Moonlight

You have a glow to you like moonlight, when I squint I swear I can see it. It suffuses your skin with an opalescent iridescence that feels like magic, like nostalgia, as if you’re a friend from a childhood we never had. I want to discover secret spaces with you, our eyes wide with curiosity and our hearts beating with excited nerves.

There’s this connection of chemistry and the language of eyes, like I can read the flickers and shifts within you and they are weather, phenomena that alters my own interior environments. The smell or something of you enters my bloodstream so that your desire becomes my own and in an Ouroboros of intoxication, I want you to feel good so that I can feel your feeling of it.

It’s so cold outside and when you tell me of that haunting wind that blows, I want to wrap myself around you or lay myself on top of you like my cat does in winter. I want to create a shelter of warmth and love and protect you like the precious thing I perceive you to be. I know I’m only one small creature and that nobody can ever be truly safe but I hope, at least, I can offer you a little warmth to help sustain that beautiful glow.

Advertisements

Days Like Today

Days like today, days when my life feels so full and so ripe with possibility, days like today I am so fucking glad that I didn’t jump in front of that train.

At those darkest moments, when everything hurt and I felt so worthless, when it felt like the pain and shame was all I had, at those darkest moments I had no idea how much joy and hope and light was just a few steps ahead of me.

The dark days are still there, pain is still a struggle but the shame is so much quieter, my heart feels so fucking full and so I feel strong and resilient. I feel so fucking rich, so gloriously fat on love, sex, connection and art.

At those darkest moments, I thought I knew what I was. At those darkest moments, I thought I knew what my future was. I did not. I could not. Days like today, I am so fucking glad that I didn’t jump in front of that train.

Welcome Letter

Hello darling,

Thank you for stepping inside to see me, thank you for taking the time. Yes, that room has always been there, no, you’re not the first to take a peek, but you walked right in and started looking around with interest. I become the absurdly servile hostess, so grateful for the company that it’s almost embarrassing, plying you with offerings and stories and photos from my past. As I perceive the metallic sound of your belt buckle unfastening, I tremble with a pitiable hope that I might soon hear it cracking sharp across my skin.

Please, yes, thank you, yes. Yes make yourself at home, yes help yourself, yes whatever you like, however you like, oh please oh yes oh please. I wait in a corner and observe you with keen interest, hanging on to every word, anticipating every movement. Is this what you want? Is this how you want it? Oh I am perfectly comfortable down here on my knees, don’t you worry about me.

Don’t you worry about me, this is what I was built for, hope for want for, it is craving and ancient and instinct and myself on autopilot. Please, I aim to please. I am to please. Please. Yes, you may touch what you want how you want, yes, yes, please. Unfurl yourself inside me and make a monstrous mess.

Please.

Only, darling, respect this interior; all that breaks must be rebuilt. Hurt me darling, make yourself at home. Only, hold me, darling and promise you will take care.

Another Me

(This is an old writing from 2013 that I rediscovered and really liked. It’s a bit dark as it explores the psychological stuff of my relationship with BDSM, you have been warned.)

At his orders, I made another me.

It wasn’t difficult to do. One night I dreamt of her and when I woke up in the morning, there she was. She was perched on the edge of the bed with eyes full of nervous anticipation. Because she was me, entirely me, she knew exactly what I was going to do with her.

I’d always had a desire to own a suit tailored for my short and curvy body and had decided that this would be the perfect occasion to invest in such attire. So when we entered his house I was overdressed in my suit and heavy theatrical make-up, while beside me she was entirely nude, unadorned apart from a collar and cuffs. He laughed when we entered and our cheeks burned red with embarrassment; she felt revealed, I was irritated. “Hey, fuck you! I look great in a suit!” I said and he laughed again.

But it was obvious he was intrigued and so he ordered her to kneel; which, because she was me, she was trained to do. He exclaimed over her uncanny likeness and began pinching her, slapping her to test her responses which were my own exactly but I could tell he remained unconvinced –

until he kissed her, and whereas she had flinched from the abuse, she pushed up into that kiss with the absoluteness of someone in love. I winced to witness myself so exposed and felt grateful for the distance provided by my costume and my other self.

He pulled away from her with dark eyes and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, nor could she, but I knew she was more afraid than we had ever been.

We had an agreement.

