I felt the tears well up in my eyes and they fell as a I squeezed my eyes shut tight. I didn’t want to finish reading that text. “Don’t think I am going to make it…I hurt my ribs at work.”

Blinking back the tears, I replied, “Oh shit.”

Of course I felt bad for you. But I have been waiting for exactly 11 days since we discussed ‘make me cry’ day. We have talked about it, planned for it, built up to it, and postponed it once already.

I don’t know that you fully appreciate what it takes for me to prepare for this. Just a few short weeks ago I had no idea that this need was even inside me. I had asked for it, but it wasn’t until the first flick of your flogger on my pussy that I really realized how much I wanted it. That hum in my body in the seconds after the sting of the pain. That sensation that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The lightening fire spreading from my pulsing center through my body. I shiver still, every time I think of how that felt, even though it has been nearly three weeks. It feels like forever ago and yesterday all at once.

I still find myself struggling with the own judgmental voices inside my head questioning what kind of person asks for this? That there must be something wrong with me. Struggling to figure out if there is some deep-seated psychological issue I should be working on. But really, I decide that I don’t care…it just makes me wet. Fear and pain make me wet. The absence of thought makes me wet. Descending into pure feeling makes me wet. Surrender makes me wet. And knowing it arouses you to see me like that makes me wetter still.

But in order to get to that point I have to prepare myself for what is to come. It is a delicate balance between building the sexual tension and anticipation, and calming the flight response that tells me pain is something to run from. I go through the dialog in my brain over and over. Reassuring the voice in my brain that says I must be crazy. That asking for pain is not normal. The voice that tells me I should just say no and walk away. The voice that says I am not going to be able to take it. The voice that says I will disappoint you with how quickly I cave and cry ‘Red’.

I struggle to calm the physical reactions too. My stomach twisting. Eating is difficult and my appetite is lower. My hands jittery. My attention span is low and I need constant stimulation to keep my mind off the physical and emotional reactions. Music helps. Meditation helps too. Eventually I get to the point of acceptance. The first spot of the voice in my head and my mind is able to quell it without having to run through the entire dialog in my head. “No. Remember the hum.” Eventually I sink into the memory of the hum. I am reliving that state as I go about preparing. Showering, and drying my hair. Laying out what I am going to wear. Flicking off the switch in my brain that tells me to call it off.

And then the text from you shatters it all. All of that carefully constructed house of cards comes tumbling down, along with the tears on my cheeks. This is not the way the tears were supposed to fall today. This is not the hum and the release. This is not the surrender to you, the surrender to the pain. This is not the beautiful exchange of intimacy that we were supposed to share today. This is frustration and adrenaline with no outlet. This is disappointment and hurt. This is a full moon meltdown.

His Hands

 Your shirtless photo sent to entice me. Your slightly tousled hair…I suspect half damp still. Those glasses that make you look so serious and scholarly. The beads around your neck, the heavy silver bracelet on your wrist, the belt around your waist holding those jeans in place below your smooth muscled torso. My mind takes in all of those things in an instant, but what spirals my descent into desire is the sight of your hands.

Those hands. One hand gripping your phone as you take the picture in the mirror, and the other hand near your hip, thumb hooked in the waistband of your jeans.

Those hands, strong and firm with solid fingers. I instantly imagine those hands…

…twisting and grabbing my hair;

…undressing me roughly;

…grabbing my breasts and squeezing my nipples between those strong fingers;

…spanking my ass, soft at first and then harder still;

…parting my lips and plunging inside me, bringing me to the brink of abandon;

…pulling my hips toward you as you thrust;

…holding me down, squeezing my throat as I offer it to you; and

…caressing and holding me afterward, stroking my body as I come back to earth.