Things with J.P. had been unpredictable lately. He’s under so much stress regarding his brother and had been needing the heavy-handed scenes. Ones that as much as I tried to handle, I couldn’t.

I felt like I was losing him.

Fearing that he’d leave, or kick me out, I told him that maybe until his brother has surgery that maybe it’d be wise for him to scene with some of the masochists from Irons. He was elated, and I think that disappointed me. While I wanted him to have his needs met, I wished that I could be the one to do it.

He’s promised me that he won’t have sex with any of the masochists and he even takes me to Irons on those nights and has me watch. I think maybe it makes him feel better having me there to prove he’s being sexually faithful to me. It’s not the easiest thing to watch.

Blake makes it bearable though. He always comes over and talks to me and pulls me out of my funk. Each time I watched J.P. scene though, it’s like he’s a stranger and wasn’t even the man I fell in love with.

J.P. wanted to go to Irons tonight, and I told him he could go without me and that I’d stay home and work on making the solid list of items for the garage sale. He didn’t argue or beg me to go with him, so after I had a pity party for myself, I set out about the house with my notebook for the list of items.

In the den, I found some old phones, an old printer and a few monitors in the closet. As I pulled down one of the monitors, the cord wouldn’t give. I tugged a bit harder, and a shoe box that the cord was caught on came crashing to the floor.

“Pff,” I said as I shook the dust from my face and hair.

I set the monitor down in the center of the room and came back to the closet to pick up everything that had fallen out of the shoe box. The floor was covered in papers and photos. I knelt down carefully since my knees were constantly bruised and began to gather the photos and a few caught my eye as I placed them back in the box.

“What the hell?” I said under my breath as I stared at the pictures.

They were photos of some of the people from Irons. Predominately, the pictures were of Anthony Graves. The backs of the photos had months and years written on them.

“Oh, my God,” I said as I flipped through the pictures.

The pictures ranged from April of 1996 all the way until just last month. My hands shook as I glanced through them. I was baffled by some of them. In some of the pictures, there were three people, and I assumed the men were Colin Everett and Anthony Graves. Anthony was easily identifiable in pictures even without his face because of the scar on his side. But the other man had J.P.’s face on it, though it clearly wasn’t him. The man’s body had some tattoos, and J.P. doesn’t have any tattoos…but it’s J.P.’s face.

Did he edit his face into these images?

Oh, my God. This was unreal. Seventeen years’ worth of pictures of Anthony Graves in intimate settings and scenes with others. There were even pictures of him with the people in the after care stations…and pictures of him just sitting at the bar talking to some other guys. In many of those pictures, J.P.’s head was edited in so it appeared Anthony was casually talking with him. They looked like friends in the pictures.

“My God, he looks so young,” I whispered as I stared at a few pictures from April and May of 1996 of Anthony.

In addition to the date on the back of those photos, J.P. had written, “Candidate Anthony Davis Graves – 1^st choice.”

Other pictures through the summer months of 1996 had a few different phrases written on the back. One of the phrases that repeated was, “You will crave me. You’re dark and need me. We’re alike.”

The fall months of 1996 had cruel phrases on the backs of disturbing photos. These photos had two men; one of them obviously in the submissive role, while the other was beating or hurting the submissive man. The Dom in the photos clearly was J.P., but the submissive man had Anthony’s face…but it wasn’t him. There wasn’t a scar.

Tons of pictures surrounded me on the floor of J.P. beating, or engaged in some sexual act, with a man that appeared to be Anthony. Or at least, Anthony’s head edited onto the bodies. Many of the phrases on the backs said, “You need this,” or “You deserved this,” or “Beg me to stop,” or “I can be your new daddy, you don’t need fucking Blake.”

I covered my mouth with my hand as my eyes danced nervously over the images spread out on the floor. I wasn’t even sure what to think, but my head was going a mile a minute.

My hands sorted through the images quickly, trying to find the ones from last month. They had Anthony and Colin photographed in scenes with another woman, but Colin’s head was replaced by J.P.’s.

This wasn’t healthy.

My first thought was to call Samantha, but I decided against it. This was something J.P. and I needed to deal with; not an outsider.

I heard the door open from the garage and froze.

“Amy? Princess, I’m home,” J.P. called out.

I found my voice and yelled that I was in his den. My heart was pounding as I heard him coming down the hall. He was saying something about how his meeting with Anthony didn’t go as well as he had hoped, but he stopped talking when he saw me sitting on the floor surrounded by his obsession.

“What are you doing, Amy?” he asked calmly.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I looked down at all of the pictures.

“Well, I was pulling down the extra monitor for the garage sale when the cord caught on a box.” I held my hands up before letting them fall to my lap. “All of this fell, and I’ve just been looking at it…trying to make sense of whatever the hell I’m looking at!” I yelled out of frustration.

J.P. crouched down and began carefully gathering the pictures as if they were as precious as gold. Was he serious?

He was meticulously looking at the back of the photos as he organized them into a few small stacks on the floor. He wasn’t talking, just quietly organizing.

“J.P.?” I said his name, but he didn’t reply.

He smiled as he looked at the pictures.

“J.P. we need to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t. There’s nothing to talk about. These are mine.”

Mine? Suddenly all of those “not mine yet” pictures came rushing in. Having all of these photoshopped pictures of him and Anthony was his “proof” that Anthony was his. Or that he had scened and played with Anthony.

“J.P.,” I said as I reached out and tried pulling the pictures out of his hands.

He held the pictures tightly in his hands and yelled, “Don’t touch these!”

I retracted my hands, and they naturally went to my stomach. As the tears ran down my face, I was unsure of what to do or say.

“J.P., sweetheart, this isn’t healthy. He isn’t yours.”

I felt a sting, and when I blinked, I was looking at the wall to the side of me. When I slowly turned my head forward to look at him, I realized that he had slapped me in the face. J.P.’s eyes were black and determined to prove me wrong.

“He’s. Mine.”

I carefully shook my head at him.

“He’s not.” I swallowed hard and picked up one of Anthony’s younger pictures and flicked it at J.P. “He wasn’t yours in the spring of 1996…or late last month,” I said as I tossed a picture at him with last month’s date on it. “You need help, J.P. This,” I motioned at the pictures with my hands, “This isn’t healthy. You need to get rid of them.”

“I know this is a hard concept for you to wrap your mind around, Amy, but I need these pictures. You remember our needs, don’t you? I have needs that you have failed to meet. Having these pictures fulfills a need…one that I can rely on to be met without your useless hand in it.”

I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing.

“I love you, J.P. I want to be with you. I’m sorry that I have disappointed you, but I will continue to try. But I need you to try to do without these pictures.”

“Amy, I love you, too. But I need you to understand, or accept, the fact that I need these photos.”

I sighed and helped him carefully gather the photos. Even as I did it, I knew that I was enabling him to continue to act on something so unhealthy. I kept my mouth closed, and when I handed him back the pictures that I had gathered, he pulled me into his arms and kissed my sore, warm cheek.

“I love you, Amy. Thank you for understanding.”

Understanding? I didn’t understand this but knew that it was best for me to remain quiet. As I stared at the ceiling while trying to fall asleep, I thought about all I had learned tonight: J.P.’s obsession with Anthony ran deeper than I obviously had a clue about and that he had a vulnerable side.