Fixing a Hole.
(“Head like a hole, black as your soul…I’d rather die than give you control…” --NIN)
I’m about to ruin your plans. I’m sorry, baby…sorry that your sinful symphony of seduction won’t be executed to its shattering crescendo…but I have plans of my own.
It is, after all, my birthday. I should call the shots, right? I should be the one to tell you where to touch, what to wear, how to move…not you. I found your little drawer of supplies this afternoon. Don’t think I didn’t appreciate it…quite the contrary. That thick strip of black velvet and the soft leather restraints lined with fur…mmmmm…I can see you clearly. You’d be spread out on the bed, skin so pale against dark sheets, inky black cloth obscuring crystal blue eyes, pink lips ripe and waiting.
I could hear your moans…low…breathless…desperate…floating through the air, a siren’s song, seductive and forbidden, calling out to my heart and controlling my body. Yes…
I know it’s not what you wanted. You thought it would be different. I know, behind those eyes that proclaim naughty-spiked innocence, you pictured me beneath you. How would you do it? Would you seduce me slowly…take my wrists in your hand, rubbing gently along fragile bones before fluttering your tongue over a bounding pulse? Maybe you’d try to reassure me first…soft, soothing words accompanied by gentle touches.
“Shhhh, baby…there’s nothing to fear…don’t be scared, sweetie…I’m not going to hurt you…”
Too late, my darling angel, too late. With every touch, every whisper, every blink of your cheating, lying eyes, you drive the spike deeper.
Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think I would be so stupid? Oblivious and spacey, I may well be, but I am not stupid. I know. I’ve known.
Pity then, that I still want you. Still need you. I still ache to feel your touch, still want to taste those pouting lips that spoke so earnestly of love and devotion. I should have known better. You loved her. It should have been fine…but…somewhere along the way, along this wild journey neither of us could have foreseen…things changed.
We’ve both known Britney forever. I knew, deep down, that you would always have a place reserved in your heart just for her, no matter what sort of haughty façade you projected to the world. You could act like her leaving you didn’t matter, but we both know that you cried for days. We both know in whose arms you sought comfort.
Mmmmm…yes…I get hard just thinking about it.
Some might think me a monster for preying on you while you were at your lowest and most helpless. Not many have seen the calculating look in my eyes when I decide what I want, and not one person saw the smirk of satisfaction when I gently pressed my lips to yours that rainy Saturday night.
You were so scared, baby. So blatantly terrified. Innuendo had passed between us like a thick misty river weeks before that moment, so don’t even try to tell me you weren’t expecting it. Your knees threatened to buckle and a low moan escaped your mouth as I touched my tongue to yours, so don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. And soon enough you were clawing my back, bucking your hips like a bitch in heat, and mewling uncontrollably as I slowly, lazily traced your hard cock with two slender fingers, so don’t pretend you didn’t want more.
I think you were scared at how bad you wanted me.
To be fair, for a moment, I felt the same way. For years, you were the epitome of the unattainable, the image I brought forth in my mind on lonely nights when my body ached for another’s touch. I am as transparent as I am stealthy, and when you fell out of your lust-induced stupor and became the aggressor, I displayed my heart on my sleeve for all the world to see.
I loved you. I know that now. But love, like so many things, is infinitely mutable, and you molded my heart like clay…smashing it down, building it up, caressing it with soothing, loving hands just before you threw it into the fire.
I emerged hardened, bitter, fragile. I couldn’t believe it when you left me.
Many have told me I should have seen it coming. For everyone else’s teasing remarks that I am a pretty butterfly, you, my friend, are the caterpillar, never content to be in one form or place for too long. I knew, eventually, that the white-hot passion of brand-new romance would slowly cool…but I thought the glowing embers of true, timeless love would be enough to sustain our fire for as long as either of us could endure.
What a fool I was. What a fool.
Long ago, years ago, I promised myself I would never again give my heart to another. I convinced myself that the agony of a broken heart was reason enough to keep a considerable emotional distance from anyone who dared to dig their way beneath the surface of my soul. I felt affection for others, sure. I even dared to say I loved them. But never the way love truly should be. Never completely. I never gave more than I got, nor did I ever risk giving without ensuring some sort of payback in return.
