Saturday, 30 August 2008


He reached out to me that night.

For the first time in a while.

His finger tips, hard and nubbly against my back.

I shook him off as best I could. It's uncomfortable... even when they're not quite touching. Knowing that they're there, millimetres away from my body. Like a forcefield that I'm about to crash into.

His rhythmic breathing showed that he was definitely asleep.

Then his palm moved onto my shoulder.

I tried to twitch it away without success. So I lay there for a while and wondered at his subconscious motivation for such an action.

But it was ever so.

Unable to voluntarily manifest affection either physically or verbally in the daylight world, his sleeping mind would initiate it in the darkness.

In the past, I would recognise this plea for love in the form of sex and submit. Give him what he wanted and needed and hope that he would return the favour in reverse... knowing in my heart of hearts that it was unlikely to result in a satisfactory ending from my point of view.

On this day, for the first time, I stuck firm to my decision.

I shrugged him away and, when that was unsuccessful, I withdrew my body to the farthest reaches of the bed...

... and wished that things could have been different.

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