Was that last night or this morning?
Where did one begin and the other end?
Thank you, I said, not sure that I wanted to.
How should I tell the story?
What can I say that would give you a peek at the beauty?
And do I really want to share...
what we had,
how we were,
how we loved.
As our relationship has catapulted into a far greater intimacy than we ever could have imagined, I have found myself less and less willing to include others in our memories.
Oh, it's easy enough to tell the bare facts.
Which are these.
A Friday night.
We each have our vices.
I go to shul.
He goes to bars.
Sometimes I stay home and we exchange e-mails and texts as he roams his town under an hour from here. At times I have written reams of pornography for him. Episodic tales, spread over messages, designed for his desires and urges and needs. Sometimes he'll text me again when he gets home, his tongue and fingers loosened by alcohol.
Six weeks ago, he invited me up to hang out with him. Which eventually precipitated the worst crisis we ever had in the two and a half years we've known each other. The worst crisis along with the most welcome avowal on his part.
has feelings for me.
Let's keep it at that.
Strong feelings, it is clear,
though not granted the name of love.
I've seen them on his his face...
We made it through the crisis, again and again, thinking we had survived the worst and then hitting another stretch of rapids. It was horrible. It was scorching. It left us beaten and bleeding.
It left us a couple.
Make no mistake.
It is still very much a D/s relationship.
And the Beast still poses very grave dangers.
In fact, he was the one who saved things.
He fought for me.
He didn't want to let me go.
But oh, how different it is when a thick stone wall has been demolished. The sadist's declaration of feelings was the trumpet blast that took down our own wall of Jericho and granted us the truest form of intercourse, far more intimate than can be achieved by cock and pussy alone.
That night, that weekend, that week, hangs over us.
The fear is always there.
Yesterday afternoon, we were exchanging thoughts about music. As suppertime approached, I asked if he'd be going carousing, commenting that I would probably go to services. And I did mean to go to services. I have friends at the shul, the rituals calm me, and I hadn't left the house all day. Aggravation over the parental situation had been making both my sister and me violently nuts all week.
I did mean to go to shul.
I wanted to go.
I wanted to get out.
But I didn't want to be away from him.
Even if being together meant no more than an electronic connection.
"Are you out carousing, Daddy?" I asked, after describing my plans.
"I am. So you may communicate if you want. Or worship here."
There's the problem.
He says things and I don't always understand them.
He thinks they're clear
and I don't always realize that I've misunderstood.
I'm trying to be better about admitting that I don't know what the hell he is saying. When I realize I don't know what he's saying. In this case, it took a good 15 minutes before another confusing statement led me to say "I don't understand, Sir."
Immediately followed by:
By "worship here" did you mean where you are, Daddy?
This was followed by a few volleys on what a stupid idea that probably was and how badly we wanted to be with each other. Finally, he gave me instructions.
Until around 9:30 or so, it was a very odd sort of date. Or it would be for anyone but us. He sent me to a favorite haunt of us for dinner. He would pay, but I would be there alone. There were reasons for the choice of restaurant and for my solitude.
But we were never apart. Even during the drive up, when I was so good until almost the end about not texting or even looking at the texts that came from him. But once at my destination, the conversation flew.
What to say now...
I'll leave it at this.
We shouldn't have been there together.
In the end, we were there together.
And after that, we were somewhere else.
For when he joined me at the restaurant, he had in his pocket a key.
to be more precise,
a key card.
For a room.
Picked up on the way over.
And eventually, that is where we went.
I followed him.
We entered the room.
I don't think I'll tell you anything more.
Except that there was great joy and great wonder and great pleasure.
And that by the time he had to leave, he hadn't had enough.
"I want you to spend the night here," he said.
"I'll be back in the morning," he said.
"Wait for me."
He left around 1:30 in the morning. Could it really have been so early? I checked the time on our texts and that seems to be about right.
I slept little.
He slept even less.
We felt each other all night.
And at 10 am he returned.
By 10:45 I was on my way home.
I guess I'm glad I wrote this after all. Inadequate as it is. Words cannot capture the longing, the desire, the passion, the love on my side and the undefined intense emotions on his which surrounded us that evening, that night, that morning.
Can you hear it in my voice?
Can you see into my eyes?
Can you sense my trembling?
The pain of longing.
And the lingering sense
of his body
exchanging cells with mine
until now we are one.