seeing her dying at my feet

In the blur of the fight I saw that several soldiers had been necessary to control her

The Sultan had shouted at them repeatedly not to hurt her, not to wound her, they were holding her from the hair, from the ankle, from the neck, immobilized on the floor

The Sultan gloated he had watched us all night long to find our best respective punishments

I was already losing all by blood that was soaking the carpets on the floor

And the Sultanah screamed horrified at this sight

Deep down I felt very quiet now, like a man who is about to die, who knows he will die, and who’s suddenly found the strength to accept this thought

My throat was to be cut, I would be beheaded in a bit of time in front of all the palace

And the Sultanah would be dispossessed of her title and her prerogatives and would live a life of confinement dedicated to the good pleasure of her rightful master the Sultan

I heard that and nearly fainted and I would have killed the Sultanah with my own hands before killing myself to avoid her such a horrible fate

And the thrill of battle surged within my emptying veins and I jumped on my nearest assailer and took his spear in a moment of inattention and I pushed him on the floor and pierced his chest without a second thought at the horrible deed I had just committed

But my forces were already waning and they caught me again, inflicting me other wounds on the process, and I crumbled on the floor, nearly lifeless in a pool of blood

And soon they put me over the window I had so many times scaled and out of a jest between them they pushed me from there and I fell fell feeling all my limbs dislocating and I crashed on the ground and felt all my bones breaking, shattering, my head exploding

I was already a corpse, but it wasn’t nearly enough for them, and they came upon the broken rests of me and cut my neck, and my head went to join the pebbles and the rocks in the courtyard and I passed away

And the Sultanah remained in confinement like a ghost of herself, barely eating, barely sleeping, abused each time the Sultan had a craving to torture someone

He beat her and used her to fulfill all his depravity, taking her from behind, binding her, molesting her, according to his mood, always sugary and sarcastic when speaking to her

She tried to kill herself, several times, with a broken shard of glass opening the veins of her arms, with her paintbrush in her throat, with poison

But each time she was surprised by her careful jailors and saved from death, prevented from delivering herself from this life of torments

Over the months she grew weaker and weaker, so weak that she looked as an old woman when she was barely thirty-five

All this time my soul was still there, floating around her dungeon, trying to console her, to tell her to hope, to be strong

She listened to me through her heart but her grief and her sufferings were too great to bear

Until finally her body surrendered and collapsed, dying of a slow death of weakness and sickness

And the Armenian insurrection was at the same time drowned in blood

And thousands of my cousins of arm died and fled and left the Armenian neighborhood nearly devastated and empty

So goes life on Earth with its upheavals

And it’s not a surprise I hate the mere mention of Ottomans now

 

When I met her soul again we rejoiced

But we were both extremely tired and shakened by what had happened to us

By the violence we had witnessed on our body, on the very door of our soul

We embraced and remembered all the lives we had met, all the things we had done together

But this Ottoman life had left deep imprints within us, deep wounds in our soul that we’d need to someday heal

 

And now has come the time of healing

We’ve met again this life, as best friends and lovers too

Each with a weird fetish reminding us of our former life of pleasure and brutal suffering

I’d be attracted to slightly round women as a past remembrance of her Sultanah persona, as a defense against the harshness of life as a women who’s a bit soft suggests tenderness and love and care within her very body

She’d be attracted and afraid of cold cynical men like her former Sultan, to make her suffer again part of what she had suffered

And she’d be attracted to the attraction of others, to be able to play along my fantasies

And help us rediscover this wound of the past and heal both our souls

 

 

What if we lived several lives and bore in each life the traumas of former lives?

If you like my writing don’t hesitate to leave your impressions and perhaps subscribe https://erikvincentizakhia.com/ ! Good evening to you, fellow journeyer.

