I was his lost little treasure, completely submissive and willing. I would wait for him in places bustling with sounds of laughter and life, bathed in the light of the moon, wondering when he was going to approach, and for how long he had been watching from the disguise of shade and shadow. And when he would appear and violate the boundaries of clothing draped over my virgin skin, his creeping touch like gentle intrusions, I would quiver and hear nothing over the thundering of my own heart.

It was a strange union of man and woman, or maybe not as strange as it was strangely comfortable. It seemed familiar from the beginning; that I was carefree in his wrath of power, that I had nothing to be but to be his, to belong to him in every way, a beautiful and precious object of his every desire. An object, yes; but an object to be protected and coveted, to be taught and disciplined, valued and loved.

It feels natural when we are together; I feel strangely empowered by having been stripped of power; that my most instinctual desires are realized as I practice acceptance of what I truly am; a woman, a receiver of man, a weaker creation in need of a guardian. No longer do I feel the need to challenge authority, or fight in an attempt to match his masculine strength. I am not plagued with feminist ideals of equality and sexuality because I cannot deny his inherent dominance, which extends beyond the realm of choice, but is within the boundaries of admission. The intuitive cravings of human nature are fed on behalf of such self sacrifice, and suddenly the fluidity of red wine bears a striking resemblance to the consistency of blood, and I am secretly ravenous and raging with a need to survive my primordial essence, as all impediments placed upon me by the demands of civilized norms vanishes in light of him. I am on my knees before him, even as I stand a mortal witness amidst the grave circumstance in the kitchen of this establishment, my eyes gleaming as I subconsciously experience the suppressed fantasies of my feminine soul; guide me, Jude, and I will forever be yours.

And as his statuesque presence absolves even the slightest fragments of my insecurities, I am at peace. Although his calm is like a threatening mist forewarning of erotically demanding acts of ultimate surrender to come, I know that it is from all else that I possess fear, and so long as I maintain my position beneath the rule of his autocratic sanctuary, I will live an eternity as a blissful servant to the virtues of this remarkable man. He has my heart so long as I possess the strength to lower my eyes in recognition of his role as master in my so called life.

His ambitious nature is manifested aggressively within the context of the bedroom, in which I am happily his with whom to experiment and pleasurably abuse. It is freeing; no harm would ever come to me, nothing could ever be taken from me, as to Jude, I have already willingly offered myself unconditionally. It was a matter of compliance to that oath I had already agreed to obey; I was never to be a victim of anyone again.

And with this simple acceptance of powerlessness comes great relief and inevitable gratitude. Only when I have acknowledged that I no longer possess power of control can I be free to express my creative capacities. I feel safe enough within the boundaries of my relationship with Jude to venture through life as a fiercely brave child of the world, and learn all that I may in an attempt to strengthen my heart and fulfill my potentials; luxuries afforded for me by simply saying ‘yes’ to the man who made a grand proposition. “Give me control”, he said assertively, “and I shall show you happiness”.

We left the restaurant that night and navigated the solitude of the streets of Denver on a warm August night. My hand in his, he said nothing as we journeyed from someplace public to the lonely space of his sixth floor apartment. He didn’t know this, but even as he subtly guided my movements throughout the evening in such a way as to have me almost naked before him now, I felt cuddled; the warmth of the summer air lingered upon my skin and was complimented by the tender way in which he cared for me, despite his seemingly distant and cold manner. I truly admired this man, and there wasn’t anything that would keep me from believing in our untraditional affair of love conquers all standards of gender equivalence.

“Darling, you know I would never keep you waiting, and I would sooner die than cross you”, I said shyly, as I purposefully teased him in the slow removal of my undergarments.

“Good girl”, he responded in a soft whisper, and he held his gaze sternly for a moment, and then turned and walked away, leaving me safe but alone in the confines of his personal space, to wonder about what adventure we would the two of us next engage.

In the modern black and white display of furniture and art in his lavish abode, I succumbed to fatigue and lay down to rest upon the bed. I could vaguely hear sounds echoing throughout the barren halls of his bachelor kingdom; first the soothing tones of an unknown elixir filling a crystal glass, and then the deep rumble of steps as he made his way from kitchen to couch. The television began to echo sounds of late night programming, and I closed my eyes as I accepted the invitation to retire from service for the remainder of the evening.

