I’m awkward, in those first few moments. The space
between the last time and now yawns between us.
I remember your smell, but the air that carries it is
cold. Your smile is warm, and those hands are as
beautiful as I remember, but the feel of your touch
is an echo of a memory. Too faint to even be a whisper
on my skin. I bubble words that are too noisy, too
crowded in the quiet air as you calmly and methodically
lay out the tool for our play today. The vampire gloves
come out. They’re new, still in the packaging, and
I’m oh so curious. But also, I spot an opportunity.
You put them on the table. I put them back in the bag.
On the table. In the bag. You raise an eyebrow but
you also smile. On the table, in the bag. The next thing
to come out of the bag makes my eyes widen. You bring
the vampire gloves out next, and on the table they stay.
“Take off your clothes.” I disrobe, that thunder kicking
up in my chest. I look at you, but you’re concentrating
on laying out all the delicious ways you’re going to
torture me. That’s worse. I feel cut off, like a spider
whose skein of silk thread has been sliced by a hand.
I feel disconnected and more naked than simply
removing clothes should allow. “Inspection pose.”
There is it, that connection that pulls us together.
Head up, back straight, legs slightly apart. Hands
behind my head. You approach, eyes running over
my body more tangibly than a touch. Circle round
me, closing off that empty space that made me feel
so small. Your mouth goes to my shoulder, you hand
into my hear. Clench. Grip. Pull. Your other arm
goes around my middle and I am contained.
Finally… the quiet.