May. 26, 2003 - 8:00 p.m.
There was a night, so long ago, yet it seems like yesterday. You were introduced to me and you held my hand ever so gently and raised it to your lips to place a kiss upon it.
You murmured some compliments, but the only thing I could focus on through the haze of my drunken state was that long expanse of neck. I remember how you towered over me, and I had to reach up to pull you down, grabbing your hair and slowly yet deliberately pulling you down to my mouth.
You tasted rich and warm and you completely froze when my teeth sank into your skin. I remember the sharp intake of your breath as I went on for what seemed like eternity, wrapping my mouth around the wound as you bled and bled.
I'm so glad the scar is still there to remind you.
The look on your face when I finally released you is etched in my mind forever: a perfect mixture of awe and outrage. I remember that you stared at my mouth, dripping with your blood for a very long time, as if you couldn't quite believe it was real, but when your hand finally made its way up to your neck, I think the truth finally sunk in.
That was just the beginning, but it bears repeating now that you've come back into my town and into my life. I want you to remember exactly. I want you to remember the way I abused you. I want you to remember how a caress was always followed by pain. I want you to remember what it felt like to spend a night on cold hard floors worshipping at my feet.
You say the memory of what we had has kept you sane these long lonely years, but I think your memory must be faulty.
You speak of sex as if it is a wonderful loving experience, enriching and meaningful, but what we shared was never that trite. I used you for the rush of power. You were a beautiful accessory I wore when out on the town.
Do you remember how it ended? Do you remember that great ravenous beast that almost swallowed the both of us whole? Do you remember the pain and the agony? Do you remember how we both lost control?
You almost lost your life after that night or possibly during that night, and you talk of the past as if it was some grand romance novel.
Years have passed and I have found some measure of balance, and I wonder when you walk up to my door, if you will really understand what that means. I wonder how much of the reality is in your mind and in your heart, and how much of it is just fantasy.
