“Who will tie you up while you are away for so long?” The Painter asked, not so sweet but camoflaged in a singsong voice, baiting me to admit my secrets. She said it almost as if it were a joke and not a real question at all. She laughed then and threw her head back. She narrowed her eyes as if she had hit upon the truth unexpectedly, or happy she gambled and won. I did not intend to show so much of myself.
“But, really, my dear, we don’t know anyone in the islands. It is only you, you alone.”
She sighed and shooed a fly away from her face, it had been bothering her all day.
Yes, who indeed will tie me up when I am far away from those I trust? Can I survive life without bondage now that I have learned it is some sort of elixir? I regularly crave to be bound, tightly wound, mazed up and taken down… this is what I am made of. I cannot think about my boundless future too much for fear of remaining dug in to the familiar.
I am going to go away and ruin everything.
He caught me again, teasing him again. I was impatient as usual; dreaming that if I dangled my free hands with fingers floating lightly in the air maybe he would find it unbearable and restrict me, shut me down. I was not going to ask for it; unnecessary anyway, he sniffed out my lustful disposition and choose to extend my struggle rather than giving me what I wanted. Some days asking for it will get me exactly nothing.
I amuse him.
If only he would stop smelling so good, maybe that would calm me down. I get close and his earth-infused pheromones float into my consciousness. I no longer think he purposely tries to overcome me with his scent, taste, gaze; he is just being himself, after all. Still, it is the way his senses coalesce with my own, those lively senses reaching out to find their mates. I am still the same slave to all the sensorial enticements… and the cruelty, I am a foolish slut for cruelty.
Here comes the lockdown. His hand on my teasing neck, the throat that did nothing but remain naked, unresisting and ready. He laughs at how available I am. I try to trick him by running away, but I giggle so he doesn’t believe me. I run anyway and he follows me, stalking after me with heavy, long and slow steps. One to my three quick paces, one to my four. He backs me into a corner, grabs my wrist… hard, so painful I feel it in my thighs. He’s smiling for both of us because I am not.