This is Tiger Cub. Or rather, this is Tiger Cub at 6 a.m. last Saturday morning brushing his teeth, naked and a tad drunk, standing in Peter's kitchen, wet like a rat, his hair matted and soaked after getting lost for hours in the wee hours of the rainy morning, wandering about in crime infested Washington, DC. This is who I've devoted a great portion of my life to in the last year. Ain't he cute?
I told you I'd tell you the rest of the story. So shortly after writing my blog entry in the early morning hours, TC manages to find his way home, a bit worse for the wear. I pull off his soaked shirt, strip his jeans off and towel dry his hair. A glass of water, brush teeth and off to bed I shuttle him. I take good care of my pup.
But I'm mad at TC for coming home late, upset that he left me worried and so there in the early morning hours I violated him with a fury I'd never had before. Anger sex. F*ck you, sex. I wasn't interested in whether he enjoyed it, there was no foreplay, no precursor, just me doing my thing, regaining my dominant position. Forceful and with authority.
Perhaps I wanted to rein him back in or punish TC for his misdeeds. But he got it and got it good. The whole time I was thinking how much I cared for him but that I was mad.
Now at no time was TC in physical danger, I'm have limits, and sadly I think he actually enjoyed the rough play (what next a whip?). But I realized how abusive relationships can happen. Anger or jealousy coupled with a desire to be wanted, needed or cared for. In recent weeks I've heard more than one story about truly abusive relationships. The ones that go over that thin line.
With TC and I, for each event, trust and understanding is created, a bond tightened, the relationship furthered, it's good to be alive together.
The photo was available from 7 a.m. to 11:41, at which point it was discovered by Tiger Cub, whose little sharp claws took a swipe at me to behave.