Have you ever met pure passion? Nothing but pure and unbridled passion?
If you can say yes, then you are among the lucky ones. Or perhaps the cursed.
I know I am both.
My father and I discussed him once. He asked who I was calling, texting, talking to while we were traveling. I told him who, and I explained why. He said that most people do not experience such passion. My wise and protective father gave me the advice to pursue it even though I told him it would end in disaster.
- At least then you have felt it, he said.
I was surprised.
It started out as an encounter among all the rest. A slave and a Domme engaging in a conversation about life, work and everything. I have never been the same since.
He was young. Too young. Beautiful and high-spirited, temperamental. It was obvious that he would be trouble. I have an unofficial age limit and he did not fit it. Yet ... there was something.
Suddenly our conversations changed.
- God, you have me...completely
- Why are you mine?
- Because You fit me... because i desire you - i want to be yours...i need to be yours. It is as if I have been your slave from the day I was born.
That was the first step, one of many. Part of me wishes it was still untreaded territory. Part of me could never live without it. What is done is done. We kept talking, joking, exploring. He called himself king and was quickly renamed slave-king. He saw something in me that had been left untouched, and wanted more.
Two days later I turned on my computer and was greeted by his face. I watched in amazement as his naked figure took out a roll of duct tape and started wrapping it around his wrists, determined to render himself helpless. Not the kind of helpless that can easily be reversed, but a complete and utter one. He was trying to make me rescue him. The expression on his face, his beautiful and flawed body, the way he held his hands, all was perfect.
That image still haunts me.
I knew I was being manipulated, provoked. Topped from the bottom if you will. I did not care. I wanted him as much as he wanted me, and this was my excuse to escape the restraints of society. To not plan, prepare. Be primal. Simply act.
Minutes later I was in my car, driving with broken headlights through the still of the night. Mile after mile.
I picked him up at a train station. He came with a backpack and a brown hooded sweater. He climbed into my car and we exchanged the usual pleasantries. I told him that he was going to pay for his stunt, and he answered that he already knew he would have to.
I started driving, making my way out of the unfamiliar large city. He was sitting in the seat beside me. His bag on the floor, his hands on his knees. I was struck by how intense every single word seemed. The electricity between us was... still is. Natural. Unlike anything I have ever felt. I turned and looked at him.
- I want you.
- You have me.
Chills went down my spine. At that moment I did. Or did I? Was I the one caught? We are like a moth to a fire, but I have long since lost track of which one of us is the doomed fly.
There is no love between us. No romantic desires, nor a future. Passion was all that ever existed. Since we met, he has loved, as have I. Over time, a strong friendship evolved. He comes to my aid and I to his in the only way we can. The electricity never leaves. Some days he is just what I need to bring me back to life, at other times I must run and hide. He is my angel from hell, and my devil from heaven.
We can never meet again for fear of the result.
Passion is a dangerous thing. It corrupts and turns a believer into a fanatic, a worker into a workaholic, and a sadist into....
After writing this text I am still confused whether or not I regret it. I just know it has been a changing journey.
Is passion what you seek? Be careful of what you ask for.... Everything comes with a price
3 months ago