Boundaries are bullshit boring. What I seek with you is a consensual dissolution of law and order through a mingling of fluids, an anarchy of flesh and a riot of the psyche.
Brutality is our romance, your fists pounding into my stomach are red roses and microscopic ego-deaths are our holiday destinations
I liked the times you forced me to look at myself in the mirror with the intent that I witness my own whorish depravity; Mostly what I saw was how beautiful we look together, the contrasts in our shapes and sizes, your strong arm wrapped commanding and possessive around my throat.
I crave endless assault. No escape even in the darkest and most private corners of my mind, I want you to stalk me through my dreams. Your violence tastes like life and when you look into my eyes, your vision is 20/20.
How did we get here? Like you’re a stranger I always knew or actually I think I always imagined you but now you’re here and I can touch you and I keep thinking maybe I’m making you up but the details are so much more than my notions and daydreams and longings. I never thought you were real because you never think dreams are real and even when you believe them you never do. But I can touch you and you’re tangible, physical, beautiful.
My heart is racing and my body shakes sporadically from the adrenaline. Your hands are so much bigger than mine, your body is so much heavier and so you easily crush me under the weight of you and keep me still so still when sometimes you even stop my breath and it is solace and safety and you look into my eyes and our fear makes us glow all the brighter.
Freedom is an illusion because our time and physicality and capacity is limited so limited so finite. But don’t we just forget that in the moments that pass too quickly but are the most brilliant fireworks? Multichromatic paroxysms that make us gasp and our chests hurt and our tears mingle as our faces press together and we are afraid to be so vulnerable as to cry but, defiantly, rebelliously, we do. What sick fucker ever told us it was wrong to cry anyway? I want to lick up your tears, not to hide them but to adore them. I want to worship at the altar of your pain. I adore every aspect of your humanity.
Freedom is an illusion and yet the possibilities are so much greater than our poor, sweet, dear little brains can imagine when they are trapped in labyrinths and habits and well-trod pathways. It takes energy, bravery, compassion and comradery to break with tradition and roam in the wilderness. We hold hands and offer comforting “I love you” words as a means of sustenance and strength. We fuck and talk and talk and fuck until sleep and other practical matters such as the rest of everything demands our attention and then only for a little while.
Here you are with me in dark places I’ve only ever glimpsed alone before and then you shine your flashlight on me and see me and tell me I am beautiful and bravely ugly. Suddenly, loneliness is a memory. We share our worlds and pains and loves with one another, we make offerings and slowly we learn to trust and take them.
Unfolding. I am unfurling. The look in your eyes tells me that can I continue to do so, that you approve, that I am safe. Your words are enthusiastic consent for me to keep on going with this showing of myself to yourself. You tell me I am beautiful and brave. The second compliment means the most and makes the first one stick.
New. That feeling, that thrilling feeling, of discovering someone whose words feel like gifts, whose mind feels like a new country to discover, their body a new territory to traverse. Through this newness and awakeness, one discovers new tastes within themselves such as my love for sending you videos of dancing dappled light and the way I want to mask you in shimmering make-up and then let you have your way with my flesh.
Your strange solitary sweetness touches the deepest parts of me and I find myself perceiving myself as something warm and light and sexy and good. You are moonlight I am sunlight and we both glow so beautiful in appreciation of one another. I feel myself expand with hope, with excitement, with the wonder of realising how little we can ever know about what the future might hold.
I am wet and tense with pent up passion but… but gently. I hope to hold you gently, sweet one, and hope that we might both be kind.