You Fill Up My Senses
When I look at you and see the delight cross your face as you spot me across the room, I feel the flame of attention ignite inside me as the first sensation of power booms into life. I have learned that your smile, the widening of your eyes and your hurrying towards me is indicative of delight and happiness on your part. I feed from this allowing my eyes to drink in the fuel that emanates from your expressions. When I gaze at you beneath me, writhing against me, mouth open and flush of sensual desire spreading across your chest, the flames burn fiercer as I watch with such attentiveness the flaring of your orgasm. I study your reaction to our coupling, noting the detail of the way you twist your head, the slight flare of your nostrils, the flailing limbs. I watch and I absorb, committing your reaction to my memory as I avail myself of the fuel that you are providing for me. When I stand and stare at you, that baleful glare piercing you from my darkened ink-like eyes, I am savouring your trembling stance, the fear that you are trying to hide cannot be hidden as you clutch at the arm of the chair to steady yourself, your eyes welling with tears. I stand and I stare,my stare generating your fearfulness and at the same time absorbing the fuel that flows from your frightened state.
When I hear you call my name, that upwards lilt in your voice, the light inflection which denotes that you are pleased to see me, I feel the fuel embracing the fire inside me, allowing the flames to burn a little brighter and stoking the engine that provides me with my sensation of power. I do not feel delight,I do not feel joy, I will replicate the way you look in order to make you think that I feel them, but as I hear your fuel-laden words as they break upon my ears, all that I feel is power. Power than I cause you to feel so elated when you call out to me from another room or speak down the telephone to me on repeated occasions throughout the day. When I hear your shouted insults, the waves of fuel wash against my ears, emotion-laden labels which do not perturb me, unless I choose to feign that I do, in order to provoke you further. I hear the sound of birdsong, I hear the sounds of a cheering crowd and I hear the first strains of a piece of music that appeals to me, yet none of those things comes to close to making me feel the way I do when you shout, cry, laugh, scream, moan and sigh because of me. Your words of praise move me through the gracing of power far more than the strings of a famous orchestra. Your words of scorn generate a far greater reaction for me than the roar of a crowd as my team scores the winning goal.
When I taste, I taste so much more than the food in my mouth or the drink I have just taken a swig of. You bought me that drink and imbued within that mug of coffee or glass of beer I can taste your interest, your appreciation and your affection. Your empathic print is on all that you say and do, your actions and words are embodied in the cake that you baked for me. I tell you the slice you have cut for me is delicious and of course it is, you are an excellent baker, but what I really taste is the care and attention you dedicated to me as you made that cake for me. Every meal you place before me may taste of different ingredients but the one which always tastes finest to me is the emotion that you have imbued it with. Whether it is a lovingly prepared three course dinner or a slammed down plate of spaghetti bolognaise, the emotion you imbue into those meals always tastes better than the meals themselves.
When I smell that delightful fragrance I feel once more the power rising inside me as I latch on to the fuel that you provide to me. Your action in putting on that scent which I have told you is my favourite goes far beyond the pleasant smell of jasmine or sandalwood. The fragrance tells me how you want me to be please by your wearing it, how you wish to smell attractive for me and thus I am empowered by your action as my nose senses the fragrance. The smell of freshly laundered clothing or bedding, that clean scent is imbued with you caring for me, attending to my washing and the housework and once again the smell of this act of kindness, of affection and of caring provides me with the fuel that I crave. Even when I tell you that I no longer like a certain perfume you wear, in order to provoke a reaction from you, when you wear it as an act of defiance, you provide me with yet more fuel from this act which is encapsulated in the scent. When you stand fuming, cigarette in hand, the smell of the smoke contains your anger, your irritation and it smells as sweet to me as a blossoming rose might to you.