"Envole-toi" is a drawing by Chantal Peguiron.

envole toi chantal peguiron drawing.jpg

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Guest enzo-bardi

I met her for the first time in the street

I saw her eyes only since her face and her hair were covered by a veil

It was enough to see her eyes to recognize her though, so familiar were they to me, even if I had never met her

I saw her and there was instant recognition and I smiled to her and she smiled to me

The encounter of an instant before our lives continued following their separate paths

As our feet moved in the opposite direction and we each continued our market stroll

She was richly clothed and must have been some sort of noble women, accompanied by other women and servants

I was a mere Armenian craftsman who surely couldn’t mix with Ottoman aristocracy

But her laughing eyes and the familiarity of her expression remained engraved in my memory

Even when I was so young, even she seemed older and from another social class

 

Several years again I met her again, when I had almost forgotten her

I was doing some woodwork in the imperial harem

And she was there

And she was the Sultanah, she had become the Sultanah

The principal wife of the Sultan

Again I shouldn’t even have seen her, but she wanted to supervise herself the woodwork since she’d paint them later

She was a gifted painter, but that I didn’t know yet

She gave me some indications without showing any sense of recognition at first

But as she came closer to me and I went down from the ladder where I had been working

Our eyes met and suddenly her expression softened

Even if she was a few years older than me, her face was still childish

Not childish in a bad way, childish in dreaminess and innocence

I could see the playful child within, beyond, the Sultanah

And she could see the playful child within me

Even if we had never met we were two children who had grown together, played together, learnt together

There was a familiarity between us that nothing could explain

She smiled to me with her eyes and I smiled to her in the same way

She asked me if I knew how to read Arabic characters

I told her I did, even if they were not my strong, I could write Armenian more fluently

She was surprised to hear I was lettered, it was rather unusual in the men of my conditions

But I had always had an interest toward letters, and when I was not carving the wood at night I enjoyed very much to sit quietly and read and read again the few books I owned

I even pushed it as far as writing a bit too, a few poems about fleeting feelings I could not have expressed otherwise

Books and writings chanted of a freedom I could not find around me

They sang a poetry that lacked in the people I worked with

And they were very precious to me

 

After a week of working in the Harem, a week of stolen smiles and eager expectation of nothing in particular as I did not allow myself to hope too much

A eunuch came toward me and gave me a little note

The Sultanah was inviting me to visit her at night if I was willing to take the risk of meeting her, of being caught

I wrote her I was

She replied the next day, using again the eunuch intermediary, explaining how I should introduce myself in the imperial palace, I’d have to climb on a wall, and enter her room from the window

That was the price of seeing her

She was waiting me the same night

I had no family in Istanbul, no one awaiting me in the small room I had for adobe

So after finishing my work, I went to wash my hands and my face in a fountain

Visited the souk to eat a small thing

And as the night shrouded the town and the imperial palace in darkness

I penetrated in the harem, arrived under her window that was shut because of the cold

I threw a couple of fir-cones against it as she had asked me to do, and she opened it herself throwing me a rope

I climbed without hesitating and entered one of her magnificent rooms

And suddenly I was submerged by shyness

I wasn’t in my place there

But as though she could read my thoughts she looked into my eyes and smiled

And I felt at ease with her, at home within her

She told me several eunuchs loved her and did whatever she asked them to do

That we were safe, that I didn’t have to worry

I asked her about the Sultan

Her face turned to disgust

The Sultan is old and wrinkled, and he abuses everyone and everything

Was her reply

I was surprised to see so much unruliness in a Sultanah

She invited me to sit in front of her on a low sofa with colorful drapery

And we spoke and spoke

And I felt closer and closer to her

She was not of Ottoman descent

She had grown somewhere in a hilly country of Macedonia she barely remembered

She used to run on the hills, hide in the woods, her parents were peasants

She was raised in the Christian faith as I was

Once her town had been raided by pirates and she was taken away by force

The fate of her parents and siblings she ignored, it was night and everyone was running in every direction, buildings were being ransacked, the ones already robbed were set on fire

It was a night of hell and she thought that she’d die that night

She didn’t remember much of it, but she remembered waking up on a ship, her feet chained

And she was sold as a slave to the Ottomans and since she was good looking they sent her to the harem

And she grew there and got an education and discovered her gift for painting

Because of her sensitive intelligence she was greatly admired, and as the former Sultanah died, the Sultan chose her

He admired her paintings which was a good thing, but apart from that he was irascible, continued to want to use and abuse of her body even when he was by thirty years her senior, and he treated people around him unfairly, sowing the discord between his children and in his empire

