A fantasy built on scant memory

I am led into a club; it looks a little like one that I've been too, but firmly rooted in fantasy with a labyrinth of connected rooms both public and intimate.  I say intimate for these rooms allow for more intimate activities - though you couldn't argue that they were private.  The whole place seems to allow for the people within it to flow freely; watching and joining, parting and coming together again.

I know that I am on a lead; I recognise the comforting way I am constrained, paraded.  I am admired in my subjugation.  I cannot see who holds my lead, I do not even know if I belong to a master or a mistress.  I try to gain some intelligence by smell; I can smell leather, alcohol and undertones of sex.  There appears a drink in my hand, it is pretty and pink with a little fizz in it; I think it could be cranberry as it's not very sweet - I like it.  This place is a trip for the senses as I start to hear other sounds and pick them out above the gothic and ebm beats.  I hear conversation, laughter and greetings.  I can hear the swish and slap of a crop, a flat slap of a paddle.  I can hear the noise of girls and men murmuring and sighing.  If I listen closely I can also hear that delicious lack-of-noise when someone disappears into space.

I am led up to a strange chair and encouraged to lay on it, facing the floor.  My lead is attached to a ring near to my cheek, it holds me there.  I am not uncomfortable there - far from it, I feel taken care of and looked after.  I am left to settle, I can hear conversation move away from me.  My body adjusts and relaxes, to a certain extent, in this position.  I do not need or ask for anything, I am content in the moment.

Swish!  Slap!  Something burns on my left buttock, instinct in that instant tells my body to move - but I cannot, I am held firm by the collar and lead.  Before I am given a chance to panic I hear a comforting voice.  My body starts to calm and relax once more as a hand gently rubs my back.  As the hand moves slowly lower, down to my buttocks I find that the burning eases.  Swish!  Slap!  Again, the burning, but instead of the fear and slight confusion which accompanied the last time a new emotion arrives whimpering at my door, begging to be allowed in, desire.

Another Swish!  Slap!  and desire bursts through.  The same pattern continues, though each time I enjoy very much the gentle, sensual touches I receive - my body is eager for the next swish.  My ears almost prick up at the sound of it.  My muscles tighten, expecting the slap that follows on, relishing the exquisite hot feeling after.  I am no longer fully aware of time, myself or my surroundings.  I am free.

I hear more gentle words, several hands stroking and petting me.  I hear kind words.  I notice my body now, I'm vaguely aware that my lead has now been untied, but I cannot yet move.  I am warm and there is a wetness running down my legs.  Helped up, I am slowly led away.  I am placed somewhere comfortable next to (either my master or my mistress's) feet and given a glass of water.

Contented kitten indeed!

A dark joust...

For the first time in some years I find I have no need for sex or intimacy.  I desire it, but I do not need it.  And, in my darker moments I find that I shy away from it.  I fear making myself vulnerable, yet I crave the situation, the person or persons to allow me to let down these defences.  I am wound too tightly, I want to feel it all fall away.  I want someone in charge, but someone to adore me enough to give me what I want and desire.  I worry that those who would take charge do so to abuse and to destroy.  Maybe the affectionate dominator is a myth that I've constructed in my own mind, the seed planted as my mind in desperation tried to wander far away from him.  He was the realisation of teenage wet dreams, but he shattered all of them.

Inside I feel pent up.  This new one is different.  A brother perhaps - he seems to not want to touch me, I don't desire him.  I love him, but I want passion as well as love.  I want to be cared for, craved and caressed.  I want to delay the event to perpetuate and build desire - I don't want to feel as if we could carry on forever without it, as if it is not necessary.

If I said I was scared of it, would anyone believe me?  I loved it once.  Felt joy in that physical expression and decadent release.  Then it went dark.  Others have come close but the darkness continues.  I need a spark, sparks to begin a fire and set me alight.  The crushing desire to be adored, to adore.  To see beauty in it again, to let nature and flesh consume.

For a time I was adored - I thought.  But it was all a lie and I was a love sick punching bag.  He offered me what I wanted, but took more than he gave.  I still want some of the same things - but I'm terrified I'll receive the same.  But it's been too long... the fear, the anxiety rises.  Nevermind Prince Charming, I need the black knight, or the dark temptress, and their wicked ways.

a girl like you...

I've never known a girl like you before

I really haven't ever met someone like her before. Until that point I guess that side of things were either in my own head, or polluted with the perspective of an abusive man. The hardest aspect to all of this is trying to unpick and select elements within myself which are genuinely my own desires... and which of those desires were more his, which I adopted and made my own. But when I met her... and other like-minded people at the same time, my world exploded. The after-shock may still have the power to shatter and to shock. Each time I gather my thoughts, my emotions and then she...

Now just like in a song from days of yore
Here you come a knockin', knockin' at my door
And I've never met a girl like you before

She can walk into the room, the building and whatever I believe I have neatly tucked away is thrown out onto the floor... it's as if someone has come along and upturned my underwear drawer and there are nightclothes, panties, socks, bras and many other miscellaneous items scattered about. After a time I would think to gather them all up, to re-organise and restate some kind of order into the chaos. But initially I am shocked, bewildered and a little embarrassed to be staring at my undies on display against my wishes. So that is what she does to me...

You give me just a taste so I want more and more

It's hard to discern between world-views and perspectives; I know that to hurt others is wrong – but to agree with others and deny oneself is surely a perverse form of self-abuse. I always seem to be 2 contrasting characters which I fail to combine... when she's away from me – as she has been – I can fall into one pattern, it still makes sense, it is not solace, it is the other me... both are true. But she went away... she closed the doors because I fell prey to doubt fostered by a phone call, because I was unnerved and perhaps scared, I left before I could be sent away. And I know she was attacking to defend... and even in her absence I loved her still... she was stronger than me for living as she believed... there are the words of others crowding my head that I cannot bear... I take the safe option... I do it for the child... but the taunts are chilling... but she showed me a possibility...

Now my hands are bleeding and my knees are raw
Now you've got me crawlin', crawlin' on the floor
And I've never met a girl like you before

But she walked in... she just walked in... and I came undone. And I saw another one with him, being what I could never be... but it didn't stop the oceans. I wanted to be swallowed up, so I drowned what I felt in vodka and ice. But spirits and ice will do little for a woman who is seriously wounded. And I punish myself all the more for in the cold light of day she is gone … he is gone … and I bleed from wounds I am told I am not to have, or not to acknowledge at least. But I bleed and you cannot deny me that... I could beat down Church doors and ask for it to stop, but be told simply my pain ought not to exist...

You've made me acknowledge the devil in me
I hope to God I'm talkin' metaphorically
Hope that I'm talkin' allegorically
Know that I'm talkin' about the way I feel
And I've never known a girl like you before

But it does exist. But do not worry, I will heal. And as I do the exquisite pain she unwittingly offers up to me will ease. I will forget... and I will crave her, and him, and that which ought not exist...

Never, never, never, never
Never known a girl like you before
This old town's changed so much
Don't feel like I belong

Maybe I should accept this latest turn in events. Use it to close the book on this me, start another or simplify? Perhaps I don't belong in their world any longer; they have formed the circle without me... we are separate.

Too many protest singers
Not enough protest songs

It's too soon to say what this really is, whether I will fight or gracefully slip away. Perhaps soon I will see it for the closure it really is... and embrace other possibilities... and be happy that she was in my life, I in hers and he in mine...

And now you've come along
Yes you've come along
And I've never met a girl like you before

Maybe soon. But not right now. Right now I mourn.

( a nod to Edwyn Collins and the song "Never Known a girl like you before")