I wanted to start April with an experiment. This is not an ordinary text and I assume it is not that easy to read. Just got it in my head to try this, experimenting a little with the form. It has all been done before so this is nothing unique. Anyway, here it is, my little text experiment.
It's happening now, how did it happen? not sure, I wanted it, did I want it? I wanted it, yes, I did, although I am ashamed, so ashamed, words cannot show how ashamed I am, cannot do it alone, he has to be here, he has to do it, I want it but I can't do it. His hand, I look at his hand, the tiny hairs on his fingers, manly hands, not strong but strong enough, a man's hands, his hands, those are hands that can caress, that can touch and be gentle, but they are strong, strong enough to hurt, he chooses that for me, I have chosen that for me, he takes his hands, the hands that can caress, and hurts with them, that is what he chooses for me, that is what I get, that is what I want, do I want it? He speaks to me, he talks to me, he says things to me but I am far, far away, I am alone, he lets me be alone, he keeps me there and alone, I trust him, I do trust him, do I know him? how could I know him? can't really know anyone, but he keeps me there, he lets me be alone, alone with myself and alone with what is happening. He has his words, words that make sense to him, to make this mean something to him, I don't understand them all, they take me there and that is enough, do I have to understand everything? I don't understand much, I don't even know what I want, but it is happening now and I am here and far away and now he speaks to me. Punishment, that is what he calls it, but there is no crime, shouldn't punishments be for crimes? Crimes and punishments that is what it was like, what is no more, not for me but for him but I know it's just a game, but it is not just a game, his hands are not a game, his hard, hard hands are real, those hands that can caress, those hands that choose not to. His words are good, they take me there, where I can't go, where I want to go, I trust him to take me there, that is good. He wants the ritual, the form, the words in a special order, the commands, the responses, they are just words for me, the words that beckons and calls and helps and prompts me to go forward, I am grateful for those words, I couldn't go there without them. Hands are moving, my trembling hands are moving, taking hold of fabric of clothes, cotton, I like cotton, smooth and nice and not silly, he likes black and lacy, sliding over skin, how come those moments are so special? that a movement like this can make a wave through my body, a bolt through my mind, through my sex, that pans out on my cheeks, cotton sliding over skin and becoming naked, not naked, bared, partially naked, nude and stripped and bare. Preparing, that is what he calls it, preparing for the punishment, that is what I do, I help, that is his ritual, but I really do, I bare, I move, I do the things his words make me do and I want to do but can't, not without his words, helping is such a bad thing to do, to help, to bare to make it easier, make it worse, that is what I do, I make it worse and I do it, he speaks but I do it, worse for me, baring skin to make it worse. Knees are hurting, hard, hard wood is hurting and this is the worst, the thing that makes my mind wander, makes my knees hurt, that takes away the magic, not thinking of it, thinking of him, thinking of knickers on my thighs, makes me tingle, tingle is better than hurting knees. His hands, his hands, those hands of strength that can caress but chooses not to, holding the handle, the black, leathery handle of that dreaded crop, that terrible thing that he will use when he chooses not to caress me, the thing I have been waiting for, longing for, fearing and dreading and that which I cannot meet, that cannot touch unless he speaks his words, unless he decides, it is so good he decides, that I don't, makes me stay and wait. Now I am waiting.