I’ve been out of town for some unexpected business. I’ll post something later on.

N still bears the mark of our ‘making up’ session immediately following our argument over nothing. Have you had one of those pointless fights where you both seem to feed into something you both claim not to want?

It’s a S/M version of Seinfeld.

Why? Her shoulder will likely leave a scar where I marked her. Not as punishment, which is a rare find in our relationship these days, but rather as a coming home. I don’t know if I can explain just how calming it is…for us both, to be able to indulge in that dark and bloody side we both crave.

It is a power exchange, but beyond that, where she doesn’t give it to me, but almost fights to keep it. I have to take it from her, force her hand before she will yield. It comes with a price, my sweat and blood, and she willingly pays it because I’ve earned the right to be above her, to be dominant to her.

Do you think we are above animals during such a ritual? Are we any better? I was there… her face the pillows and I behind her, my hands clawing at her hips, my teeth cutting into the skin at her neck. I wasn’t certain then.

But N has one thing that no lioness can claim. She can cut me with more than her claws.

And I still look forward to the match.

Google the word failure, click I’m feeling lucky.

Now who can argue with that?

‘I should be pissed off about this.’ I’m thinking as I sit back and listen to N tell me about the flirtation she had with another man. The thought kept rolling around in my head, round and round, as she described him to me, described her interactions with him, the nuances she observed about him.

Even she, before she started this line of discussion, told me not to be angry. It is a preface I hate in any circumstance because that thing in my head clicks and starts mentally recording every…single…detail. Picture memory? I have it in spades. And while I might forget the occasional important date, I will never forget how your face looks when I suspect you of lying to me.

I digress. However, you see, jealousy is something that plagues me like a demon when it comes to her. Without discrimination, I strike out when I feel that monkey perch on my shoulder, against her, and certainly against the third party. These days I prefer peace in lieu of a rumble in a strip club parking lot. Maturity? In most things, but not always when it comes to her.

And even as I was listening to her speak about this man, with whom she never had any sort of physical/sexual interaction, I didn’t feel its weight. Even now, upon reflection and having given my sadistic mind every opportunity to twist and manipulate each turn of phrase, I don’t have the impulse to turn back into a caveman or pee on her leg.

Some nuance I detected in her voice? My own ego placing him as a non-threat?

Quien sabe?

I’m not cured. I can think of at least one person I’d still like to educate in some dark alley.

The animal is still territorial, and until N or myself decide otherwise, she’s mine.