Death of a Memory

Back Story:
By the start of spring last year I began to dip my toe into the BDSM world searching for a Dom that would fit my criteria. The list of people were long, some in disguise some out in plain sight. At this particular time in my life I drew in darkness and its followers like bees to honey. With every inquiry of said supposed Dom ended with," I have a black girl thing. I've always wanted to have a black girl Sub. This is the first time I've encountered a black girl Sub, do you like white men", the insults continue but ill spare you. This dark skin of mine is another topic for another time. After days and hours of sifting through the rift raft, I decided on a couple of Dom's. 1 who is currently still a friend, the other . . . I had a very bad experience. The scene wasn't safe and gave way to panic attacks and leaving the community feeling just as lost harboring feelings that I would never shake this experience. I have yet to revisit this notion until VN:

Letting Go of Old Shit:
There wasn't a worry as I saddled up to the cross. I thought fondly," This experience will be different", mainly because I was in the company of VN. Happily I placed my wrist into the ties allowing the bind to carress the joy we made from earlier play. The anticipation brewing led me to believe this would be fun. I get to experience flogging and being whipped in a positive way. As the second hand realizes its position, excitement flowed through my body like electrical currents. I placed my forehead to the cross's resting place and waited.
The air being whipped around me felt cool with menacing undertones. Flicker turned into thud against my back, hips and thighs. Thud graduated to warmth. I found myself enjoying, fearing the next round yet desiring its lesson. Once I heard the whip cracking in the Meditation room something changed. The joyous feelings turned to fear then quickly into Real fear. Suddenly I'm remembering being whipped with plastic, by my 1st experience without direction without care without checking in. Trying to recall where I am and whom I'm with was a struggle as the memories floated my everything. The feather on the end of that whip touched my neck with the grace of a hummingbird. The heat and sting left images of the previous cruel face staring me down like prey, tears rolled down my face. I could not keep the panic at bay. I saw the demon who tainted this experience. I couldn't escape. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't make words fall out of my face in protest. To retaliate would be something and for what better cause than your own neck. What did I do? Nothing. I cried deep like a 5yrs old. I cried because it hurt (suppose to) I cried because the memory was bigger than I believed, I cried because I didn't think I would make it out of my mental/spiritual prison. The sound the whip made solidified my anxiety. Across the thighs that sound traveled down my back sending shockwaves of more memories through my head. Over the hips, another taste of that gentleman's appreciation. Lash at the top of the shoulders rinse and repeat, I lost my shit and broke down. The insane feeling of wanting to jump out of my skin but would enjoy just as much as a few more wacks across the ass before I yell "RED" challenged me to speak. I'm in The Meditation Room faced with fearswhich plague in my sacred place where we've built trust. VN felt my panic, came to a full stop. I felt angry ,sad, empty, worried I would not make it this time. The overwhelming feelings of depression made a mad dash to my heart. I let go and fell into the arms of VN. His warmth saved all. His words smashed harsh memories. His kindness filled me up, the memories no longer held its sway. I took a breath . . .