I awoke easily to find myself in his arms; his pale skin clashing with the golden tones of mine; the soft light from the candles in the bathroom displayed the two of us entwined in the midnight atmosphere. Without moving my head I raised my eyes to meet his and understood that which was never spoken; he held me firmly and as I began to tremble and coward before his growing presence, he reached to cradle my chin so that it was impossible for me to turn away. His lips boldly met mine, and in a moment it seemed as though all the life had been taken from me and replaced by some alien energy which was stimulating and exciting, the both of us becoming heated with passion and anticipation. He rose upwards in a consistent poetic motion, moving beyond the bedroom and into the vanity bathroom, where a warm bath laced with the fragrant scent of freshly soaked rose petals awaited. I obediently followed behind him and entered the pool of water to meet him in a romantic scene of fairytale essence. As I slid my back against the porcelain bearing of the tub, he took a seat in front of me so that his back was pressed against my tender breasts, and I expressed my love and adoration for Jude with every sweeping stroke of my fingertips, which caressed the moist skin of his bare backside. I was his, and his for whom to care, and I cared for him now while he melted into me, his larger than life appeal fading blissfully into a beautiful display of innocent compassion. “Thank you”, he said. I always remembered those two words of gratitude he had confessed to me that evening, and recalled the importance of that simple declaration whenever I began to question the philosophies which survived our relationship. Like slave and master we were, but in the most harmonious way, the pair of us deeply understanding that the one could not survive without the other, and because of that fact, a nurturing attitude developed and was always adhered and forever recognized in the most intimate of moments. In response I had said nothing, but bent forwards to kiss the sweet drops of bath water from his neck. In the silky residue of lavender oil lingering in swirls around us I had written the words “I love you” with the tip of my forefinger, though they were hardly visible except in my mind. I wanted him to know, but I didn’t wish to disturb the nature of our togetherness. I thought it was better that I could feel and express such fondness obscurely, knowing that the words would soon dissipate into the lagoon of sexual perfection we had created.

Emerging from the bath we then engaged in a visceral performance, physically displaying raw emotion as we danced to the sounds of pleasure moans and melodious breathing. At times his body swallowed mine, and I disappeared beneath his massive frame though comfortably experiencing a plethora of orgasmic energies. At times his hand was wrapped around my neck, a form of intimacy which was symbolic of my lesser position within the realm of our sexual ideal; I was at his mercy, and it was from the deepest bond of trust that he was able to perform such an act, though I was well aware that at any moment he could suffocate the very life from me. The commitment we had made to one another accounted for this solemn covenant of absolute faith in our partnership; I was to surrender myself before him and allow him to lead me into a world unknown. Just as a vampire takes his victim gently from the sphere of life into the realm of the dead, Jude took me from a woman of stature and poise to the one before him now, helpless and subdued under the firm grasp of his muscular arms. I was able to transcend all mortal thoughts as I allowed myself to be swept away into the placid calm of sensual divinity. When he was satisfied he collapsed besides me, and we once again found ourselves interlaced amongst the tangled sheets of his bed. I fell asleep that evening content, with a smile on my flushed face.

The next morning I awoke to find myself alone with penetrating rays of morning light, the scent of fresh brewed coffee permeating the air of his apartment. It was eight am, and Jude was in his office conducting business of sorts; in what avenue of affairs I never bothered to know; it was of little use for me to understand the nature of his work related interactions. I had adopted the habit of squandering any inclination which would possess me to verbally inquire of what we were going to be experiencing that day, where we would be going, and how I should dress for the occasion. Jude always guided me in choosing the only decision; all that was needed from my end was quiet compliance. I wrapped a robe around my naked body and wandered into the kitchen. I prepared a cup of coffee for Jude and served it to him in his office, after hesitating at the door, waiting for permission to advance. He reached his hand up the length of my dress and fondled me for a brief moment, then refocused his attention onto the screen of the computer console. I departed so as to begin my daily duties, which included fixing the bed in which we had made love only hours before. When I had finished with the chores, I sought personal refuge in the seclusion of the bathroom. Alone, I dropped the robe and examined myself in the mirror, noticing the faint hints of violet and blue coloring the length of my neck, a territorial indication of my belonging to Jude. A smile escaped the corner of my mouth; the presence of the bruises filled me with intense pride; the temporary swellings were indicative of the eccentric duo in which I belonged, and I wanted them to be a part of my wardrobe as much as Jude wanted his painful manifestation of dominance visible.

As I stood before the mirror, the bathroom door opened and Jude entered behind me. I wasn’t startled, nor did I turn around in acknowledgement of his sudden appearance. He approached and looked at me from our reflection in the glass, noticing that which had me radiating with excitement.

“I own you”, he said, as he caressed the contusions just beneath the curve of my ear. He slipped by me and undressed, entering the shower. I stood undisturbed, until the opening of the shower door interrupted the serenity of my thoughts. It was an invitation to join him in the rain of fresh water, and I obediently slipped in through the crack, and we laughed together at things irrelevant and silly as we cleansed ourselves of our soils and sins.

To Be Continued….

(From ‘Love and Furlough’)