To pass the time, I imagine his voice saying the password, “Blinded eyes bear no witness,” through an exhale of cigarette smoke. My ability to fabricate possibilities into reality is all I have left to make use of my senses, that and my sense of touch. Like a serpent, my naked flesh picks up the vibration of his steps into my chamber. Drawing closer to me, I slip into a posture that makes me feel both elegant and enigmatic. Exquisitely available, delicately strong, I brace myself while dilating my defenses.I have grown to find torment tangled within the dead air between his entrance and first contact. Keeping my breathing steady, my composure still, I pretend to be unaware of his presence; I wait to be caressed, smothered or hit. I’m prepared to be penetrated, pierced or punctured.
In the indulgence of the forgetful midnight hour, the darkness comes to life.My eyes are covered by thick, black leather. My ears are plugged and enveloped. My mouth is gagged and silenced. My entire head is wrapped in a sensory deprivation mask. My only lead into the outside world is my nude body and the two tiny holes barely allowing me to breath from my nostrils. My cloaked face remains left to the imagination and so does his. While waiting, I used to envision a pleasurable participant, I now have the wisdom to clear my mind of all expectations.
This is indeed torture, waiting for him to touch me. I can feel his presence hovering over me, I imagine him ingesting the sight of my body. There is always a brief moment of strategizing; deciding what to do with this instance of invisibility. I feel his breath descending onto me; the temperature of the room rises. I can feel the momentum of his torso bending forward, the breeze of his garments falling towards the floor.
Anticipating anything, my face aims forward to preserve the fantasy of frozen prey. I play the role of the warm, soulless confessional awaiting for him to deposit of sin. His size is apparent as he crawls onto the bed; tall and heavy, but not obese. Creeping towards me on all fours, the distribution of his balance tells me he’s strong. I remain motionless until I am melted by the warmth of his palm sliding up my thigh.
Wrapping himself around my waist, he suspends my legs into the air. He begins to feast on what’s in between. Snaking his warm tongue in and out of me, his choice is gorgeous. He chooses to savor and indulge when other men pummel and rape. He chooses to absorb when other men gnaw and devour. My blinded eyes recognize his muffled soul; I can see his truth blooming in the shadows of the forbidden. His truth is beautiful.
(This is preview of the novel "Between Black & Blind" by VII)