Tuesday, August 21, 2018

inconvenient delusions

I think of you in the dark and the quiet, of your sly smile and cunning words. I think of the things you would say to me in the stillness of the morning, when all the world was asleep save for us and the stars. I dream of the trust that was born in those moments. Trust without pretext, or preamble, or.  pre anything. A spontaneous and consuming notion that birthed itself undeservedly between us.

It was so certain, that trust-- that trust. That trust that let you tie me face down on your scratchy wool rug the first time... the thousand times that followed. I can remember the smell and the feel of it on my cock as well as I can the smell of your aftershave and the way it felt when you tickled my slit with the corner of your nail. I knew, with absolute certainty, that you would always untie me. I knew that you would hold me, and kiss me, and let me stay outside of my head just as long as I needed.

What does that make me now? Alone, longing for that knowing again, unable to trust myself enough to even consider judging the feasibility of a chance encounter, let alone anything of longer duration? If I cannot trust myself to know just whom I can trust, is there anything at all left for me in the here and now?

But more importantly, how do I stop thinking of you every time I pull at myself in the shower? I can't even trust myself not to cum at the slightest scrap of memory- your cock cleaving me in two, your hips trying to hammer me through the wall, ugly yellow tile and all.

I think of you all the time, even in the light and the noise, but it's these quiet hours that undo me. It's these quiet hours that leave me bereft, aching and yearning.. for trust.

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