I lived the life of a loner. And I was satisfied.
But you…you broke through all that. You used our friendship and our history and our relationship to spirit my heart away while I wasn’t looking, until all I craved was your body in my arms.
And so I kissed you that night.
God, baby…do you remember? How sweet, how hot…tongues sliding in tandem, hands wandering over smooth damp skin of strong backs and supple shoulders…your hands in my hair…my hands on your cheeks, caressing delicate lines and warm, warm flesh that quivered beneath my touch. I never knew a kiss could be like that. I never felt a kiss that made my world shatter and rebuilt my life in the same breath, with the same touch.
For weeks afterward, I was in heaven. My face hurt from smiling so much; my body ached from your loving ministrations. You pushed me, baby…farther than I had ever gone, showing me worlds I never knew existed. Your gentleness, your purity, convinced me that the sheltered, guarded person I had become was nothing more than a temporary nightmare. You made me feel free…and all the while, I was turning the lock on my own prison.
I should have seen it coming. I should have known when you spoke her name in our conversation time and again, something was amiss. You looked at her with a longing I didn’t see in your eyes when they were focused on mine.
I can’t blame Britney. She was as blind to this as I was.
You’ve said before that you love with an intensity that can be scary; that when you do give your heart, it’s completely, and sometimes that sort of devotion turns your partner off.
You never mentioned how fully and quickly you forget when that love is extinguished.
Do you even know? Do you have any idea how badly you broke me?
Of course, baby…of course I was calm and detached and rational that night as you paced the narrow walls of your suite. You said “we” needed talk, but it was your lips that dealt the blows, your mouth that delivered my sentence. Your words were stilted, halting, but the message came through with caustic clarity. I pretended that everything was perfectly fine with me, that it was natural for you to want to go back to her, and it was best for both of us to end a relationship that wasn’t going anywhere in the first place. You nodded, relieved that I didn’t put up a fight, and gave me an awkward, manly hug before dismissing me without another word.
I am a magnificent actor in life’s grand screenplay, adept at changing characters, working without a script, convincing in the grand masquerade…but…in the silence of my empty room, with the stage lights dimmed and the crowd long since departed…I could no longer hide in the role I’d been given. I crouched next to the bed, burying my face in soft fluffy pillows, and sobbed for what I’d lost…cried for what you’d taken from me…ached for what I’d given you so freely. With hands curled into fists I reached blindly for a body that was no longer there, and with a gravelly, empty voice I cried out your name.
I hope you heard me. I hope you heard my anguish and felt it to the tips of your toes. I hope it made you bleed, made your stomach clench and your heart burn with guilt. I hope I hurt you half as bad as you hurt me.
It’s the difference between us, baby. Prior to that evening, I never wanted to hurt you. Not ever. You seemed to do it without a backward glance.
But the fact is what’s done is done and we’ve returned to the everyday routine of two normal guys living two normal lives, separately. We’re friends, nothing more. We go out on double dates and I come over on Thursday nights to eat pizza and watch ER.
Which is what brings me to your house on this particular evening.
I won’t lie…somewhere, in my darkest of shadowy fantasies, I had hoped tonight would play out the way it has…with knowing looks and fleeting, teasing touches…with the crackle of anticipation streaking through the air, making my senses tingle and my cock throb. It’s been building for weeks, this unspoken tension, and I can clearly see the cracks in your stone façade. I won’t make it easy for you this time. You’ll be the one to break.
You look so beautiful tonight, baby…so wild…so tempting. It’s been so long since I’ve been alone with you, and though I avert my eyes from the bathroom, where Britney’s lipgloss sits on the counter, and the bedroom, where a soft silky negligee is draped over a wooden chair, I am able to focus on you. There. On the couch. A teasing smile on your lips and a wrapped package on your lap.
“Dontcha want your present, C?” You ask, and I smile in response. The present. Ah yes. Magically transferred from the drawer to the perfectly-wrapped box resting against your thighs.
“I dunno,” I drawl, slowly. “Depends on what it is…”
If I concentrate hard enough I can almost see your pulse quicken as small beads of sweat begin to decorate your upper lip, your forehead. You are nervous. It makes me feel powerful, dominant.
“Come see,” You whisper, and I sit down next to you as close as I dare, our thighs touching, heat radiating where our bodies align.
