by Dana Jerman

John-

Tonight I take on a gentle giant. So like you. Not a slave but a man-shaped big, slobbering. A wet and ready sniveler. I ask this large white setup soul if he needs aftercare, thankfully he just wants me to disappear. I tell him he can watch me undress after he meets me at the door, fully nude.

He follows all of my directions given beforehand unwaveringly and with added effortlessly energetic resigned helplessness.

Up carpeted steps he goes. I follow after my own pointing finger.

He leaves out bottled water, the TV on low, some cash.

I enter and disrobe slowly, next to him.

He is the pro.

Mostly, all he wants is to be reminded of a remarkably intense and long past love by way of her brutal belittling and demeaning psychosexual behavior. Damn, but a heart is strange.

I am the small “top”, John. The little domme.

Slim ankles, tiny waist, size 6 shoe.

He is easily twice my size and reminds me of who you might resemble in a decade or two.

So that I may understand, he and I have exchanged so many messages bleeding with a masochistic mercy that I feel as if I have been a fly on the wall for the duration of this past relationship.

I take his money and swallow my fear and ascend and oblige. Wishing love were simpler.

I can hardly bring myself to tell him what he longs to hear. How filthy and disgusting and repulsive and mangy and old and sagging and bloated and purpled and awful he is. All this when my kind and youthful and fresh electric lotus heart recants your smile and your blue-eyed laugh; my own deep kernels of magnificent fondness for you.

He and I strattle an L across his huge sectional couch. I use my feet to cover his face, white beard and white mustache, while I watch his reddened cock tic and rear like an old horse recalling its untamed days. My toes and my heels and my language and his tongue and his lips and his big furry belly. Oh, John, where are you now?

He takes precum from the lolling tip. Wipes it over my big toe and greedily swallows. His eyelids shut in sure bliss. I keep on with the verbal abuse as I sink into the overstuffed pillows, turning my gaze to the useless American broadcast trial coverage of an adult black man murdered last year in the street.

Those of us who are alive, are alive.

Those who are dead, are dead.

John, I’ve rinsed and ratted this man here, but I do care for him, presently, in real time.

This is our second session. I am getting the hang of this perfectly diabolical thing. Committed myself to this body in this place on the edge of town with nothing to save me but the previous statements I have thought to express which limit my time yet still insure pleasure. The promise of an exit. An end.

But more is always coming, John. I am sure of it. As much as I am deeply frightened I am secretly thrilled. I always knew your deep kink belied the exquisite hi-IQ, the depths of the openness to knowledge and the capacity to reap fully all the senses you possess. Attraction to these very impulses gave me the courage to pursue you so many years ago.

Please, show me the light on these dark and private impulsive nights, my John- my greatest Sir.

Remember me as I do you, to the boy who lives always in the most innocent and unhurt parts of your genuine heart.

Hold this- our perfect intimate transgressive matching scar- our sex, my compact human cunt meeting your expression of disciplined valour- and please be so very gentle.

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