Feb 092014
 

In the dead of goodbyes, I would have swallowed my pride.

I would have set the past aside. No hard feelings inside.

***

But you, couldn’t see what was true. Couldn’t feel me and you.

You were afraid of what we’d do. I was afraid of it too.

***

I could feel you grow. You let it show. You let me know.

But you had to go. Excuses I’ll never know. Cards you’ll never show.

 ***

No more wailing inside. I patched up my pride. Your bullshit won’t ride.

No more reasons to hide. I set that part of me aside. A lesson learned in stride.

May 142013
 

looking inSaturday night will be the last night that I’ll see two of of my most beloved friends in my local BDSM group. I’ve made and lost friends from this circle before, but I was never this sad. I was never, ever this sad.

B is a gay male dominant. I’ve been working with him on hitty stuff. Some rope. Our rope relationship is notorious, but the last time he did a cuff tie on me, he gave a snatch and an eyeball and – I saw a  flash of dom. He came out to play. Since then, our group became more serious with scenes. He and I were becoming a nice little co-topping team.

C is B’s gay submissive. He doesn’t like impact play. He does great in rope and wax, though. He was aftercare for everyone. Even when you didn’t notice it. That’s probably the most important job ….ever.

They’re going to the other side of the country for B’s job. They’ll be back in seven months. But part of me hopes they stay? Parts of me hopes they find something better and more fulfilling where they’re going. I hope they learn while they’re there. I hope they love it.

I’m gonna hate it.

Jan 012013
 

Digital StillCameraYou are my bruise.

I manipulate my body, searching for you. Searching for any slight bit of discoloration. I press – hoping for an ache in any darkened spots. I don’t turn those lovely shades of purple or green. There’s no healing. They are just gone. They seem to wash away with water or a night’s rest.

You are my bruise. Gone as I open my mouth, shocking me into a pause from which my words come to an astoundingly confused halt. Leaving only a confused sigh slowing exhaling in place of the words that were going to slip from my lips.

You are my bruise.

I’m sure that you were there, but  I don’t see where.

Jan 092010
 

I told him I didn’t know what to do.

He said he would figure out something.

I said it was in his hands now.

He said … no better place.

I told him I was scared.

He said I should be, I was fucked.

I wasn’t getting out.

He said he wasn’t giving it back.

For the first time in a long time… I felt safe.

Those words were like cardboard cupcakes, bright, shiny, and beautiful from a distance.

Couldn’t make a dent in them if I tried, even with all the rocks I threw. They held strong.

But when I walked up close, to see what the problem was…

Those cupcakes were  not at all what they seemed to be. I stood there alone, playing back his words, and cried.

I’m eating his words. Drinking his words. Smoking his words. Feeling them, blow by blow, sucking them in, having them carved into me from the inside, swallowing them down as they scrape my throat, my insides… slowly, painfully… all the way down to where they will scar my guts and everything I got on the inside.

I could try to hide it, but I don’t care, really.

Let him enjoy his work.

Let me learn my lesson.

They hurt when I swallow them. Just as he said, those words are strong and unyielding, so they don’t easily bend when I urge them deeper inside of me. Their pointy sides dig into me and puncture me. They needle me.  They just fucking hurt.

I’m eating those words to teach myself a lesson.

Never take anything sweet from a stranger.