The Sultanah watched all that in suffering and growing abhorrence of this man she had to please every day

She was born free, and all what she dreamt about was becoming free again, free of going wherever it pleased her, of doing whatever she liked, of retrieving her siblings and her village in Macedonia

She didn’t hate the Ottomans, but didn’t like them either

And she behaved as a properly as a Sultanah in appearances only because she didn’t have other choice, while trying to improve the lives of the miserable people around her, something that gave meaning to her life

We spoke about that as our hands joined

And she suddenly took my hand in an impulse and kissed it tenderly

I have retrieved you, brother of mine

I came from distant Armenia, but somehow her words rang true in my heart

We were siblings, brothers and sisters

Not of blood, but of spirit

Brothers and sisters of spirit, playmates, companions

and lovers

She invited me in her large oversized velvety bed

And we started kissing as though we had parted on the eve

My body responded to hers, and hers to mine

And we kissed and kissed

And our bodies danced the dance of love and for a moment we felt full of warmth and tenderness

We had forgotten who we were, all the miseries we had gone through

The past had vanished from our mind

All what remained was the awareness of the present instant bubble of tenderness and love and acceptance and home coming

 

And so we met again and again

Almost every night we saw each other

And I read her poetry, the work of other authors, then my own poems as I grew in confidence

And she showed me her sketching book, her paintings and drawings

And we explored each other body and soul hungrily

Each dawn was a painful separation

Each night a retrieval

When we couldn’t meet because of the Sultan plans to visit her, it was unbearably painful

 

It went on for months, for a couple of years

Until the persecutions against Armenians started

Each occasion was good to beat Armenians in public, to humiliate them

And soon humiliations became slaughters

Ottoman soldiers or Kurdish militias were sent to the Armenian neighborhood of the city, and they would reclaim gold, invent a process, and kill whoever was not cooperative enough

The Sultan was losing his tempers in the last years of his life

The Empire was shaken by insurrections, news such as Mount Lebanon that had retaken the coastal cities of Taraboulous and Saida, that Berbers were in open rebellions, that the Pasha of Damascus was acting as though all his promise was his playground, threatening the Pashalik of Alexandretta, daily reached our ears

And people in Istanbul started to be angry and fearful, accusing the Sultan of laxness and weakness

If he didn’t change his politics all the Empire would end up crumbling from the inside and collapsing in case the Russians or the Austrians launched an attack

The situation was dangerous and something had to be done

And what happened? Armenians and other minorities started being slaughtered

The fault was thrown on these non Turkish or Muslim minorities that weakened the Empire from the inside

We Armenians were the first ones to pay

Soon not a day passed without seeing a man dragged in the street, beaten, killed, his corpse launched in meal to stray dogs

I started moving around the town with a little dagger hidden in a belt under my tunic, since we didn’t have the right to bear weapons

 

And every night I continued meeting the Sultanah

Her voluptuous body pressed against mine shrouded by darkness

It was so reassuring to be loved by someone

She was my lover, my sister but also my mother

As she was older and better settled in life

She offered me treats whenever she could, she always thought I was famished

She gave me a few garments whenever mine had too large holes that let pass the winter cold

She was here for me in a touching way that made me almost teary

But it was so natural between us, I did not think of her as a Sultanah, but as the young playful sensitive clever woman she was within her Sultanah disguise

And I had not told anyone about these visits in the imperial palace

No it was better to keep them for myself, and beyond, I didn’t feel the need of sharing them

 

Armenians continued to be slaughtered, and it wasn’t the first time it happened in history

People around me had all dark bags under their eyes, they couldn’t sleep so worried they were it’d soon be their turn to be molested, to die

Could we be massacred one after another without saying anything, doing anything?

