Heaven Help Me for the Way I Am

Okay, just when I think, Fine, that’s it. We can move on, right? We can all go to sleep. Call it a day. Well, fuck ’em. My mind won’t quit. Or my men won’t. I can’t just write the two lines to let you know what else happened. I can’t get into bed between Jack and Alex, slip into the dirty dreams that fill my nights.

Because Jack’s nagging at me, demanding his turn, demanding equal time.

God, what have I done?

Simple: I’ve created a monster…

***

I can tell when she comes. I can tell the exact moment. The way her body stiffens and then relaxes. The vibrant, almost electrical shudders that work through her. I don’t have to be inside of her to tell that instant. I can sit in my chair, staring at the two of them, and know the precise moment that I need to give the next command.

Alison told me this story once. She said that every night when she was growing up, her mother would call out “goodnight” at the very moment when she was falling asleep. The exact moment. And she never understood how her mother knew. Turns out, that Alison sighs deeply right before she falls asleep. (I can vouch for myself that this is true.) Her mother would hear that sigh from down the hall, and call out goodnight. It was like magic to her.

So comforting.

Fuck all. I’m not her mother. But I can read her with such ease, that sometimes it’s as if I am inside of her. And that’s a weird place for me to be. She’s such a sub. She clings to that willingness to submit that’s wired within her. The need to submit. But she’s a fucking beautiful sub, because she rebels against that need, as well. If she were always “good,” if she could make herself behave, then what use would I be in her life?

It’s the desire, melded with the fear of fulfilling, it’s the controversy warring within her that makes her so fucking sexy to me. Good girl outside, bad girl in.

See? If she were bad all the way through, I couldn’t help her. Or, flip it, if she were so anxious to please that she never took any initiative, it would be like dating an inflatable doll. No brain. No heart.

The girl’s got heart, that’s for sure.

Look, I’ve done it before, you know. I’ve done the 24/7 thing. The sub/Dom, slave/Master. Little i big I. Can’t maintain it. Do you know what I mean? You’ve got to be able to crash out now and then. To watch TV. To hang out. To let down your guard. You’ve got to be able to have a little fun.

Of course, my idea of fun might be strikingly different from the next man’s. Fun to me is not just fucking the two of them, it’s fucking with the two of them. Twisting and turning. Making them worry. Making them burn.

I’ve been relaxed here in Paris. I’ve been different. I’ll admit that. But I’ve got a secret. And that changes me, pulls me back into myself. Toughens me up where I’ve been relaxed. Makes me say to her, “Get over here.” Watching Alex step back. Watching her scurry. Makes me say to her, “No, kid, I don’t want your mouth,” watching her face change again. Watching her eyes go wary and worried. Makes me say to her, “Turn around. I want your ass.”

I could be inside her. Do you know what I mean? I could be inside her when she hears my command. Because I feel her heart sink. Does that make any sense? I can feel her. Feel both the excitement and the sadness.

But you see, it’s necessary. She thought she was going to fuck me.
Don’t you see why I had to turn that around?
Don’t you see why she had to be the one who got fucked?

Sounds cruel when I say it. But Christ. That’s how it is.

My cock, so hard from Alex’s mouth. So hard from watching Alex take her. And her sweet ass. Being used for the second time in one night.

****

And I need to be redeemed
To the one I've sinned against
Because he's all I ever knew of love
—Fiona Apple

XXX,
Alison

P.S. So I can't tell. Do you hate when I write from outside? Should I stick to being me? The reviews seem mixed.