maybe I just enjoy(ed) torturing myself.

If you’ve never been used, it’s hard to understand how complex the emotions are. How raw feeling gets that becomes suffocated in the backroom. How it’s so much easier than you would’ve imagine and all of a sudden that’s what makes it so much harder.

First there’s –

Before: all the feelings you’d expect. Anticipation. Slight disgust with yourself. Desire. Nerves. Aching. Second-guessing. The rumble of a car engine. The knock on the door.

Inhale.

During: Passion. Lust. Carnal hunger. And here’s the unexpected rush, the one they don’t tell you about; how the taboo of it all makes fireworks explode and all of a sudden euphoria injects itself into your veins as the lights glow blindingly and radiance pours off of the two of you in sheets of beauty. And you don’t want to stop, you want to be used, objectified; hurt even.

But probably only if you’re a masochist like me.

After: He’s the type to stay for niceties uncalled for in such a situation. Cuddling even. Empty habit. Coming down off the rush. Delayed pain seeping back in after the drug-like high is gone. Two heartbeats in a delicate silence. He doesn’t know how to leave. Ironic I think – he doesn’t know how to stay either.

Or he would have.

~ by missyuri on February 9, 2009.