A rebellion started to foment

 

But I did not time to witness and participate in this rebellion

We were caught before

One night as many others I had met the Sultanah and spent all the hours between nightfall to dawn in her room

And we had chatted and spoken and laughed

And we had kissed with hunger and passion, as though it were the first time, the last time, we loved one another

She was tender beyond words with me, and I was gentle too

And when dawn broke and I had to depart regretfully

The door suddenly opened and the Sultan appeared

And the Sultanah and me both screamed in surprise and horror

My first reflex was to run away, but what about the Sultanah

So I stayed even when she shouted me to escape

In all cases it’s probable I could never have escaped from the soldiers he had brought with him and who were already filling the normally peaceful courtyard of fountains and pomegranate and fir trees

I took out my knife and tried to resist

Better to die than being caught, but again what about the Sultanah

I was strong and lean but had no military training

She produced out a dagger and we started fighting for our life

Side by side for the last time, whatever turned out to be the outcome of the fight

But soon three spearmen were in me and even when I had slightly hurt one

I was losing blood from everywhere like a tank that has been pierced by bullets and starts emptying himself

My wounds were deep and hurt but they were nothing confronted to the wound of my heart, the wound of losing the Sultanah, the fear of seeing her dying at my feet

In the blur of the fight I saw that several soldiers had been necessary to control her

The Sultan had shouted at them repeatedly not to hurt her, not to wound her, they were holding her from the hair, from the ankle, from the neck, immobilized on the floor

The Sultan gloated he had watched us all night long to find our best respective punishments

I was already losing all by blood that was soaking the carpets on the floor

And the Sultanah screamed horrified at this sight

Deep down I felt very quiet now, like a man who is about to die, who knows he will die, and who’s suddenly found the strength to accept this thought

My throat was to be cut, I would be beheaded in a bit of time in front of all the palace

And the Sultanah would be dispossessed of her title and her prerogatives and would live a life of confinement dedicated to the good pleasure of her rightful master the Sultan

I heard that and nearly fainted and I would have killed the Sultanah with my own hands before killing myself to avoid her such a horrible fate

And the thrill of battle surged within my emptying veins and I jumped on my nearest assailer and took his spear in a moment of inattention and I pushed him on the floor and pierced his chest without a second thought at the horrible deed I had just committed

But my forces were already waning and they caught me again, inflicting me other wounds on the process, and I crumbled on the floor, nearly lifeless in a pool of blood

And soon they put me over the window I had so many times scaled and out of a jest between them they pushed me from there and I fell fell feeling all my limbs dislocating and I crashed on the ground and felt all my bones breaking, shattering, my head exploding

I was already a corpse, but it wasn’t nearly enough for them, and they came upon the broken rests of me and cut my neck, and my head went to join the pebbles and the rocks in the courtyard and I passed away

And the Sultanah remained in confinement like a ghost of herself, barely eating, barely sleeping, abused each time the Sultan had a craving to torture someone

He beat her and used her to fulfill all his depravity, taking her from behind, binding her, molesting her, according to his mood, always sugary and sarcastic when speaking to her

She tried to kill herself, several times, with a broken shard of glass opening the veins of her arms, with her paintbrush in her throat, with poison

But each time she was surprised by her careful jailors and saved from death, prevented from delivering herself from this life of torments

Over the months she grew weaker and weaker, so weak that she looked as an old woman when she was barely thirty-five

All this time my soul was still there, floating around her dungeon, trying to console her, to tell her to hope, to be strong

She listened to me through her heart but her grief and her sufferings were too great to bear

Until finally her body surrendered and collapsed, dying of a slow death of weakness and sickness

And the Armenian insurrection was at the same time drowned in blood

And thousands of my cousins of arm died and fled and left the Armenian neighborhood nearly devastated and empty

So goes life on Earth with its upheavals

And it’s not a surprise I hate the mere mention of Ottomans now

 

When I met her soul again we rejoiced

But we were both extremely tired and shakened by what had happened to us

By the violence we had witnessed on our body, on the very door of our soul

We embraced and remembered all the lives we had met, all the things we had done together

But this Ottoman life had left deep imprints within us, deep wounds in our soul that we’d need to someday heal

 

And now has come the time of healing

We’ve met again this life, as best friends and lovers too

Each with a weird fetish reminding us of our former life of pleasure and brutal suffering

I’d be attracted to slightly round women as a past remembrance of her Sultanah persona, as a defense against the harshness of life as a women who’s a bit soft suggests tenderness and love and care within her very body

She’d be attracted and afraid of cold cynical men like her former Sultan, to make her suffer again part of what she had suffered

And she’d be attracted to the attraction of others, to be able to play along my fantasies

And help us rediscover this wound of the past and heal both our souls

 

 

What if we lived several lives and bore in each life the traumas of former lives?

