Amputated Parts

Laying there on the table, struggling with the desire to take his hands and move them at my own direction across my body in long, unbroken circuitous sweeps, I remain still and passive and discover an epiphany bubbling up from the sea of ache and desire I am floating in."Maybe that is the problem," I say softly, offering the diagnosis from behind closed eyes as much to myself as to him, "I feel like a bunch of amputated parts." Silence seeps back into the opening my words have created and I retreat comfortably into the heat and masculine nurturing of his hands, continuing to try and find a way to silently inspire him to move them across my collar bone and down across my breast and belly. "Join me", I think silently to myself as I imagine my body as a collection of parts that have become disassembled at the joints like a child's favorite action figure.His hands continue working across my neck and shoulders, finding bits and parts that need more attention than the time remaining will allow. His conflict about addressing them or staying within his time constraints evidences itself by the indecision in his fingers. My entire body has been touched and warmed with a blanket of attention except my torso and abdomen. The very core of my being remains amputated, unjoined from the rest of me and I am desperate to have him fuse it back to the rest of me with the heat of his touch. But, indecision continues to spark from his fingers and he is wrestling with his own desires to touch me, join me, heal me sexually. To feel the soft, heavy firmness of my breasts under his hands as my body opens to receive the sensual restraint we are both exploring each other with would be too much and he is at his limit both chronologically and psychically. He is a dam about to burst and the thin glass of silence between us that we have established our relationship with is a frosted, fragile one that does not allow us to communicate clearly or directly. He is my professional massage therapist and not my lover. I am his seductive, exhibitionist client and not his wife. The unspoken tension between us is a fine, taut line of civility and sexual power and our gentle manipulation of the invisible boundary between us is as powerful and delicate as a violin string. I like it better when it is taboo. The unspoken, secret yearning. The dark, repressed desire. The blatant act of disobedience in the act of dare and defiance. The intense, sharp edges of fear mixed with calculated risk. Manipulation with a gossamer veil is my foreplay and my libation. Your desires are revealed and inflamed by the tease and denial inherent in the situations that you follow me into when you irresistibly follow your natural instincts; your animal urges. Your ability to control yourself and your determination to keep your head above a violent sea of desire is the aphrodisiac that loosens my veils and lines the waiting spaces inside me with the fragrant, lubricious juices that madden men and animals. In these moments, I want you too.I remember why I was attracted to BDSM and now I also remember why I have walked away from it for so long. I am looking for the truth in myself and in other people. The distilled, essential, nitroglycerin drop size moment of powerful honesty that changes everything inside us, and nothing outside of us.To arouse the senses, sharpen the perceptions, focus everything down to a precise laser point of experience; anything less is a grotesque caricature of our divine sexuality. Sensuality is not the antithesis of sadomasochistic intensities and there are no beatings, bruises or collars that can show me the way to that.You can have the beatings and the bruises, the collars and the cries. I want the truth in your desire. The honest expression of my selfish need and your redeeming self control. Life is our dungeon and the little lies that we tell ourselves are the instruments of torture that we use so often that we have become numb to the pain that they cause us. One breath. One moment. One exquisite flash of clarity and I have the very thing that I have been looking for; evolutionary tension. Under a psychic microscope, my disjointed parts have now become a dynamic teeming whole of sensations, perceptions and experiences. Together, we are no longer amputated parts but a dynamic whole.I want you.And I want you to want me too.