I smiled at him, I told him to come back. I was asking for trouble. At the time I didn’t think anything of this small exchange, but this was a defining moment not only for me, but for him as well.
His gaze is piercing. I can’t believe he’s actually back. Hell yes, I’m avoiding him, he knows. He doesn’t think my game is cute. He makes sure his presence is known while I’m on stage. I continue to play coy. He snags me as I walk around to collect my tips. I finally get a closer look at him. He’s a masterpiece, with nearly every edge torn. His eyes are clear oceans yet they contain the pain and lost potential of a fallen angel. The complexity of his energy is fascinating. He has the art of a hundred people on his skin. I want him. Introductions are made. I laugh. Our masks are sweet and spice. He has a butterfly on his face, my curiousity is peeking to know it’s untold story. My true self is named after a butterfly. Synchronicity has me interested in this man, what torture. He looks into my eyes and I slowly die in his presence- perfect. This is exactly the trouble I’ve been looking for. I go home with him. His dominance is overwhelming, something I didn’t pick up at the club. Normally while with a dom, i do not submit easily- I enjoy my submission being earned. I gave mine willingly without thinking, I regret nothing. I feel as if I’ve left my mark on a monument. Something within me trust him in a foolish way. I know with every submission I lose a piece of my soul. I’ve given a part of my soul to a fallen angel- I have no doubt he will fuck it up.
My home gives me no rest, crippling memories won’t leave my walls. I sleep at his home, where it actually feels like a home. The energy here is free, warm. He sleeps peacefully while I never allow my eyes to close. I find great company in his cat. The cat -I’ve nicknamed him ninja- enjoys my stories as I stay awake smoking, soft snores come from the bedroom. Snores I should not be hearing. I’ve slept here too many nights, my butterfly knows this too. While I’m apologetic, I can’t help myself. I crave the peacefulness of these moments. It gives me clearity. I’ve grown to care for the snoring man. Being with him has been refreshing unpredictable. Sometimes he owns me, others he gives to me, allows me to feel equal- almost cared for. I feel passion, love- and other times pain. This is something I’ve never experienced; it’s a power exchange like no other. Something deep in his mind is calling to me. I yern to bring it to light, he’s so quiet that I will never know. I need to know. It lurks beneath those consuming eyes. Something in the way his gaze meets my skin makes me feel naked constantly. When I am naked he manages to make contact with every nerve of my being- I’ve never felt more naked, yet, I feel safe. He doesn’t want to hurt me. He knows he can. I know he will. Part of my soul loves him. I don’t know why- I don’t want to, but he owns me. I will never get myself back from him, and I’m happy to continue this way as long as I can have a piece of him too.
“I want you to make me a tattoo”- He shrugs me off. He makes beautiful things. He marks people with permanent gifts. I want one. I want a piece of his mind. I bring it up on another occasion, he passes over my advance again. I wonder weather he doubts my intention or if he doubts himself. “That’s not really how it works, you need to give me direction. I can’t just come up with something.” Well that’s exactly what I’m asking him to do. I want a gift of my own, truely from him. A personal masterpiece I can be honored to wear. He glances at me like I’m insane but he will never understand. He’s been my muse for a few weeks now, I’ve spent a lot of time observing him. I’ve seen his talent. I also see a need for creative freedom, space for passion. I see the doubt he has in himself, because of doubt from others. I have no doubt in him, I am happy to provide this opportunity to him.
He is strong but easily fractured. He is shy, then a silent show off. He is my butterfly. Forever evading me, then getting close, showing me his beautiful wings, then as I inch closer he floats away, still in my gaze but unattainable. I enjoy this about him. I’ve never been one for zoos, I don’t believe magnificence can be shown caged. To observe from a distance and be capable of appreciation is true magic.
He’s so shy as he brings up my future tattoo. He discusses it in detail with me- how can you try to imagine art!? Bless me- let me see it! The excitement takes over. I can’t wait to see my gift. He’s silent. I love her. She’s beautiful. She’s strong. I need her to be a part of me. I experience no doubt as I tell him I love it. He seems to pause, he’s waiting for me to critique his work. I don’t. I love her as she is. I thank him, I truly mean this. I know art is personal, just like my writing, and he’s shared a piece of himself for me. He’s pleased with me, he kisses me gently. I feel his pride, his pain subside just a little, and his mind rest.
He finally speaks, just a little. He opened up to me, just barely. A piece of his mind, the pain. Nocturnal Creatures, his ex, his heartbreak- it’s tragic. I can’t believe how blind of a woman she must have been to let go of such a beautiful creature. She left. She broke him. She added to the heartbreak of his life. I can’t imagine causing pain to such a deep soul. She broke him, and he still loves her. She is a tear of her own in his incredible gaze. The pain I feel from him, the pain he transfers to me- is from her. She is the reason he is here. She is the reason he is with me- for all I will ever be is a distraction to broken men. They give me their pain and I give them relief- it’s who I am. I will never be more to him.
I got it. I finally have a piece of him for myself. He shows me his revised design. She’s more exceptional then before. I love her. He pauses. Still waiting for me to give my two cents. I never have a doubt that she should remain as she is, she is perfect- like him. “So i know you wanted to stay above the elbow, but we aren’t going to do that….” Shit, don’t look at me like that. It’s like he wants me to doubt him. He puts on the stencil. He’s right, she needs to be placed this way. She’s impeccable. I love it, let’s do this. Being tattooed by him is different. He is so focused, he is in his true element. It was wonderful to watch. I could feel his excitement, this was him- truly his art, coming to life. He takes pride. I’m happy to provide this experience for him, even though my own selfish reasons are behind it as well. He’s peaceful, it vibrates to me. I enjoy when he caused me pain before, I enjoy it now. I’m turned on the whole time. He may have only been touching my arm but he may as well have been caressing my breast the way he randomly does. Or even petting my thigh. It felt the same to me. Pleasure is all he provides.
