[part one is here, click here to see the rest]
Eric keeps standing where he is, holding me by my hair, looking down at me. Looking at me slightly confused, as if he doesn’t know whether this is a game or not, any more, but also as if he doesn’t especially care, either. Looking at me like he’s tempted to do this thing to me, like he’s wanting to, wanting it badly. Like he’s planning to, almost, and has every intention of doing it, and is only hesitating now while he finishes talking himself into actually doing it.
He’s looking at me like that, but at the same time, still like he’s still wondering whether this is all really just a game.
And I’m wondering that, too, in all honesty.
I’m wondering, because I don’t know, either. I can’t tell any more what I feel, and what I want, and whether this still is a game. I don’t know what this is, now.
There is an awful, exciting ambiguity in what’s happening here, I think. A breathless, dangerous, terrible ambiguity, mixed up with the thrill, for him, of his having power over me, and for me of making all the games we ever played real.
I want this every bit as much as him, I think. If he does what I think he’s about to do, I mean. I want him to treat me like that, like he’s pretending to treat me. I want him to, except that obviously I don’t, not really. Except that I do. It’s very complicated, what we’re doing, and that ambiguous complication is what is so exciting about this for me. It’s as completely real as this situation can ever be. It’s real, in that he’s my boss, and we’re at work, and he’s forcing himself on me, and that’s utterly wrong. It’s real, and at the same time it’s not, because it’s somehow like one of our old games, just a little more believable.
So really, I don’t know what this is, now, or what I want to happen next. I don’t know whether I should scream for help, or cry, or beg him to let me go.
Or beg him to hold me, and choke me, and make me fuck him.
Lust Hurts: Kind of a Diary 