Jan 312012

Naked on white linens, legs folded and crossed, your hands rest relaxed, hanging limp over your knees. Your head bows too low for meditation. You’d look relaxed if not for the sometimes-twitching of the fine muscles in your neck. Despite the broad expanse of shoulders, you are childlike. You look small… somehow.

When I am behind you this way, I wish that I were longer, stronger. I’d wrap my arms around you and crush you into me. I can’t, but not for lack of wanting. Instead, I allow my fingertips to graze the smooth planes of your neck, barely touching, almost inspecting the quality of your pale skin. At my touch, your breathing quickens and I’m reminded of the warm blood just below the stone smoothness of skin growing cooler in the nearly empty room. I feel our contrasts–my warm pink palms against your cool round shoulders. When your breath catches at this barely increased contact, I am reminded that you are human–my plaything, but flesh and blood and bone no less.

Part human and part plaything, to varying degrees. I can’t have you this way. I feel you too much, enough make my own breath catch, stuck at the hollow of my throat.

From behind, my fingers wrap around your throat, gently stretching to feel your pulse. Yes. Human still.

I can’t have you this way.

Breaking the sweetness stifling the air around us both, I curl my fingers up around your jaw, finding that perfect familiar fit. I jerk your head up sharply, easily, surprisingly, as you don’t offer much resistance.

I can’t see it now, but I know your face, eyes unfocused, staring off into nothing.

After slipping on the hood, I am relieved, unburdened. I finally find air to breathe, the room to move, and the freedom to consider my options for the evening. The contrast of smooth pale skin to rough black leather is as unnerving as it is comforting. After slipping on the hood, it’s as if I’m shielded from the warmth of blood I know is just beneath the surface. Tightening the laces, I grow immune to your ragged breathing–it becomes mechanical to me. Fumbling with buckles at the back, the shallow metallic clinking sounds remind me of your collar, my boy’s collar, a collar you cannot wear because you are not my boy right now.

You, deprived of sight and sound, I am unburdened of your humanness, finally able to possess what I’ve always known was mine. Unaffected by cold blue eyes that always warm my heart, I am free to use you now, my sweetest plaything, my darling toy.

After slipping on the hood, you cease being human and begin to be mine.

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