While You're Gone

While you're gone, working shirted or shirtless, teaching and straining and building somebody else's big idea, think of me.

Think of the sex we had last night, the way we sat naked and faced each other and touched. Think of how you rubbed sore muscles even sorer, because my eyes went wide. Think of you in me, deep and sweet. Think please of how much I had been needing that.

While you're gone think of me naked, think of me in sunlight, think of me stretching by body. As you sweat think of other sweat, my sweat, our sweat. Think of me tied and tortured, think of me high and torturing. Just think of me.

I am aimless and busy. I have so much to do, and I do it or I don't and I can hardly even tell which. My head is full of fog, and I think of you. I think of you not so far away, but working and thinking beyond my reach.

I do not think I am in your thoughts, so much as problems and solutions, nuts and bolts and washers of all different sizes, wood and chain and concrete and mud and water.

My thoughts as well are full of names and faces, people and dates and the thousand things I must and maybe cannot do. And books. And papers. And ceremonies.

Come back to me with a smile, strain against brevity, hold me. Come back to me joyful to see my face, grateful to feel my body. Come back to me and when you are here with me be here with me, not there, not with the work. And I will let my troubles go, for you.

I did not expect this to be such a time of absence, but expectations lie like carpets and dead leaves. I will be at peace, if while you're gone you think of me, and if when you return to me, you're here.

Without Words

Sometimes when I am naked, or no naked, when I am being silly or serious, when I am paying no attention, I look up and find Boy looking at me.

He is smiling. Boy has a lot of different smiles. He has the smile when an idea has come together, the smile when he is walking behind a pretty girlie in tight jeans, the smile when he is about to eat delicious food, the absent sort of smiles of working with machines.

This is a smile that I never see anyplace else. This is a smile for me, of me, about me.

I don't know how long he has looked at me like this. For a long time people told me, when I was worried or upset, that they could see how much he cared about me in how he looked at me. I did not believe them. It felt foolish to put my faith in something as fleeting and easily misinterpreted as an expression.

But now the rest of our lives have tangled together, and he tells me with his words and his actions and the fact that there's no doubt left in us how he feels.

Sometimes I think that even if he never said it, I would know from that smile that he loves me.




And you should know: I did not expect this. I did not ever think, when they told me he looked at me with caring, that I would see it. I never thought he'd look at me like this.

a little thing

We're still up and down. Final week. Work kills me.
When not working, I take care of friends with cancer scares and teach interested parties about my society and do other stuff. Not much rest.

I have read Hannah's wonderful post about drop, and dealing with it.

Boy, said I. That's very responsible. She takes good care of her mind, her body and her partners, both before and after scenes.

Maybe it is because we are younger, or maybe it is because we only really ever play with each other, and so its much easier to get lazy about such things, or maybe it is because college life does not well allow for taking a day of rest because of drop, but man are Boy and I not that good about such things.

The way we plan it, we don't have ANY time for aftercare scheduled at all. Recently I beat Boy as close to senseless as I could manage, and when we planned that scene we hoped to go out to a party afterwards. Now, we failed, of course, but if I'd managed to beat him up in less than two hours, I think we'd have gone.

I wonder how Boy felt after that scene? He seemed pretty ok. Usually after a I top a really mean scene, I'm the one who needs cuddles. All the Big just drains right out of me and I look at this boy turning purple and red and think "Oh. God. Did I do that?" And then he has to take care of me. Which he did. There was ice cream.

But I wonder if as I gain a bit of age and a bit of perspective, I will start to be better about all of this. Scene Drop didn't make it in to my earliest Kink education. We talked about negotiations and about aftercare and about safewords, but the aftercare I always figured was a sort of ad-hoc, for a few moments or an hour or maybe even two sort of thing. It didn't extend for days.

College is really, really fast paced. Yesterday morning is so far away I can hardly conjure it up. By this evening, I'll have gone through the mental equivalent of passing through four time zones and back. It makes it very hard to look at scenes and drop and aftercare as spanning hours or days. There's just so much.

But reading about it, it sounds good. It sounds like time to absorb, to reconvene, to pull together. It sounds like the way I always want kink to be, coming out of each scene a stronger, more layered person.

I have, as notices all over campus keep telling me, just 60 days before I cease to be a college student. I will miss having my meals paid for, I will miss living in a house full of my friends, I will miss this campus, this place, these people, the classes and the professors and the safety of having something in loco parentis. But. I am ready to look at my life on a scale not dictated by school breaks and what classes I have what day. I am ready for the weekend to be the weekend, the week to be the week, and months to slide into one another without a little break here and a little break there, until I choose to use some vacation days and take one of my own.

As long as I'm not in a cubicle, that will be fine.

And I will start to think about such things as long-term drop. When I can.