Dominatrix By Design part 6

OK, how I got introduced to this thing called BDSM……

It was August, seven and a half years ago and I was on vacation with my recently divorced mother.  She was a widowed lush who needed supervision, especially on a casino binge.  She was a 65 year old child who desperately needed a babysitter. My mother is a narcissistic borderline personality disorder full blown alcoholic who is toxic to all around her. She is Selective with her so called “love” which she openly holds for only a select few.

She loathes everything about me. I only understand it now because of the intense and honest therapy sessions I have gone to for most of My adult life. How I longed to be well and to be free of her skeletal grasps.  A cold hearted ruthless self-serving bitch, she was. During my five day babysitting adventure of a 65 year old repulsive, rich, sloppy binge drinker, I met a man there who sparked an interest in me. I never would have imagined that this would come to pass in the way that it did…

I had always made a point to steer free of casinos. I thought of them trashy as well as dirty. I had never been to one but always looked down upon them. A trait and belief that was worthy of judgment from the rearing of my mother in a small Texas town.  My Mother was already drunk at 2:30 pm on a Friday. I judged her not because I Myself  had  My struggles with substances as a young adult and once later in life.   She had always reminded me what a handful I was as a teenager and young adult but she never took any responsibility for her part in my outcome. Never missing an opportunity to throw a dig in at a family function or holiday. She really got off to it, especially if there was a crowded room of people to hear her insults. It pleasured her to have an audience; an audience to hear the woes she was forced to endure of rearing a wild child.  It was typical for someone like her. It was always someone else’s fault. No accountability or responsibility did she ever own up to. She was never wrong. Her cold heart beat without empathy for anyone, even her own children. My sister told me of a time that she made a 99 on a calculus test. My mother looked at her a told her in a monotone voice that she could have made a 100 if she studied harder.

In a dirty smoke filled casino, I watched my mother blow a small fortune and slowly pickle herself. There was no way I was going to blow money I didn’t have so she would occasionally chunk 100's at me so I could go play and I think so I would vanish awhile and she could be without having to look at me. She hated me because I was a threat to her. She was jealous of my youth. She was never pretty but now she was old and she hated that. Somehow, I was responsible for that as well. She justified hating me so she could live with herself I assume. I walked off cowering, just like I always did when it came to her. She paid me off so I would take her abuse. And I took it. I willingly laid my self-worth in front of her so she could pick away at it; leaving nothing but an empty shell to turn her back on until she needed something from me. Oh yes, when she needed something from me she could turn on the sweetness and make me forget all about her nastiness. I longed for her love and approval. I wanted her to love me. I ached for her acceptance but she would never give it to me. She was incapable.  She was jealous of her own children.  It felt good to her to have more than me.  She equated being a good person with having money. Status was all that was important to her. She was better than everyone and that exuded in the way she looked down on everyone else. She made harsh rude comments about all that I knew and all that I was. She strongly disliked everyone that I loved and had zero problems tearing them to shreds when she had a chance to do so. She only tolerated me when she needed something from me. Otherwise, she had no use for me.  I have felt much betrayal and emptiness in my life but none like the kind that she doled out.  I was a pain unlike any other I have ever known. It was worse than my first husband’s suicide and worse than a cheating loved one. The pain was paralyzing and I always wondered what I had done that was so terrible that she couldn’t love me. Was I that bad of a person that I wasn’t worthy of even an alcoholics love? It hurt deep inside but I had grown accustom to it and I somehow felt I deserved it. Oh the guilt was a motivating factor that kept me underneath her and she knew it. She played the guilt card every time she could to keep me in check. And friends, it worked!