When I hold your hand and I feel you pleasure in me taking your hand in mine, the fuel flows once again. As I feel your skin beneath my fingers, I know that the emotions that erupt as I do so will fuel me further. From my lips against your lips through to moving inside of you, I feel as anyone would, but I feel so much more because I feel your emotion through my touch and your touch upon me. The emptiness that consumes me acts with the power of a huge black hole which sucks all the emotion you exude into me. When I feel your touch upon me, the fuel flows once again and you allow the simmering flames to rise higher because of the light application of your fingers on the nape of my neck. The pressure of your arms about me as you hug me tightly signifies the deep-seated love and affection which you have for me. It powers through me, invigorating and awakening, providing me with the power that I need to keep on doing that which I must do. The sting of your hand as it slaps my face, punishment for another of my transgressions as I sought out the touch of another outside our relationship, will hurt my face, I am after all human in the physical sense at least. The sting that you have left however is readily dwarfed by the surge of power I feel inside me at your emotion-filled violence towards me. Touch me, stroke me, hold me, strike me, push me and pull me, it all amounts to a connection between you and I that sends the fuel flowing from you to me. When I no longer tolerate the affectionate and intimate touches, I crave instead for the terrified grab of my arm or the defensive shove to keep me away from you. I may no longer want you to hold my hand, kiss me or place a delicate hand upon my brow, instead I will welcome the physical manifestation of your anger, your frustration and your fear.
Everything that you say and do will be absorbed through my senses, what I see in you, what I hear you say, what I taste, what I smell and what I feel from your touch, they all provide conduits for me to gather fuel. I am a vast machine which is sucking the emotion from you through all of my five senses in order to try to fill this immense emptiness inside me. You make my senses come alive, albeit it for one purpose and this happens in a way that causes the sensations you feel from the use of your senses to pale by comparison. You truly fill up my senses.
28 thoughts on “You Fill Up My Senses”
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Betrayal it is too delicious for you.
For me it is too revolting, repellent, sickening, nauseos, distasteful, foul, nasty, despicable, vile, execrable, loatly, hateful, rotten, repugnant, unpardonable.
HG, when you say you’re committing my reaction to your memory, do those memories stay with you forever?
He used to always tell me, I made the flame inside of him brighter. I used to say the same back to him. It’s incredible how we both wanted, needed and desired the same things, but for such opposing reasons. I remember often thinking, while making, what I thought was love with him, how his look would seem so odd when he would look at me, yet loving at the same time. It was almost as if he was in a different world.
HG, I’m a bit unsure how “laughter” fits in with your other word choices; shouting, crying, screaming, moaning, and sighing. Laughing to me would equate to joy and happiness, so how does it give you fuel, if you don’t feel those emotions?
Also, he never commented on how I smelled, when wearing perfume and he never wore cologne of any kind (no, he never ever stunk). We both loved skin to skin contact, and although I know it was for different reasons, it’s still kind of nice knowing that he felt something when we touched. Just knowing he felt powers surging through him and that it was invigorating and awakening is helpful in a strange sort of way, because I do know that it’s not for the same reasons as it was for me. He always welcomed my hand, my kiss or when I delicately touched his brow or his ears. In the nearly 5 years we were together, he never declined my touch, not even when he was upset with me and he always told me he felt so alive when we were together. Now I understand why.
I have an impressive memory. Sometimes it is a curse.
The ex-MN had an impressive memory, as well. I’d like to understand better why your memory is a curse at times. I can imagine it’s a curse because it reminds you of your past, but in what other ways is it a curse to you?
You answered the question BH.
Got it. Thank you, HG!
You will not understand at this moment, but in my opinion you do not allow your self to exist. I am not sure about it. That is only a suggestion or idea. Take time (as many as you need) and think about it.
HG, so are these feelings you are talking about in you fill up my senses only reserved for the intimate primary source or also for the intimate secondary source?
Both.
I am not proud to say that once I punched my narcissist in the gut and another time cracked his wrist with my phone. Strange part? It aroused him. I still scratch my head when I think back on those times. How did you respond to being slapped?
Oohhhhhh but you’re eternally chaining yourself to a paradoxon …..
Your ability to be mindful of your senses is impressive. Detailed and keen. Akin to artists and interestingly enough also similar to those children I work with. Many of them closely visually inspect the world from unique angles, like little scientists, they can taste nuances in foods and smells beyond some great chefs. I will clarify that I’m not saying NPD and autism are the same as they are quite different, though there are some remarkable overlapping talents. Intrigued.
