Being Me

Journal 8, entry 1 Friday, April 27, 2012

Darkness surrounded me, a complete absence of light that left me shaking inside. No. It wasn’t the darkness that had me shaking. It was him. I could feel him, even if I could not see him. Oh yes, I could feel him. In every pore of my body, every nerve ending I owned, I could feel him. Stalking me. Claiming me, even though he hadn’t touched me yet. I was completely at his mercy, naked and on my knees, in the center of a soft wool rug. Tight bands held my calves to my thighs, while another set of ties wrapped my chest and held my arms behind my back. It hurt in a bittersweet, arousing way, and while I felt exposed and vulnerable, I’ve come to know those things arouse me in ways I never thought possible. It isn’t logical really, how I can feel scared of where he will take me next, and still quiver with arousal. And I was scared as I knelt there in the darkness. Scared of how little control I have over my own body’s response, how much he controls me when I do not. How much I need him to control me. I do not recognize this part of me now, as I write this, but when I’m with him, I become what he wants me to be. I become his willing slave, even though I’ve come to know I am only a token in his games. He’s promised me nothing other than to possess me. He will never belong to me as I do to him. I will never control him as he does me. I play by his rules and I never know how they will change, or what, or who will be part of the new game each of our encounters become. And last night, when a spotlight suddenly shone down on me and me alone, when he stepped out of the darkness to stand before me, it was the man standing by his side that jolted me to the core. Two of them, one of whom I despise being with us and he knows it, yet he still invited this person to share me. I wanted to object. I should have objected. But there in that room, I wasn’t Rebecca. I was just his. Sometimes, in the morning light, when he cannot touch me, when we are apart, I think I want to just be me, to be Rebecca again. Only I’m not sure who that is. I’m not sure I know me anymore. Who is Rebecca Mason?