She was to be the vessel upon which we would enact our sickest fantasies – the things he and I wanted done to me, but which were far too threatening to my sanity and mortality. She would experience everything exactly as I would, the depths of depravity and extremes of suffering which I craved but feared would be my undoing. It didn’t matter if we destroyed her, I was her backup copy.

She trembled.

Unable to bear my empathetic understanding of her situation, I did something which I had been curious about but which nobody had ever done to me. This would create a tangible distance between us, her first unique experience that would define her identity as separate from my own and take her somewhere I would not follow. I began to cut into her skin, just above her chest, with a surgical blade I had brought from my studio, still covered in blue pastel dust and fragments of glitter that mixed into the blood sliding down her breasts.

She began to cry, my heart began to pound.

We both knew it now. She was not going to make it past this evening, yet nothing in the world would compel her to leave.

I wanted this.

Ember

At some point almost every night, my giant, emotional, weighty puffball of a cat will make a little whirring beep sound at me which is her request that I lift the blankets and allow her onto my chest. Almost always, I acquiesce and, purring loudly, she climbs aboard, crushing my boobs until she is comfortably lying down.

She’s a big girl, Dicey, and the slightest movement will cause her to flop down sideways where I will ease her into a comfortable position with her head on my arm and her legs draped around my body in a sort of cuddle. There she will remain, impossibly, luxuriously soft and with a purr that crackles like a campfire and we will both drift into a blissful slumber of interspecies love until I either move her because I have lost circulation to my arm or she decides that she has tired of me and leaves. Sometimes, Wes, my husband, will join the cuddle and that will be almost more love than my chest can contain.

Once in a while, Dicey will become violently enraged by some movement I have made or some dream she has had and then she will attack me with terrifying ferocity which ultimately gets her propelled off the bed followed by a loud “FUCK YOU CUNT” which will not disturb Wes from his sleep because he is acclimatised to these night dramas.

Despite her violent outburst, I love that cat immensely and often reflect on the transient beauty of our time together, for her lifespan is so much shorter than mine and when she passes, only Wes and my hearts will truly break as our little family loses a precious member. Her existence, like ours, is temporal, a tiny ember of warm life in an impossibly vast universe, shortly we will all flicker out and memories of us will soon vanish also. Her, us, love. All of it will end.

I feel tiny pangs of the pain and sorrow of that cold, indifferent future reality and I perceive our current reality of love and warmth and comfort and sweetness as nothing short of miraculous, delicate, precious. Such an unlikely, glowing, ephemeral experiential jewel. Life and love a flower that blooms and withers in the course of a single day.  We will end but for the most microscopic of moments, we get to exist. For the most microscopic of moments, we get to love. I count my blessings. I see the beauty.

Grey Matters

The other night I had a dream where I pity fucked an awkward, unattractive man from Instagram who then proceeded to stalk me through a jungle. We wound up in a KFC together where I ordered a fish burger which he fucked into my cunt. He then lifted me into a curled up ball in his arms and offered my KFC fish burger vagina to the other customers who were entirely disinterested. I was mildly embarrassed and repulsed which really, is about the level of discomfort I’d perhaps feel in such a social situation. I’ve experienced worse.

I’ve been paying more attention to my dreams lately as I become close to someone who seems to enjoy hearing what happens inside my head when I slumber. This experience reminds me of a lover I once had who liked it when I would describe the kaleidoscopic images of crabs, coral, rubber toys, insects, cutlery and so on which plays in my head when I am exhausted, overstimulated and falling asleep. He would keep me half conscious, insisting that I use words to let him into the psychedelic theatre embedded in my skull. It made me feel special, like I had something to offer. Currency, he made me feel like I had currency. Shame about the time he was so drunk and tried, very clumsily, to rape me. It wasn’t traumatic, he was too drunk and utterly unsuccessful but it hurt my heart nonetheless and ended that connection we had.

But I do like it when people care about the things inside my mind. Like the time my husband heard me sleep talking and he was so smitten with what I said that he stayed awake reciting it in his mind until he had memorised my words to share with me in the morning: “The cliché of an old man sitting in a bathtub, eating a gobstopper and just watching you.”

It makes me feel so much love, it does, when they so badly want to inhabit my grey matter and see the world from my perspective. Because that’s how I love, too, greedy to climb inside, greedy to share and see what it is that you’re looking at and how and why.