If you like my writing don’t hesitate to leave your impressions and perhaps subscribe https://erikvincentizakhia.com/ ! Good evening to you, fellow journeyer.

"Envole-toi" is a drawing by Chantal Peguiron.

envole toi chantal peguiron drawing.jpg

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34 minutes ago, enzo-bardi said:

I met her for the first time in the street

I saw her eyes only since her face and her hair were covered by a veil

It was enough to see her eyes to recognize her though, so familiar were they to me, even if I had never met her

I saw her and there was instant recognition and I smiled to her and she smiled to me

The encounter of an instant before our lives continued following their separate paths

As our feet moved in the opposite direction and we each continued our market stroll

She was richly clothed and must have been some sort of noble women, accompanied by other women and servants

I was a mere Armenian craftsman who surely couldn’t mix with Ottoman aristocracy

But her laughing eyes and the familiarity of her expression remained engraved in my memory

Even when I was so young, even she seemed older and from another social class

 

Several years again I met her again, when I had almost forgotten her

I was doing some woodwork in the imperial harem

And she was there

And she was the Sultanah, she had become the Sultanah

The principal wife of the Sultan

Again I shouldn’t even have seen her, but she wanted to supervise herself the woodwork since she’d paint them later

She was a gifted painter, but that I didn’t know yet

She gave me some indications without showing any sense of recognition at first

But as she came closer to me and I went down from the ladder where I had been working

Our eyes met and suddenly her expression softened

Even if she was a few years older than me, her face was still childish

Not childish in a bad way, childish in dreaminess and innocence

I could see the playful child within, beyond, the Sultanah

And she could see the playful child within me

Even if we had never met we were two children who had grown together, played together, learnt together

There was a familiarity between us that nothing could explain

She smiled to me with her eyes and I smiled to her in the same way

She asked me if I knew how to read Arabic characters

I told her I did, even if they were not my strong, I could write Armenian more fluently

She was surprised to hear I was lettered, it was rather unusual in the men of my conditions

But I had always had an interest toward letters, and when I was not carving the wood at night I enjoyed very much to sit quietly and read and read again the few books I owned

I even pushed it as far as writing a bit too, a few poems about fleeting feelings I could not have expressed otherwise

Books and writings chanted of a freedom I could not find around me

They sang a poetry that lacked in the people I worked with

And they were very precious to me

 

After a week of working in the Harem, a week of stolen smiles and eager expectation of nothing in particular as I did not allow myself to hope too much

A eunuch came toward me and gave me a little note

The Sultanah was inviting me to visit her at night if I was willing to take the risk of meeting her, of being caught

I wrote her I was

She replied the next day, using again the eunuch intermediary, explaining how I should introduce myself in the imperial palace, I’d have to climb on a wall, and enter her room from the window

That was the price of seeing her

She was waiting me the same night

I had no family in Istanbul, no one awaiting me in the small room I had for adobe

So after finishing my work, I went to wash my hands and my face in a fountain

Visited the souk to eat a small thing

And as the night shrouded the town and the imperial palace in darkness

I penetrated in the harem, arrived under her window that was shut because of the cold

I threw a couple of fir-cones against it as she had asked me to do, and she opened it herself throwing me a rope

I climbed without hesitating and entered one of her magnificent rooms

And suddenly I was submerged by shyness

I wasn’t in my place there

But as though she could read my thoughts she looked into my eyes and smiled

And I felt at ease with her, at home within her

She told me several eunuchs loved her and did whatever she asked them to do

That we were safe, that I didn’t have to worry

I asked her about the Sultan

Her face turned to disgust

The Sultan is old and wrinkled, and he abuses everyone and everything

Was her reply

I was surprised to see so much unruliness in a Sultanah

She invited me to sit in front of her on a low sofa with colorful drapery

And we spoke and spoke

And I felt closer and closer to her

She was not of Ottoman descent

She had grown somewhere in a hilly country of Macedonia she barely remembered

She used to run on the hills, hide in the woods, her parents were peasants

She was raised in the Christian faith as I was

Once her town had been raided by pirates and she was taken away by force

The fate of her parents and siblings she ignored, it was night and everyone was running in every direction, buildings were being ransacked, the ones already robbed were set on fire

