February 19th, 1980
Last night the dream changed. The scenario of having my life threatened by a sexual partner– has recurred so again in my dreaming. The details usually are drastically different, but the theme is always the same. An older powerful man (or men), sometimes my father is trying to kill me and I know that in order to survive I must kill him. Until last night my father was the only real person I had ever encountered in these dreams. All the others were pure products of my imagination. Last night I dreamed that the man I was actually with was a killer. But l loved him, and I was sure of his love for me; and I knew that he did not want to kill me. I was not the victim. We are in an environment like a concentration camp– or an army installation. A totally male, uniformed in drab olive, group is preparing to observe an event in the courtyard of the compound. My lover (Art) and I are the only men present who are not in uniform. I know that the event which these robot-type men are gathering to watch is my lover executing a predetermined victim. I am acting rather effeminately and decline to watch the execution. I leave to walk into the woods away from the scene, but stop– and, standing in front of a snow-covered large fronded plant scratch into the snow on the leaf the words “my man loves me.” Seeing the words I decide immediately to return to watch the execution. I filled with a huge sense of love for Art.
I wake to a dark room. Art’s body curled warm against mine in the 3:00 AM cold. I hold him close to me and stare incredulously, wondrously, at the dark reflections of our bodies together in his mirrored walls. Hours before, he had fist-fucked me– an act of such complete and utter submission and pleasure of an intensity I have never known before. It’s true. Sex has never been so good. Ever. I lie in the dark and stare at him. I love him totally. He has tonight become the man of my dreams– and released me from my role as victim. The man of my dreams with the power of life and death over me loves me and will not kill me.
My psycho-sexual needs developed in the context of both need for and fear of my father. A man of extraordinary violence and who threatened my life both literally and figuratively. This was intensified by my relationship as an only child with a masochistic mother who has subjected her entire life to her own victimization and inevitable destruction. I find myself stranded amidst all these unresolved conflicts– and have for years. I have constantly sought out the man to play the role of father in my life. Powerful, strong. Often I have mistaken crudeness and lack of perception for the kind of maleness I need. But my need for domination has always been paramount.