A Work in Progress

i was supposed to arrive on time, enter the house and decend the stairs directly to the right of the back door. i knew if i was late that i would feel the pain of my poor planning. i was to change out of my street clothes in the bathroom in the basement and dress in the way i had been instructed. This was not the first time i had ventured into this world and each time i knew that i was placing my life in danger. The excitement of that potential disaster drove me further into the shadows - risk taking...adrenaline and fear. Some people cut themselves and some people get arrested for stealing. i arrange to be beaten. Taking pride in the amount of pain i could endure, arrogant in my decent to hell and caring little for the feelings of those who i engaged in this activity, i did as i was told.

5 inches is too high for a stilleto. They negate any attempt to be haughty. Most of my body openly available for assault, i kneel in front of the futon. My legs crossed behind me knees apart, my arms behind my back, my back arched and my head down...as i had been taught by the Doctor. The room had candles lit when i arrived and low light. It is silent in the house except the footsteps i can hear above me. He is up there. i know not to meet this Man eye to eye. i almost know my place and have been told that indeed i am a pleasure to punish. i can withstand the cane with silent tears and feel somehow fond of the bruised welts that it leaves anyplace it touches. i want the pain and to believe that it will bring pleasure to the Man who will enter this room any minute. He knows my heart is beating fast and that i am afraid and He will make me wait.

i wait a long time. Knees hurt - growing stiff. Heart continues to beat frantically and i start to wonder what I'm doing here. Beginings of regret and thoughts of escape. i will never make it. Footsteps on the same stairs i descended a life time ago. They are soft but deliberate. My eyes are open but cast downward. He sits in front of me, his legs wide enough to surround me and he speaks softly.
There is no memory of what He said - only memory of the tide coming in. A shift of conscious thoughts from escape to surrender.