It was a night of hell and she thought that she’d die that night

She didn’t remember much of it, but she remembered waking up on a ship, her feet chained

And she was sold as a slave to the Ottomans and since she was good looking they sent her to the harem

And she grew there and got an education and discovered her gift for painting

Because of her sensitive intelligence she was greatly admired, and as the former Sultanah died, the Sultan chose her

He admired her paintings which was a good thing, but apart from that he was irascible, continued to want to use and abuse of her body even when he was by thirty years her senior, and he treated people around him unfairly, sowing the discord between his children and in his empire

The Sultanah watched all that in suffering and growing abhorrence of this man she had to please every day

She was born free, and all what she dreamt about was becoming free again, free of going wherever it pleased her, of doing whatever she liked, of retrieving her siblings and her village in Macedonia

She didn’t hate the Ottomans, but didn’t like them either

And she behaved as a properly as a Sultanah in appearances only because she didn’t have other choice, while trying to improve the lives of the miserable people around her, something that gave meaning to her life

We spoke about that as our hands joined

And she suddenly took my hand in an impulse and kissed it tenderly

I have retrieved you, brother of mine

I came from distant Armenia, but somehow her words rang true in my heart

We were siblings, brothers and sisters

Not of blood, but of spirit

Brothers and sisters of spirit, playmates, companions

and lovers

She invited me in her large oversized velvety bed

And we started kissing as though we had parted on the eve

My body responded to hers, and hers to mine

And we kissed and kissed

And our bodies danced the dance of love and for a moment we felt full of warmth and tenderness

We had forgotten who we were, all the miseries we had gone through

The past had vanished from our mind

All what remained was the awareness of the present instant bubble of tenderness and love and acceptance and home coming

 

And so we met again and again

Almost every night we saw each other

And I read her poetry, the work of other authors, then my own poems as I grew in confidence

And she showed me her sketching book, her paintings and drawings

And we explored each other body and soul hungrily

Each dawn was a painful separation

Each night a retrieval

When we couldn’t meet because of the Sultan plans to visit her, it was unbearably painful

 

It went on for months, for a couple of years

Until the persecutions against Armenians started

Each occasion was good to beat Armenians in public, to humiliate them

And soon humiliations became slaughters

Ottoman soldiers or Kurdish militias were sent to the Armenian neighborhood of the city, and they would reclaim gold, invent a process, and kill whoever was not cooperative enough

The Sultan was losing his tempers in the last years of his life

The Empire was shaken by insurrections, news such as Mount Lebanon that had retaken the coastal cities of Taraboulous and Saida, that Berbers were in open rebellions, that the Pasha of Damascus was acting as though all his promise was his playground, threatening the Pashalik of Alexandretta, daily reached our ears

And people in Istanbul started to be angry and fearful, accusing the Sultan of laxness and weakness

If he didn’t change his politics all the Empire would end up crumbling from the inside and collapsing in case the Russians or the Austrians launched an attack

The situation was dangerous and something had to be done

And what happened? Armenians and other minorities started being slaughtered

The fault was thrown on these non Turkish or Muslim minorities that weakened the Empire from the inside

We Armenians were the first ones to pay

Soon not a day passed without seeing a man dragged in the street, beaten, killed, his corpse launched in meal to stray dogs

I started moving around the town with a little dagger hidden in a belt under my tunic, since we didn’t have the right to bear weapons

 

And every night I continued meeting the Sultanah

Her voluptuous body pressed against mine shrouded by darkness

It was so reassuring to be loved by someone

She was my lover, my sister but also my mother

As she was older and better settled in life

She offered me treats whenever she could, she always thought I was famished

She gave me a few garments whenever mine had too large holes that let pass the winter cold

She was here for me in a touching way that made me almost teary

But it was so natural between us, I did not think of her as a Sultanah, but as the young playful sensitive clever woman she was within her Sultanah disguise

And I had not told anyone about these visits in the imperial palace

No it was better to keep them for myself, and beyond, I didn’t feel the need of sharing them

 

Armenians continued to be slaughtered, and it wasn’t the first time it happened in history

People around me had all dark bags under their eyes, they couldn’t sleep so worried they were it’d soon be their turn to be molested, to die

Could we be massacred one after another without saying anything, doing anything?

