What must it be like?

To have her emotional distance, her measured smile -- the one whose silence burns you into insecurity?

Her ability to lace every innocuous word with innuendo, dripping slowly between your legs in amusement at your frustration? Her speed, matching that of your impatience, ebbing and flowing to infuriate you?


To claim her with a word? To know that you can make her throb with a well-placed stare? To bring her pride to its knees before you, begging shamelessly?


To admire the shine of her hair as she shakes at your feet, trembling under your control? To watch her face contort in all the frequencies of emotion? To witness the birth of her submission as its cries warm the air? To watch the peace ripple through her body in stages: her fine hairs standing on end, a shiver, a violent shudder, an enveloping calm?


To observe with awe the phases of her surrender, each barrier falling in a unique obeisance? To know, as she lies helpless and innocent under you, her eyes wide and trusting, that it was YOUR doing, YOUR control, YOU who took her to this place?

Do you wonder, as I do, what it must be like on the other side?

Do you crave sometimes, as I do, the power of that experience?