The email is profoundly depressing, but it’s right. I wanted yearning and regret, I wanted tender words of lost love, I wanted support and hand holding, I wanted impossible things, I wanted all that. All that. And then more.
I asked him to write me something sweet to hang onto when we spoke last, but he hasn’t. I know he is writing for me a million words, he is writing for me for weeks and … Continue Reading
He was shocked and bewildered and lost. Our play had hit something at the core of him and he looked stricken, chest heaving, face screwed up, on the edge of tears. I cradled him, rocking him gently, kissing, crooning to him.
“It’s ok baby, it’s ok,” I stroked his face.
He looked up at me, a little boy, scared and bewildered.
“Please hurt me…” he asked in a small voice, “please…?”
I understood at once … Continue Reading
I had a dream last night, I don’t often remember dreams.
My boy was in it. Someone had beaten him with copper wire, I wanted to see it. I made him take his shirt off to show me, his pale upper back criss-crossed with cuts and marks. I look at it, it makes my stomach lurch with lust. I grab his injured flesh, closing my fist on it, digging my nails into the torn skin, … Continue Reading
Later, we watch a movie, puppy is allowed on the bed, snuggled beside me.
I make some comment about what’s on screen to him, he answers me, laughing. It takes us both a few seconds to realise that he has spoken.
I raise my eyebrows at him. Comically, his wrapped paws fly to cover his mouth, his eyes widen, a look of shock and horror frozen on his face.
“Can puppies talk?!” I demand.
He … Continue Reading
Sometimes play just… well, it just doesn’t work.
I tried puppy play, I thought he would be sweet as a puppy… fun and playful, insistent and helpless.
He was not to rise from all fours, he was not to speak. He could make sounds, he could try to indicate to me if he wanted things. He was to act like a puppy.
He looked cute and a little confused as he sank to the floor.… Continue Reading
You are the tunes in my head, the fire in my ribs
You are the voice in my heart that whispers compassion
You are the storm on the ocean, poem in the trees
The smell of the winter that haunts me each autumn…
Happy birthday, Helen.
Happy birthday, beautiful boy.
I miss you.
… Continue ReadingI want very much to tell you stories and lovely things and send you snipped locks of hair and have you give me pieces of skin and bone and fix it all with you here so that we can fight and make up like we are a regular Joe and Mary (that’s you, by the way, Mary), and make you stand naked in the corner and write penance with your tongue on the wall and … Continue Reading