The Blood & The Bones

He missed that life.

The one that left dried blood under his fingernails and adrenaline pumping through him like lightening.

And when he met me, he knew that I could become something like that for him. Except now the blood would be mine and the absolute need for violence would be rewarded to me when warranted and whenever he needed to give it.

I was the receptacle for pain, the willing and able place to deposit what he could not hold inside and sometimes could not understand in the form of behavior modification, dominance and primal sexual rage. Always taking it eagerly and willingly.

And for the first time since he became the man he was trained to be, he had found his soft place to land where judgement was not passed and acceptance was available in abundance. A place where his darkness was celebrated.

And I fucking loved it.

To be needed by a man like that… a man that needs no one…

To take his pain one slap, one thrust, one bite, one bruise at a time…

And yet also to cradle him in his rare moments of vulnerability.

I lived for it.

And he lived on because of it.

the blood
& the bones