Mamamontezz's Mental Rumpus Room

Played

It's a bad feeling, that sense of having been played, of having been toyed with, used as a trifle, a diversion. We want and need acceptance, to be appreciated and even desired, and go to great lengths to find these things. We open ourselves up to show ourselves worthy, exposing secrets and pains and joys, with the understanding that such exposure is reciprocal, a gift given for our own emotional nudity and vulnerability. We understand that is required, an act of trust and honesty sacrificed.

Knowing in advance that these are the parameters is one thing, as long as all of the parties in the social contract accept them, or at the very least are aware of all of the implications and potentials of that contract. It is quite another to obscure or deny them, especially from one's self.

I suppose most of us don't even realize we are playing ourselves. We fantasize, rationalize, romantisize, compromise, dream of thighs, grasps and sighs, and in the end we realize that the reality bears little if any resemblence to the promise, real or implied.