I pulled the rope, and in so doing, forced her body higher, her feet further in. She cursed softly, more at herself, I thought, than me-at her body for being so reluctant to take the shape I desired. She spun one direction, and then the other, winding smoothly with the slightest of touches.

I called her the bow, for that was her shape. Her arms were behind her, bound. Her shoulders had to ache, or would ache later, for the unyielding posture I forced upon them. She could rely on the rope to hold her thus, but much like myself, her pride wouldn’t allow the defeat of having rope do something she could not.

Her breasts and stomach were criss crossed with it, a knot resting above her heart - the junction where suspension took it’s grip. She had to be careful with her breath, the rope knotted in a way that tightened incrementally each time she released one of her deep breaths.

‘How do you feel?’

‘A little dizzy.’ She said, her eyes finding mine before the spin broke the contact. I placed my hand on her waist to still her movement and smiled at her.

‘I can let you down.’

‘No.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I feel like…’ she moistened her mouth, ‘like I’m flying. Or being lifted.’

‘So you’re good?’

‘Yea, D. Real good.’ Her head rolled back. I felt the tips of her hair brush my fingers. ‘Realll gooood.’ She whispered the words and again, I was unsure if she meant for me to hear them.

I sat down in the chair and watched her. The spinning had stopped, but she made small half circles in the air as the rope absorbed the subtle movements of her body. She relaxed slowly in the rope. The graceful arch of her body dissolved as she allowed the rope to take over.

‘D?’ She whispered. Her eyes were heavy lidded.

‘Mm?’

‘I’m ready.’

‘To come down?’

‘Yes, please.’

When I had her down and my fingers had run over the stunning marks left upon her skin, I asked her. ‘Done flying?’

‘Still flying.’

‘Silly pet.’

‘I love you too.’

I’ve not always been even a semi-decent person. In hind sight, the baggage I carried from growing up, consumed everyone around me. That therapist, so long ago now, saved them - saved me from just accepting that was the way I was programmed. I taught myself the ever important lesson of re-programming. I adapt and change as the terrain requires.

It made me successful without compromising the core of who I am. There has to be some purity inside you, something untouched, that you can draw upon that is uniquely yours. Perhaps this is why I’ve never gone back to having a slave with its unforgiving totality. What it did to her. What it did to me.

Now, I always stop just before the killing blow. That moment before I lose something of myself by taking from them what should never be removed. Maybe I know I’d enjoy it. Maybe I’d find a new reason to hate myself.

I used to cheat on N. With N and Taylor, together, I cheated. It was rather like collecting trophies, as bad as that sounds when you are dealing with real people. I’d pull them in, fuck them up and then fuck them until that day came when they expected something from me. Some commitment, some token of my affection that was outside of the bedroom. Then it became time for a new lover, or I’d retreat to the women that foolishly still loved me - knowing what I’d done.

Later on, years later on, without any woman at my side, I discovered what I really thought about it. Having embraced that, I conquered my jealousy. It was no longer an issue of what -she- was off doing, but what I was doing. That day I embraced the idea of commitment and was finally free of that demon that plagued me - doubt.

I came to realize that the cheating wasn’t about the sex. The pre-disposition to cheat was already there in my head - just waiting for the opportunity to spark it to life. When it did, the high was a temporary thing. It filled nothing inside me. The pleasure was like water over my skin - that evaporated soon after the sex was done.

The women? They were as empty as I was. Seeking something from me that they should have found within themselves. I’m sure the high was just as temporary. The half-life you live, when you are utterly drained of your own spark, is hollow. An ache.

For me, that was the source of my cheating. I could blame it on my partner, as most cheaters do, but the root wasn’t in N’s anger, or Taylor’s emotional excess. It was the echo inside me that I never managed to fill.

‘You’re precious to me, pet.’

She didn’t respond to me, but snuggled closer in my lap, her face tucked in my shoulder, her breath on my neck. My hand was on her back, resting on the skin beneath her shirt. Her lips nuzzled my neck.

It was a lazy afternoon in the middle of winter. We were sitting in a room illuminated only by the gray light of filtered sunlight bouncing off the snow drifts outside. She pulled the blanket over her shoulder. I could hear the even quality of her breath, knew she was drowsy, sliding into sleep.

I reached out and pushed the blanket so it covered her feet, covered as they were in two pairs of my socks, scrunched down around her ankles. Sasha was sitting on my shoulder, just as still as the woman in my lap. I realized my cat squeaks when she breathes. It was quiet. It was peaceful.

I drifted off with them both.

I think that we have weakened our species by allowing the weak to live, but beyond that, reproduce. Weak here extends beyond just physical strength, but to the realm of mental health, intelligence and general sanity. I hate that we have sickened our youth with centuries of inbred obesity, laziness and stupidity.

There is no perfect solution to fixing this. I don’t support building a master race, terminating sick babies by leaving them to the elements or any other such lunacy. I simply wish, desperately, that some thought be put into having children. Maybe some form of mass contraceptive that doesn’t wear off until 25.

Ignore the disgust. I’ve just sat through a cluster fuck of a fund raiser for well, people who fit the above description.