A rebellion started to foment

 

But I did not time to witness and participate in this rebellion

We were caught before

One night as many others I had met the Sultanah and spent all the hours between nightfall to dawn in her room

And we had chatted and spoken and laughed

And we had kissed with hunger and passion, as though it were the first time, the last time, we loved one another

She was tender beyond words with me, and I was gentle too

And when dawn broke and I had to depart regretfully

The door suddenly opened and the Sultan appeared

And the Sultanah and me both screamed in surprise and horror

My first reflex was to run away, but what about the Sultanah

So I stayed even when she shouted me to escape

In all cases it’s probable I could never have escaped from the soldiers he had brought with him and who were already filling the normally peaceful courtyard of fountains and pomegranate and fir trees

I took out my knife and tried to resist

Better to die than being caught, but again what about the Sultanah

I was strong and lean but had no military training

She produced out a dagger and we started fighting for our life

Side by side for the last time, whatever turned out to be the outcome of the fight

But soon three spearmen were in me and even when I had slightly hurt one

I was losing blood from everywhere like a tank that has been pierced by bullets and starts emptying himself

My wounds were deep and hurt but they were nothing confronted to the wound of my heart, the wound of losing the Sultanah, the fear of seeing her dying at my feet

In the blur of the fight I saw that several soldiers had been necessary to control her

The Sultan had shouted at them repeatedly not to hurt her, not to wound her, they were holding her from the hair, from the ankle, from the neck, immobilized on the floor

The Sultan gloated he had watched us all night long to find our best respective punishments

I was already losing all by blood that was soaking the carpets on the floor

And the Sultanah screamed horrified at this sight

Deep down I felt very quiet now, like a man who is about to die, who knows he will die, and who’s suddenly found the strength to accept this thought

My throat was to be cut, I would be beheaded in a bit of time in front of all the palace

And the Sultanah would be dispossessed of her title and her prerogatives and would live a life of confinement dedicated to the good pleasure of her rightful master the Sultan

I heard that and nearly fainted and I would have killed the Sultanah with my own hands before killing myself to avoid her such a horrible fate

And the thrill of battle surged within my emptying veins and I jumped on my nearest assailer and took his spear in a moment of inattention and I pushed him on the floor and pierced his chest without a second thought at the horrible deed I had just committed

But my forces were already waning and they caught me again, inflicting me other wounds on the process, and I crumbled on the floor, nearly lifeless in a pool of blood

And soon they put me over the window I had so many times scaled and out of a jest between them they pushed me from there and I fell fell feeling all my limbs dislocating and I crashed on the ground and felt all my bones breaking, shattering, my head exploding

I was already a corpse, but it wasn’t nearly enough for them, and they came upon the broken rests of me and cut my neck, and my head went to join the pebbles and the rocks in the courtyard and I passed away

And the Sultanah remained in confinement like a ghost of herself, barely eating, barely sleeping, abused each time the Sultan had a craving to torture someone

He beat her and used her to fulfill all his depravity, taking her from behind, binding her, molesting her, according to his mood, always sugary and sarcastic when speaking to her

She tried to kill herself, several times, with a broken shard of glass opening the veins of her arms, with her paintbrush in her throat, with poison

But each time she was surprised by her careful jailors and saved from death, prevented from delivering herself from this life of torments

Over the months she grew weaker and weaker, so weak that she looked as an old woman when she was barely thirty-five

All this time my soul was still there, floating around her dungeon, trying to console her, to tell her to hope, to be strong

She listened to me through her heart but her grief and her sufferings were too great to bear

Until finally her body surrendered and collapsed, dying of a slow death of weakness and sickness

