Strange things we do to the ones we love.
It’s hard to know what drives the desires of people, the things tucked away deep within the psyche, the secret lusts held in the heart, the twisted desires only revealed in the bedroom.
Those who don’t take part will never understand, can never understand; pleasure and pain are not opposites, but different sides of the same coin. They are not far removed from each other, but close – the spectrum of human sensation is not a line, but a ring, and they sit at its ends.
It’s strange things we do to the ones we love in the name of pleasure, but it’s how we care for them afterward that matters. No matter how many lashes rain down, no matter how hard I hit, no matter how bad the bruising, how many tears are shed and how much blood flows, I will always be there to care for her afterward. To show her that I love her, that I truly do.
Harder, she screams. More, she cries out. Do you want it? I say. Do you want it?!
Yes, please, she says, weeping. I want it. I want it more than anything. I love you. Please do it. Do it. I want it, please baby. I want it so bad.
I do it and she dies the little death, and then another.
I pull the zipper up the bag and heave her over my shoulder. There are shovels in the shed in the backyard. I will take care of her one last time, to show her that I loved her, that I truly did.