My butterfly let me have a closer look at his broken heart. When I go on to the next world I want someone to love me the way he loves the ones he’s lost. I want someone to speak of me the way he speaks of them. He loves them so deeply. I envy them, to have someone so amazing love them so honorably. Their memories live on within him. He brings them to life when he speaks of their moments together. He feels more then he will ever show me, but at least he speaks. He speaks his truth to me and I listen so intently- for I know he will rarely trust me with his secrets. I know not to speak, not to make a sound- he may lose his courage. I’m watching a butterfly sit on a flower, his wings open and close, his legs stretch…. If I move or make a peep, he will fly away and keep his distance again. I can’t let this moment pass too soon.
She’s here. She’s going to keep him, she would be an idiot not to. My time as a distraction has come to an end. His real love is here, he doesn’t need to pretend I’m her to fill the hole she left. I fear for him, for I’ve been broken by many people- I know the breaker can never fix what they broke. He needs this though. He loves her. She is beautiful like him, she has deep eyes like him- she is an artist like him. Yet, she left. I will never understand. I would have let myself be consumed by his darkness before I would let him go. Yet, she left, she’s either incapable of seeing what I see or she’s an idiot. I will let him go, because that’s what he needs. I will sink into the distance- that’s who I am. Constantly watching others from a distance. He will work things out with her and they will love again. I will be happy for him because his pain will end. He will keep the pieces of my soul he doesn’t know he has, and I will keep his art…. A constant reminder of the beautiful masterpiece of a man that I enjoyed laying with, tracing the untold stories on his skin.
I’m so confused. I’m lost. I love it. I’m going to hell: She’s here, he loves her. So why am I here? I needed him. I missed him. So I told him- now here I am. Outside his apartment kissing him against a wall, passionately, deeply, losing myself all over again. Letting him inside me again, continuing to give him pieces of myself. He says he’s missed me. He says good girl- all I hear is i love you. He tells me he loves me. I tell him I love him. We’ve always done this but it feels different this time. Something between us is more tonight. I’m not sure how this happened. She’s inside. He left her to come satisfy me. I never thought I’d see him again. Yet, here we are in an alley worshipping each other, it’s as if nothing has changed but everything has too. Something about the way he says I’m his. Something about how he bites my tattoo, Im his, he’s marked me. Something about how he looks into my eyes tonight. Something is different. Something is more intense. Before I know it we are nearly naked, laughing, sweating, and panting. Our bout of passion is over. We dress to go our separate ways. “Love you.” He’s never said it while not inside me. “I love you daddy” it comes naturally off my tongue. He is my D.O.M. (Daddy, Owner, Master). I find myself drowning in him all over again- I’ll happily die in this moment.
His gaze softens, his wings rest- “I like you”. “I like you too” I respond, unsure if there’s even another way to respond, he knows I like him but I can feel him seeking validation. As fast as the moment comes- it passes. He’s back to fluttering around me while I watch from a respectful distance. I know he’s afraid to be close, I wish I could reassure him that I’ve never seen the beauty of captivity- he’s free when he’s with me.
A ring. A small gesture. This means a lot to me. We drunkly find our way home from playing pool- I won, of course. In the uber I see his black ring, I just want to have a closer look, he lets me. I try it on a few fingers- doesn’t fit. I give it back, he slides it back in it’s place. Reaches to his other hand, a pinky ring, it’s gold with a clover embezzled with diamonds. He tries it on my fingers until it fits one, then leans back with a satisfied smile. I say “I’m going to keep this for a bit”, he smerks-“I figured”. Clearly he wanted me to have it, this pleases me.
We finally finished her. The long wait is over. She is magnificent. She is my favorite tattoo. She seems so dark and mysterious, like him. I enjoy being tattooed by him far too much, I know if I keep this up I will no doubt be covered soon- need to take it slow. I wore a dress to my appointment and ended up naked, which was not necessary but I got a thrill out of it. After I undressed he kissed me and teased me with his hand.We spent the night together after. This is nothing out of the ordinary, but he seems different. He didn’t tell me he loves me but he actually opened himself to me. I’m not entirely sure what to think of it. I don’t know if he withdrawing from me or simply keeping his distance to protect himself. How can I tell someone so clearly betrayed- that isn’t who I am. I don’t hurt people. I just want to be a part of his life- whatever part he wants me to be, nothing more. I guess it’s not something to be explained. It needs to be felt. Maybe one day he will trust me, for now I know he doesn’t. He told me while he was drunk that he likes me, I told him I like him too but in the morning his distance remains. I’m beginning to think I may be his drunk habit- like smoking. His distance is frightening, I may have mistaken passion for love that night in the alley…..
It’s obvious to him that I care for him, there’s no way he doesn’t see it- feel my affection for him. I see though all of his masks, I see him in all his complexities and beauty. He has the eyes of a fallen angel. He carries his tragedies within: he doesn’t see past it. He doesn’t see me. I see him. I’m convinced I see him better then he sees himself. He sees nothing when he sees me, he feels nothing. I’m excepting too much from the wounded. One day soon I will be a name in his recollection, just like the others before me…
anonymouspolyamorous 