And the Armenian insurrection was at the same time drowned in blood

And thousands of my cousins of arm died and fled and left the Armenian neighborhood nearly devastated and empty

So goes life on Earth with its upheavals

And it’s not a surprise I hate the mere mention of Ottomans now

 

When I met her soul again we rejoiced

But we were both extremely tired and shakened by what had happened to us

By the violence we had witnessed on our body, on the very door of our soul

We embraced and remembered all the lives we had met, all the things we had done together

But this Ottoman life had left deep imprints within us, deep wounds in our soul that we’d need to someday heal

 

And now has come the time of healing

We’ve met again this life, as best friends and lovers too

Each with a weird fetish reminding us of our former life of pleasure and brutal suffering

I’d be attracted to slightly round women as a past remembrance of her Sultanah persona, as a defense against the harshness of life as a women who’s a bit soft suggests tenderness and love and care within her very body

She’d be attracted and afraid of cold cynical men like her former Sultan, to make her suffer again part of what she had suffered

And she’d be attracted to the attraction of others, to be able to play along my fantasies

And help us rediscover this wound of the past and heal both our souls

 

 

What if we lived several lives and bore in each life the traumas of former lives?

If you like my writing don’t hesitate to leave your impressions and perhaps subscribe https://erikvincentizakhia.com/ ! Good evening to you, fellow journeyer.

"Envole-toi" is a drawing by Chantal Peguiron.

envole toi chantal peguiron drawing.jpg  18   160.72 kB

Dude, knock off posting that. 1st of all, it's like a mile long and 2nd, it's unrelated to this section of the forum.

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Guest enzo-bardi

Dear commenters,

Why all this harshness? We may or may not post pictures (it depends of how this story goes), so it is indeed related to this section of the forum. Especially that it's a true story.

You're not forced to read if it's too long. But perhaps other people are interested to read a weird, unusual, interesting story.

Best regards to all!

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37 minutes ago, enzo-bardi said:

Dear commenters,

Why all this harshness? We may or may not post pictures (it depends of how this story goes), so it is indeed related to this section of the forum. Especially that it's a true story.

You're not forced to read if it's too long. But perhaps other people are interested to read a weird, unusual, interesting story.

Best regards to all!

1st of all, this isn't the section to post your story. 2nd, you're spamming it on multiple sections of the forum. The least you could do is consolidate it so that it's shorter.

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Guest enzo-bardi
3 hours ago, ChubbyGirlLover said:

1st of all, this isn't the section to post your story. 2nd, you're spamming it on multiple sections of the forum. The least you could do is consolidate it so that it's shorter.

You are afraid

 

You are afraid of the sound of my voice

of the meaning and the depth behind my words

of the nakedness and the brightness of my truths

You are afraid of how I stir and awaken your soul

 

You are afraid of your own self

of being forced to confront your ego and your shadows to your inner truths

of putting down this wall you’ve built around your heart

and laying off this harsh mask of yours exposing your tender face to the world

 

And so you further raise this protective wall of yours

You shut off the mere mention of my name from your inner ears

Using sarcasm, irony and narrow-minded rationality to mock and discredit me

Thus preventing your soul from being lured by this chant of freedom

 

https://erikvincentizakhia.com/

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Guest enzo-bardi
3 hours ago, ChubbyGirlLover said:

1st of all, this isn't the section to post your story. 2nd, you're spamming it on multiple sections of the forum. The least you could do is consolidate it so that it's shorter.

I ask my story to be moved back to the thread where it was. Whether I write long or short is my problem, not yours, as long as it is well-written. Many people from the forum seem to have enjoyed reading it since yesterday I had more than 150 visitors from Curvage on my blog with more than 800 views. This means that my story has aroused interest, even if few people have given me encouragements. But I have a theory on that, my testimony is unusual, slightly disturbing, and people are still shy to engage themselves.

But I'm developing a theory, that perhaps our fetish stem from past lives trauma (or current life trauma). And I'm on the process of self-healing and I want to share it with you, with whoever suffers from this fetish, whoever wants to heal. On the main forum it has more visibility than here. If my soulmate is no longer at a certain point we'll share pictures. Give this story the visibility it needs, and you won't be disappointed. 

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