Heart Subject to Change

July 23^rd; 8am

I was paid a visit last night.

I texted him, my lover, for whom I’ve been away in New York   for 13 days, and he did not pick me up at the airport.  My whole body is aching, dying to see him. He promised me Monday, and it’s Sunday night.

“What time are you coming tomorrow?” I text him at 11 o’clock last night.

“Meow??”

No response.

Five minutes later he calls. I’m a bit puzzled; I didn’t expect a phone call.

“Come to your window,” he demands. I’m confused. What window could he be at? There aren’t that many windows in my house you can access, most overlook the canyon.

“You mean door?” I ask puzzled.

“Yes you’re door.”

I, quite frankly was a little annoyed that he just showed up without telling me he was coming. I should be elated that my lover is here, to embrace him, but I know it’s going to be awkward. I’m still mad at him for not picking me up at the airport because he had to party with his “ex” girlfriend that night. Yes, I’m a little perturbed.

First of all, I look like shit; I haven’t washed my hair since yoga, I’m in the baggiest, most ugky PJ’s ever, I am unprepared to see him like this. I know he will be dominating, towering over my measly energetic stance from the moment he walks in.

I turn on the hall lights, turn the lock to the right, and I open the door. He’s not there at first, and then he steps down the stairs.

He’s dressed in a black suit coat, his fancy shoes, his hair gelled, and his eyes glowing with love for me. I’m not sure I glow anything back.

Now mind you, I’m right in the middle of 50 shades of Grey, and just got to the part where Anastasia receives her first spanking. Then Grey fucks her, hard, comes, and leaves minutes later. She says she’s okay, but then finds that she’s not, and she’s pissed that he didn’t’ stay the night with her. Grey rushes back to her bedside, barges into her door, and finds Anastasia in a heap of tears, and he consoles her by staying the night.

Dom, my Grey of looser terms, is here, because he knew I was sad, he knew he needed to console me, and make up for the previous night. My heart has been achy, my mood less than optimal, I’ve kind of been a winey bitch the last few days.

I lead him back to my room, I hop back into my bed, and I say with a mousey voice

“ I was just crawling into bed and about to go to sleep.”

I’m not overly joyed with my movements and expression. I grab his hair, and he brushes my hands away. I notice he’s not getting too comfortable, and he keeps his shoes on.

“So you’re not staying over?”

“No I’m not staying,” he replies dutifully.

 Now I’m even more pissed. He gets a little dose of haha before he returns to his “Ex-girlfriend.” Well if it’s his ex, he sure is paying a lot more attention to her than he is to me. My heart drops beneath the floorboards. He notices my contraction.

“Look at me.” I want to do anything but look at him. “You’re only torturing yourself. Stop doing this, don’t make yourself a victim. No one needs to be a victim here.”

I agree, but can’t help this winey emotional part of personality that wants him all to myself.

“I thought you were coming tomorrow. I was about to fall asleep. I don’t want you halfway, I want all of you, and I can’t have it right now, so it would have been easier for you to not come over. Call me when you’re free.”

I hope he know what I mean by that. Not free as in free time, but free from his relationship. A relationship of seven years. I ask him the status of the relationship, what is really going on? I don’t want to assume it’s over if it’s not.

“Do you want details?” He’s inquiring how honest he can be with me.

“Yes.” I reply firmly. No leave all the details out so I can guess and fill in the blanks.

“She’s having a hard time letting go. She’s holding onto me, to us. But I told her she has to pack her bags and go.”

I feel her pain. I could imagine letting go of this man would be difficult; he’s charming her even when he’s ending it with her; I’m sure he’s still providing for her, opening doors for her, showing her a good time around the city.

He changes the subject, and wants to talk about the little sex-escapade I had in New York. I slept with a friend of mine after we had a few drinks and I went back to his house. Making out turned into romping around in his bed. I was satisfied by it, and Dom hasn’t been able to fuck me like that lately. Stress or something is preventing him from staying hard for me. It is extremely frustrating when I am so viscerally attracted to this man. I want him to fuck me good and hard every night. Needless to say, I am not getting enough.

