I woke up this morning naked, drunk, in a strange apartment and slightly sore between my legs. I know, that’s one hell of a Thursday night…but let me back up the story so I don’t come off sounding like a five-dollar hooker who was slipped some roofies.
Tuesday night I had my first real kiss in 16 days. It was soft. It was smoky. It was sincere. And it was from my former slave. On Tuesday my former dropped off some items of mine that he had. I was asleep when he did so. Later that night I got a hold of him because he said he was going to burn the journal that he had been keeping for me when we were together. I couldn’t let that happen. I’m a firm believer that once something is written, it can’t and shouldn’t be unwritten. He said I could have it if I didn’t want him to burn it. So we met.
He came to my house and I had a bag of his things left behind waiting for him. It was a quick and sterile exchange. He handed me the journal and I handed him the bag. I offered him his slave registration certificate (the birthday present I gave him earlier this month) but he refused stating that he wasn’t my slave anymore. He turned around and left. He was like the wind, gone almost as fast as he had arrived.
Once back inside I looked thru the journal; foolishly hoping that there would be a hidden message for me somewhere in it but there wasn’t. But I did realize that he had put our contract and some other papers within the journal. This coupled with his rejection of the slave registration made my heart heavy. I felt like we were just two passing strangers and these papers, these words that could never be unwritten were our only connection.
I started feeling depressed with such thoughts so I tried to distract myself, I started looking for work. While I was in the middle of that mindless task he texted me. We talked about not hating one another, this is where I informed him I could never hate him. He was too special and I loved him too much to ever feel that way about him. I was glad to hear that he felt the same.
Somehow in our chatting I mentioned that I wanted to hug him earlier but he seemed set on just giving me the journal and then leaving. He said he could come give me a goodbye hug. And he did.
“This is probably the last time we’ll ever see each” was the first thing he said upon arrival.
When he came back later and pulled up in the same manner as before so I thought he was just going to give me a hug then get in his car and leave but we begin talking and actually stood outside for almost 2 hours. The time was filled with rehashing our mistakes, future plans (he’s thinking of moving back overseas), hugging, tears (from me), and his kisses. He asked me before he kissed me, which I thought was sweet. I couldn’t decline…even if he had smoked several cigarettes beforehand. He finally said he was going home to sleep and I stood on the sidewalk and watched his tail lights disappear into tiny red blotches that were almost non-existing .
All Wednesday I thought about him. I thought that I had gotten good at pushing him out of my mind. I had almost convinced myself I was on the road to moving on but after seeing him, just for that first few minutes I knew I wasn’t. I loved him as much as ever and seeing him again just made me miss him so much more. In the midst of my daze my friends impolitely reminded me that I had canceled my date with the potential slave on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. That was the 5th “date” I’ve canceled. I’m hoping my friends get the message that I don’t want to be set up. I did talk to this slave because he was interesting and was a good conversationalist but emotionally I cannot have anyone else. It’s still him. He’s still the one. Thursday lulled by. I talked with my ex about what I was feeling and what I should do but of course no definite determination was decided.
“Whatever happens happens” was his ending response.
Thursday night I got a call from my former. He wanted to meet for drinks. He said he was bored and was looking for something to do. I agreed to meet him because he sounded lonely and I missed him, it was a win-win situation. At first at the bar we seemed to not really be there. We seemed outside of ourselves, viewing the tedious, polite conversation from above. It wasn’t until we were on our 5th beer and 1st shot of vodka that things loosened up a bit.
We got drunk. Really, really drunk.
It felt like we were the only two people in the crowded bar. We laughed, we talked, we connected again. And there was honesty. Somehow it was decided that we go back to his place. I had never been before (this was something I desperately wanted before when we were together) so even in my drunken stupor I was excited. God only knows how I managed to drive to his apartment but I did…and all without crashing (please no hate comments on drunk driving, it’s very bad I know I know).
When we got there we continued making out as we had in the bar. As usual when I drink, my clothes starting coming off. I began biting him and tugging at his clothes. Naked in bed we talked some more and he asked me if I would stay the night.
He said he didn’t want me to leave. I wasn’t planning on leaving…
“What the fuck are we doing?” he asked me at some point.
“What feels right” I replied.
We cuddled, we kissed, he kissed me all over my body, we made love where be begged to fill me, and eventually we fell asleep in each other’s arms. The sex was a somewhat primal, passionate, but needy act that didn’t feel forced or wrong. It felt beautiful. Last night we weren’t Mistress and slave…we were just him and me. He woke me up this morning with more kisses and more attempts at love making.
A girl could get use to waking up to this every morning…