Reflection

I see the raw desire in her eyes, her brown eyes beseeching and searching mine in return, unasked questions hovering in the background; but I do not know this person, this stranger staring at me. I slowly lift my hand to touch her face and she stares at me questioningly, suddenly seeming slightly bewildered as if she is lost.

 

Without moving away from the sad gaze, I pull my hand back, suddenly unsure whether she can perhaps recognise the same naked craving in my eyes. Does she wonder as I do what happened to our innocence for I have been told that this yearning that burns and eat at my soul is not pure? As I gaze at her, I could see light red blotches appear over her cheekbones before we both look away.

 

I remember the seemingly unending time where I tried so hard to avoid my “tainted” soul. I did not want the lust and hunger when dreaming of being stripped of my control, the removal of my dignity and pride whilst his hand would create a fire on my offered bottom. I can feel my face burn at the memories, flaring in heat of resentment against my perceived shame and my embarrassment.

 

As we both look up and our eyes lock onto each other once again, I had a fleeting glimpse within her of the same need that fills my being. The hunger for submission remains a constant ache with moistness and desire settled deeply between my legs. My irritation flares, how can my needs and longing be deemed as dark as if lurking in sinister shadows but I can see their frowns and their sighs denouncing my choices.

 

I want to shout, I want to cry - how do I describe the brightness that shines in my soul when the burn streaks across my flesh, the release and freedom, how do I explain that within my offering lays my honesty and existence? I again lift my hand slowly and she mimics me, until our hands rest against each other’s.

 

I can see that she understand that I need a touch that does not request any permission but expects only my restrain and submission. A touch that controls and demands unquestionable trust and obedience. A touch that without mercy or with wonderful tenderness directs, splaying open every fibre of my being until I burn in pain, heat and wetness. A touch unrelenting until I lose myself in total acquiescence, my submission measured in my pliancy to his desires?

 

She smiles at me...and I know, I know who this woman is that I see in the mirror.

My gratitude to China Hamilton