I had been saying for weeks that I was unconcerned about the things we will do when we begin play in earnest. Yes, they made me nervous but not debilitatingly so. The mantra that had been quelling my nerves was “I trust Him with my life. He will not harm me.”

Then, then we had the Very Scary Conversation. We spoke of the need for after-play clothes. Something it will not bother me to ruin because, you said, there will be blood. My mind screamed BLOOD?!?!??! That cannot be what he said. Blood is a hard limit. What the fuck is he talking about, “blood”? You continued to speak of preparations and what I might need, none of which I heard, giving me time to try to pull myself together. When I could breathe again I said Uhm, Sir, blood is a hard limit. I wanted you to say something comforting. I should have known better. You emphatically stated that I would bleed for you and that there would be blood. If I recall correctly you said Fact. Panic ensued.

I’m pretty sure I hid my panic almost entirely, coloring it as concern. You spoke of all sorts of horrible things, giggling gleefully all the while. With the nose hair comment you threw me off the edge of the cliff and into an abyss. There is no retrieving any semblance of calm. You knew exactly what you were doing. It occurs to me, after much processing, that You want me frightened. Not apprehensive, not nervous, but full-on frightened. I am now.

I cannot find the peace I once did with my mantra. I shake as I write this retelling. The mantra has become a melange of contradictions: He loves me. He wants to hurt me. He will not harm me. There will be blood. These are the words that I will sit with for the next 5 days.


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