🙂
Some deep shit that. So why am I no contact but now feel like he is reversing the no contact and how can he possibly not be missing all that. He is not in a very stable position to get a new supply he’s wrapped up in cans of beer and whatever else he can get…with no job at the moment. So does the addiction take pride place on the shelf when in a period of relapse. I’ve always pulled him out of the black hole and he’s always been oh so grateful for this and saying never wants to lose his family ever again…worse time of his life bla bla bla…this time he pressed that self destruct button for the one time too many…and I’ve left him to rot…but he doesn’t care and must want to live the lifestyle he so often said he never wanted to go back to ever again. Any normal person would do whatever it took to keep hold of family after a second chance…this was like the hundredth chance but this time he surely must know I’m done. He hoovered a couple of times…very lame hoovers may I add…but I discarded. I then stuck to no contact…but so has he. Craziness.
If higher narcissists are so rare – how rare are super empaths then?
I’ve never felt so understood anywhere before.
Not as rare as Greater Narcissists.
Probably not for you though,super empaths? The minute i touch one of you can feel that big black hole where your soul should be. I then get up, leave, block contact without explanation as only have empathy for real people not shells. My soul is not a buffet.
Amazing and exactly what it makes it so intense and everybody else so grey.
But we’ve conditioned you well. 😉
Oh wow. I think I get it! We are the same…though perfectly opposite.
That’s how I feel. And a bit like magic. Like a Yin-Yang that is destined not to be together.
Just as described here the narc would study my orgasms. Was totally focused on every detail of it. Every movement was perfected to make it addictive. And of course then the focus hbecame with holding sex . Now I understand why. My favorite thing he(the minister) did was to try to convince me if we weren’t having Intercourse we weren’t having sex. He had to convince himself of this because I was married, I guess. There was no logic to anything. I Have a question. I am as little as contact as possible(work together) and I know the narc smear is common. I just don’t know how this works when the narc is a minister and his “self” the humble, kind minister has to be protected above all. What type of
Smear should I watch out for?
Thank you.
💡! He always did ask to be slapped.
ps…just as you sense an empath may not have been where she said she was and you know it, you feel it- we too know 🙂
HG:This piece could have been written from my N except he cannot write too well that I am aware of and he does not have an English accent. This has so many similarities. I don’t cook cakes, nor do I cook for him anymore, rarely I will cook and he will help himself to it anyhow. He drew a line in the sand, and everything you write is as I have done previously until I knew it was taken for granted, not acknowledged or his line in the sand, was the frequent comments, that I do nothing for him, that I did not cook that Thai or Indian meal, that I did not get him that jeep at half cost, that I did not do what I knew I had. Okay then, I said- I will do nothing for you as you say I do nothing, nothing it shall be. You want to control the finances and ruin everything, go ahead, you want to take over the shopping, I don’t cook if I don’t select my ingredients. On and on it goes- by his words, he reaps what he sows.
You have the senses of an empath, yet something has swung in another direction. He is sensory, very sensory too. I hear what you have said, from the perfume to the bedroom and ink black eyes. Funny how those eyes become lighter in the bedroom! The only time that dark hole lets the light in hey? I also have a black eyed N and I can tell you that empaths not only observe but feel you in a way that is indescribable. We hear your thoughts, we feel your thoughts. We pick up on names that you have associated with that day, we get far more than you would think HG. I know because I am an empath and I may get a name, an image with a clear name, eg: Mel or Rebecca, or Dale. I ask him who is dah de dah- Immediately, a redfaced tantrum! I am never incorrect.
You seem very attuned and I am wondering and will be forever researching this strange opposite pole when it is very close to so many syndromes, including ASD. Strange, we are all different but you have so much potential and I am feeling that this fuel you speak of, is just being able to take in absorb others energies, in that case it makes you an empath surely and maybe the black hole contains the tools you need for the compassion, the empathy, the good candy Mr Tudor, as you would be more likely to have control over it and master it.
I’ve recently stumbled upon your work via a Facebook forum for survivors of toxic families. You are a powerful writer. Thank you for the work you do; it not only helps heal but also inspires. Thank you.
Thank you hkmcdermid
John Denver
“Annie’s Song”
You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,
like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,
like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean.
You fill up my senses, come fill me again.
Come let me love you, let me give my life to you,
let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms,
let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you.
Come let me love you, come love me again.
You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,
like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,
like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean.
You fill up my senses, come fill me again.
Ditto