I carefully remove the shiny paper from the box and take a moment to shoot you a slow, lascivious stare. There’s an odd light in your eyes, an indefinable glint that makes me pause a moment in curiosity until I remember what awaits me beyond the thin layer of cardboard.
I slip the top off the box, preparing to rebuff you the moment I see the thin strips of leather and velvet, but stop suddenly when my hands encounter something else entirely. I pull away a cloud of tissue paper to reveal a small ceramic birthday cake, no more than three inches high. I remove the trinket, examining it in the light of the lamp behind me, and when I hear your voice a second later bidding me to open it, I am almost startled, so deep is my concentration.
I separate the two halves of the whimsical toy and my heart stops as the object inside comes into view.
A ring. Simple. Shiny. Platinum, by the looks. Thicker than most, not gaudy or ostentatious. Strong. Smooth.
Time stops. I cannot breathe.
When I turn to look at you I am stunned to find you kneeling at my feet, expectant look in your eyes.
“Josh…I…” You begin, nervously, and I feel dizzy, lightheaded, ashamed and shocked and helpless with the strangest sort of dreaded euphoria.
“Justin…” I whisper, through a mouth that feels like sandpaper, “don’t…”
“No…” You beg, grabbing my hands heatedly. “Don’t speak yet. Don’t talk…just…” You pause, steadying yourself, an embarrassed chuckle escaping your lips as the tears begin to seep from your eyes.
“I know you think I brought you over here to seduce you…or that all I wanted was fun…”
Transparent, I am. Weak. Selfish. I curse my stupidity and berate my own blindness. The pain in your eyes is a thousand times stronger than I ever gave you credit for.
“…But I brought you here because…I mean…shit…” You sniffle once, loudly, and I can’t help myself. I bring my cupped hand to your face and gently stroke your jaw, and it is all the encouragement needed to break down the dam that holds your emotions in check.
“Jesus…” You gasp, and the rest of your words I catch in clips and phrases, “needed you…so fucking sorry…mistake…mistake…never loved her…not like you…hurt inside…so bad…want to hold you…make it right…so sorry baby…so fucking sorry…”
I realize without preamble that I am crying right along with you, transgressions forgotten, and a moment later you are in my arms, real and warm and true, and as I clutch you to my chest I feel the last vestiges of control and sanity slipping away. God, Justin…I need you.
I feel the heat of your lips a second before I taste their flavor, and then we are kissing wildly, hands roaming wantonly, tongues and lips tangling in an erotic dance as old as time. Our faces are wet, our mouths swollen and greedy as we yearn for contact. There is no style, no finesse, just raw, pure need, and my body spirals out of my control as our clothing is tossed every which way.
Yes…mmmm…yes…I am desperate for you, aching for you, and I moan incoherently as you pull away.
“Wha…” I mumble, trying to pull you down to me, but you resist, and I feel your hands taking mine, your tongue sliding smoothly over my fingers. I shudder, hips bucking as I beg for more.
“Shhhhh…baby…” You whisper. “Easy…”
It’s not easy. It isn’t easy to give up, to give in, to forget all that made me hurt so acutely. It isn’t easy to love you, Justin, just as I’m sure it isn’t easy to love me. But I do. With unblinking assuredness I realize I do.
“And I love you…” You reply as clearly as if I had spoken the words aloud, your voice a husky whisper. You slide the smooth platinum band over my fingers and I feel the tears seeping from my eyes anew. God. Helpless. Blindness. Complete submission. Perfect completion.
“Look at me,” You murmur, and I am powerless to resist.
“Don’t be scared, Josh,” You whisper, and an eerie sense of déjà vu trips up and down my spine, “I won’t hurt you.”
This time, this instance, I believe you.
“Happy birthday, baby,” You whisper, and I smile softly in response…a moment before my vision goes dark and the teasing brush of velvet sweeps across my eyes.
“With my love…” You breathe huskily into my ear, and I moan in delicious agony, “I bind thee…”
The leather encircles my wrists, and I stop thinking all together.
It seems, perhaps, that your plans weren’t ruined after all…and that my plans went horribly, terribly awry.
I can’t complain on either account.
In the darkness, my eyes are finally open.
© 2002 ~A.