She had been so happy.Broken
It was such a strange idea, her, happy.
But it had been time.
That’s how it had been with the others. A few dates, that was all, then she’d end things. No attachments. No teary farewells or goodbyes. No commitment. No emotion. It was the best way. Best for her, and most certainly best for them.
And she’d been fine with it every time. They were just men, after all. If necessary, the best parts of them could be replaced by a pair of Triple–As and the trip to the Anne Summer’s toy aisle. But, with Jake…
It was madness, pure madness, but in the space of a few weeks he had completely consumed her in a way no other man had. Made her feel complete, safe. Happy.
Now, he was gone, and it was her fault.
I do my Thigh-Master to strengthen my legs just in case he wants to pull out and I don’t want him to. You know how it goes, a man drives you completely over the edge, sets fire to every nerve in your body, and ignites a passion from within you that echoes back through every ancestor in your family tree so hard that when you get to the afterlife they will all be asking you about that orgasm.
That sort of man.
And this is that sort of book. It throws an M-80 into my panty drawer and explodes in a mess of lavender scented fragrance, lace, silk, and sticky wet bliss. It is written to drive a hot poker of desire straight into me, push aside my reluctant folds of hesitance, and dive deeply within my man-needs so thoroughly that after I am done I feel all stretched out inside but in the best possible way.
Thank you for that.
It is the sort of book you never want to admit you needed. But you do. And you know what I mean.
That sort of book that comes along, sticks a strong yet firm paragraph of lust down the front of my skin-tight jeans, grabs my attention with a quick turn of phrase-like and deft fingers, and forcefully works me up into a place of submission and desire I never thought I would be capable of going. And a place I am not ashamed to sometimes want to be. The submissive. The woman who melts under his touch. A man not so pussy he can’t ever take what he truly wants. Her. So completely she is taken that the bond is formed forever, a fire-hot sizzle as steel touches steel and the weld takes two separate and makes them one.
And I wonder where we came from and where we are going.
Metrosexuals. Equals. Political correctness.
A safe space is a place without sex.
For there is always that danger in sex. The danger of finding out who you really are and never accepting it. The danger of realizing your whole life was for shit. The danger of lasting consequences. The danger of finding someone better than you and being strong enough to admit it. The danger of finding your lost better half.
The danger there is to submission, but also, the freedom that submission gives us.
I don’t think anyone understands this anymore. We are too me too these days, too equal, too accommodating, and too sensitive. We don’t know how to relate, how to stand up for ourselves, and we live our entire lives as the victim.
The victim of relationships.
The victim of government.
The victim of current events.
Victims of our family and upbringing, tied so tightly to our past we can never truly let go.
Victimized from birth to death so completely by our own expectations what we can never escape the trap. For once we are freed from victimhood, we run back to it for safety and security. We desire to be a victim so badly that we forget what it means to have strength and security. To have the power of free will. To make a choice, be proud of it, and stick with it for good or bad.
We are not who we are, we are what they want us to be.
And there are those who wield the power of victim-hood upon others so effectively I wonder if they have souls or a conscious to realize what they are doing. Or maybe there is too much money involved. Again, the trap is baited with the things we desire and want. We are back in the cave. Our moment of finding ourselves is gone. It is them holding me back, not my own fears and thoughts I can never be that person in my dreams. The chance will never be taken. Our spirits shall forever be broken.
And that is the problem, because you should strive to be that person you see in the mirror – the one you want to be, with dreams unfettered and desires unchecked.
With no fear.
And no one to blame but yourself.
But if all you have to blame is yourself, then you realize the freedom of never being a victim ever again.
Freedom.
And, yes, the freedom to submit should I so choose. Like to the man of this story. As long as he respects my bounds and knows what a serious no means versus a playful one, then he can be my man. And I shall submit and find that freedom to let go of the bridge railing as I plummet into his arms. And the bonds of his love serve as the tether which keeps me from crashing upon the rocks below.
In that moment of escape and complete freedom as I sail through the air unbound by rules or expectations, I find that moment of pure bliss and weightlessness that only releasing my grip on this world can give me.
I submit to the moment and let it take me away.
But I fear not because I know his strong arms shall keep me safe.
And then, halfway through, while I am suspended in this moment…
The book ends.
And the man on top of the bridge with the tether is laughing at me as if he had pulled out in our shared moment of bliss and happiness, and I am left hanging upside-down under a fucking bridge with all the blood rushing to my head and I am screaming pull me the fuck up. I spin in the air and wonder if a half-done short that ended way too soon was all worth it; that somehow the tether was not long enough and I did not get my full money from this ride.
I would have liked more to this book.
That is true.
I came to a point of complete submission and that new world was pulled back from me.
But in a way, this is not about a promise half kept.
This was about a book, however flawed in its brevity, actually bringing me to this point.
Which not many can do.
For that short moment I was lost to these words and for that I am forever grateful. A few thoughts.
More with her.
The crime story was fun, if not a bit too deeply procedural for my romance tastes, though I would have liked to see her in the grasp of danger more. It felt like a Noir tip of the hat, and reading it again I appreciate it being here rather than the danger being entirely removed and this just being an affair from her perspective.
More with him.
And let’s read again some time. This writer of words has gotten my attention. Nicely done, and my interest is piqued for a longer affair.
A strong recommendation, but a fast yet intense ride. A taste of what could be to come.
Perhaps, that is how it should be.