He is my master. I read about that kind of stuff online last night. It was on some personals website I remember looking at and making fun of when I was...before I became...
What I am.
Of course we studied about this kind of thing in college, at least what I actually listened to talked about it. But it is only when it is too late that I actually know what it's all about. I'm his slave. In every way, every form, every argument. I think what makes me truly his is that I want to be that slave. I can't remember what independence or thinking about myself is anymore. Every thought somehow comes back to him, and everything from him, every kiss, every insult, every joke, every bruise, is what I cherish most in the day.
You know, we are alive in so many ways. Besides the appearance and the outfits, we are so similar inside. You can't learn this kind of stuff in school, either. For one thing, we get a real kick out of crime. People mistake Puddin's real motives, because they can't understand that he does everything for fun, and to prove a point. What is that point? Most of the time it's that everyone takes life too seriously. That you can't appreciate what isn't threatened. That sometimes life is just so fucking unfair and confusing that the only sane reaction is to just laugh at it all, no matter what happens. I'm the only
other person in the world who understands that, and he knows it. That's why he always lets me in on the joke, just by letting me be a part of it.
At that same token, I guess he is showing me that joke every night, only some nights are...funnier than others.
Some nights he holds me, strokes my skin, kisses me in all sorts of places. Those nights his eyes are glazed over, his smile flat and dead. Those are the night when I cry myself to sleep, because I know that his kindness is not real. I think that's when he's too bored to do anything else. Those nights are never very funny.
But then there are the really funny nights. Those nights I bleed, I ache, I scream, I adore. I crawl to his feet, my place, where might kick or pet me, depending on his mood and what I deserve. It could be when I'm in the middle of a deep sleep, while I'm in the shower, while I'm sitting around doing nothing at all that he will take me, pierce himself into me, each time seeming to be longer and harder and more savage than the last. We once went for the entire night! He let me know what my role was then. His mind was on Batman-funny how such a vile creature could make my Mr. J give me so much attention!-and he was furious. Even without the tight, sharp cord holding my wrists together and his body pressing mine down and still, I would have been completely under his control. I remember spreading my legs, leaning my head back and moaning with my eyes closed tights. Moaning, moaning, sweating, crying, wriggling. He was muttering things I could never remember as he slowly but surely fit his hand inside me. My eyes bugged, my breath stopped, millions of cells burst into a flood of blood at that moment, and I felt a true sense of being owned.