“So, next time that happens, call me and ask me before, not after.”

“You mean I’m supposed to call you, mid-heat, while making out with someone, and call you to ask you if I can fuck him?”

I am a little taken back, it’s almost funny, the thought of calling your boyfriend while making out with someone.

I imagine the phone call.

“Hey baby, I’m really hot and heavy with this person in front of me, we’re thinking that we might move the scene to the bed, is that okay?”  I laugh inside at the absolute unrealistic request. I was on a simple friendly date, and had an unsuspected hook- up. Now sometimes we go on dates or make plans with people that we know that could happen with. But this was completely left field; I had no intention of fucking this other person.

He feels my resistance, and I’m lying on top of him now, pinning him down.

“So we have two Doms in the relationship, huh? You’re not following the rules.”

“Write me a rule book, then slap me with it.” I have a rebellious heart.

“So we have rules now, and you’re not even free of your previous relationship?” I am sincerely confused. I didn’t tell him to ask permission if I could sleep with someone else, I told him out of respect, because I thought he should know. We haven’t made any agreements yet, so really I haven’t broken any. But my heart is hopelessly devoted to this man.

He leans up, he doesn’t like being below me, and moves to the chair, so his stance is higher than mine. He’s going to ask me more serious questions, peer into my psyche. It’s almost midnight, and I don’t want to be analyzed or questioned. I only want to be held.

“Hold me” I ploy, my heart doesn’t need words, only his body against mine. He lifts me up to put him in his lap. I guess I’m heavier than he remembered, but I really didn’t gain weight in NY, maybe redistributed it a bit.

“Geez haha, what have you been eating in New York?”

I am agasped that he would question my weight, for I work on my body every day; yoga, running, working out. I eat healthy. My body’s metabolism is a unique creature I’m battling with.

He hold me closer, pets my hair, my face, I squeeze my head into his heart, and finally find a moment of exhilarating peaceful love . He doesn’t’ let me stay there very long. God, I’m addicted to this man, to our chemistry, to they way it feels when I touch his skin. I reach under his shirt, and I feel electric tingles run into my hands.  He’s warm, charged, even, and charges me.

“Oh I forgot to mention, I’m high on mushrooms!”

I honestly couldn’t tell, but he did look brighter, happier, fuller than usual. He thought I was high too, that I just munch the shroom before I go to bed.

“I’m not high baby.”

He puts both hands on my face, adoring me, like a child. I know he still loves me, that he’s here because he cares. But for some reason, that is just not good enough for me tonight.

“Kiss me.”

He lays his lips on me, and we fall back into Euphoria, it’s like an invisible white liquid fills my lips, pouring down my throat into my heart. I barely get a taste. I’m like a Love Vampire; I need this love to stay alive in this world. And he only gave me a drop. I crave him with every pore in my body. He pulls back too soon.

If I can’t fully have him right now, I don’t want him.

“Ok, go now. You’re only making this worse.”

“Ok, I’ll go.”

He rises and walks towards the door.

I demand one more kiss, and he holds back his tongue, very different from the kisses he would give me when he was courting me; full of tongue, of passion, of a lingering quality. This one was short, half-ass, leaving me wanting more, reserved.

He grabs the flogger hanging on my door handle, which I unpacked from my work trip in New York. He hits me with it through the covers, and it lightly hits my bum.

“You will get it tomorrow.” I hope that I do. Any attention from this man is better than none, even if he’s just commanding me to be still in the bed, and flogging me. I want to command all of his attention.

“Are you staying over tomorrow?”

He can never answer in a straight-forward way.

“What do you think?”

So now I am supposed to know his plans for me?

“Yes?” I still doubt him.

“Yes. I’ll text you tomorrow morning, I’ll let you know when I’m coming.”

Last week he requested to stay at my place, so he could get away from his dragon, the ex, and have some space from her. Perhaps give her the opportunity to realize this relationship is really over. He still hasn’t told her about me. I know I’m a secret on the side. He’s told her about other affairs. I suppose that’s another reason I’m apprehensive to commit to this man; he’s had so many affairs, nothing but affairs for his entire last relationship. How am I supposed to trust this man?