Dear Diary, | Late at night, sometimes, you
| whimper. I think it wakes me every
I want him to use me. | time.
|
That sounds weird, doesn’t it? I | It scares me just a little; I know
don’t understand. | right away that something’s wrong.
| You’re as close to me as a prayer.
Sometimes, late at night, I wake up | Even without touching you I could
in his arms, and if I try to move, | recite you, could trace by memory
he pulls me back. He’s stronger | every inch of you between my lips
than he lets on, and he holds me | and upon your tongue, in my arms
tight, closer, possessively. I feel | and against my hands. Even without
helpless in his grip. His breath | listening, I know every sound you
turns hard, and he nuzzles the back | make, and this isn’t a noise you
of my jaw. It makes me whine, and I | make in pleasure, even when it’s
feel him stiffen, by reflex | edged in pain. You’re scared, but I
twitching his hips against my rear. | don’t know what you’re dreaming,
Maybe I’m still dreaming, but I | only that I reach out to touch you
think I hear him almost snarl. | and find you always frightfully
| cold, shivering even on the warmest
It’s okay. In a minute he relaxes, | summer nights.
and he’s the same sweet, cuddly boy |
I’ve always known, babbling | I slip a little closer, just to
love-notes in his sleep. | hold you, and you burrow quickly
| into my arms. You feel so tiny
I never see that part of him, so | there, even smaller than I know you
different from when he’s awake. He | are, fragile like you’ve never been
has a cat’s dignity. He wears it | before. You feel like a kitten,
like armor and never lets anyone | almost, warming as you relax and
in, I think not even himself. Even | settle against me, nearly purring
in bed with me, he talks and acts | as I trace my fingers down your
just like he writes, everything | naked spine. Two kisses leave you
gentle and refined, carefully | calm again, one beneath the your
styled just so. | hairline, another pressed between
| your eyes.
I love him for it. It’s beautiful. |
He treats me like his princess. But | The rhythm of your breath grows
there’s this other part of him. | steady; the moonlight whispers
It’s a little scary, actually, like | across your skin. I watch you for a
the jungle that never leaves the | moment and squeeze you closer,
cat. He probably doesn’t even know | joining you in your dreams. One
it’s there. I wonder what he would | thought leaves me nervous,
think? | though… it’s a nervous shiver of
| my own. Maybe, somehow, I’m to
He loves his princess, and she | blame.
loves him. But right then, when he |
takes her captive and she can | Sometimes, in your frightened
almost feel his teeth… | whimper, I think I hear my name.
|
.. . . |
|
More than anything, she wants to be |
his whore. |
