Just a little bedtime story: 
She arrived well after daybreak, hours away from the original plan. There was something about this hair-brained idea that should have been done in the middle of the night, when the world slept and things went on in secret that would never see the light of day. It was just appropriate somehow. But first the bus was an hour late, then another hour was killed when it broke down, and in admist all that she had managed to miss her connections until finally when she reached New York they were saying she couldn't get to Brooklyn until at least after 8 am.
She took a cab.
Now she stood in the middle of the sparse little bathroom with its claw foot tub, washing away frustration and exhaustion, trying to wrap her mind around what she was about to do. She should turn back, all common sense told her so, and besides, she would never even have tried this stunt a year ago. But a year ago she also knew where she stood in life, and with whom. Her friends were her friends, her enemies her enemies, her job was stable, there was still possibility in her future, and if the wasn't a bright and shining thing, at least it wasn't the mud and filth she wallowed in now.
"You know," he said later that weekend, "I think you're just desperate for a change, for someone to rescue you. It doesn't matter if rescue comes as a limousine or a bullet to the head, so long as it comes."
She scrubbed herself clean, stalling. In the bus it had been easy not to think on what was coming, not with her mind so busy on where it had been. Mistakes, regrets, old desires piled on top of one another she felt with a sorrow that cut like razors. The edge was no duller for the passage of time, but thankfully the scar tissue seemed to be getting thicker, harder to cut through. She didn't feel better off. She didn't feel happier. She wasn't sure if she would ever be thankful for the way things turned out, or see the good in all that bad. But she's take her blessings where she could get them, and a relaxation of the pain was at least a start. Maybe after that she could follow with the numbing of forgetfulness. Hells, it worked for drunks.
It was funny how fast he discovered what she wanted, seduced her with words to come and get it. She wanted pain, to be hit, to be choked, to be punished for the things she had done, for the person she was. She hated every inch of herself, and there was no escaping the squalor that was her. And he saw that, and she supposed the scream she daren't give voice too might have an echo in him as well. "I'm pushing the limits of my dark side as it is," he'd said once, and she believed him. But he was determined to meet her, to draw her out with any temptation just to see her.
No promises of forever, no strings, and she wanted none. He made no secret of having other women, of being in love with someone else. In return, she made no secret of being wounded and jaded and very insecure, nor did she hide the idea he would leave once he got a taste of her. Didn't they always, these men? Use up their desire to sex her and her usefulness is at an end in their world; there is no such thing as "just friends," simply men who haven't quite gotten their rocks off yet.
"Tell you what," she said when he warned her not to get attached again, warnings she was heeding this time, "whatever else happens, however else this goes down..." And she hesitates, pauses before extending that hand again, remembering what happened the last time she tried. She second guesses herself, knowing what's coming, what could happen again. Then, with a pause of just a couple breaths, she completes the thought; "whatever else, I'd like to be your friend." And she holds her breath.
Still, he reached to her, and every time he did she was amazed. It was over a year now, of her reaching and others turning away, pulling away, running away, beating her away, until she felt like the scummiest thing in creation. So many people who had called her psycho and needy and seven forms of a monster until she couldn't stand it, couldn't stand herself. Then, beyond all reason and hope, this bright, perceptive man, this man who could call her best and her worst, who could even tell her on IM when she was crying, still wanted her, even after seeing her so clearly. He wanted her up there, visiting, wanted to discover more. And he didn't see her that way at all, as something too needy or too evil or too damaged for salvation.
She just prayed he saw clearly.
She stalled more in the shower, but had run out of things to groom. She stalled in the bathroom, putting on makeup ever so lightly, feeling like she needed too just to be seen, even though half her face would be hidden. Pictures are so kind, your best moments frozen forever. She was terrified he'd be disappointed by the real thing. She kept screwing up her nerve. It had been easy to ignore on the bus, but was practically impossible to ignore here, now, with her naked in his bathroom.
"You don't have to do this you know, we could meet at a Starbucks instead."
"No, I'm determined to do this."
"You might just be one of the bravest people I know."
She walked into his room, all wall to wall books, a mantle of DVDs, various clutter scattered about. He wasn't there, as planned. She wouldn't see him until the blindfold left her eyes. She looked at the bed, Vaseline, a ball gag, handcuffs, blindfold, leg bonds, it was all in place. She could still try to call it off now, be taken to a coffee shop, or at least meet him head on, not helpless. But this was what it came down too, wasn't it? What she desired, what she thought she deserved, and deserved punished for. Trust, love, need, the desire for others...sex, always sex. If it was going to get her in trouble, it always came from between her legs, the root of every evil she had ever had heaped upon her. If she could just shut off those needs, walk away, never want, never desire...but life didn't work that way. She didn't work that way. Stupid little cunt, always trying again, trusting again, turning another corner and acting like she mattered to just one more person.
Always lying to herself that she meant anything at all.
Stupid cunt.
"Awww, bunny...."
As they had agreed, she tied her legs tight, didn't allow for any give to escape. She prepared the gag, placed the blindfold over her eyes so she couldn't even peek out. Then, by feel, she took the handcuffs and bound herself to the iron frame of the bed. No going back. She'd never even laid eyes on this man. She wouldn't either, until he'd finished with her.
Penance.
A soft knock came on the door, footsteps muffled by carpet, and she trembled.
She arrived well after daybreak, hours away from the original plan. There was something about this hair-brained idea that should have been done in the middle of the night, when the world slept and things went on in secret that would never see the light of day. It was just appropriate somehow. But first the bus was an hour late, then another hour was killed when it broke down, and in admist all that she had managed to miss her connections until finally when she reached New York they were saying she couldn't get to Brooklyn until at least after 8 am.
She took a cab.
Now she stood in the middle of the sparse little bathroom with its claw foot tub, washing away frustration and exhaustion, trying to wrap her mind around what she was about to do. She should turn back, all common sense told her so, and besides, she would never even have tried this stunt a year ago. But a year ago she also knew where she stood in life, and with whom. Her friends were her friends, her enemies her enemies, her job was stable, there was still possibility in her future, and if the wasn't a bright and shining thing, at least it wasn't the mud and filth she wallowed in now.
"You know," he said later that weekend, "I think you're just desperate for a change, for someone to rescue you. It doesn't matter if rescue comes as a limousine or a bullet to the head, so long as it comes."
She scrubbed herself clean, stalling. In the bus it had been easy not to think on what was coming, not with her mind so busy on where it had been. Mistakes, regrets, old desires piled on top of one another she felt with a sorrow that cut like razors. The edge was no duller for the passage of time, but thankfully the scar tissue seemed to be getting thicker, harder to cut through. She didn't feel better off. She didn't feel happier. She wasn't sure if she would ever be thankful for the way things turned out, or see the good in all that bad. But she's take her blessings where she could get them, and a relaxation of the pain was at least a start. Maybe after that she could follow with the numbing of forgetfulness. Hells, it worked for drunks.
It was funny how fast he discovered what she wanted, seduced her with words to come and get it. She wanted pain, to be hit, to be choked, to be punished for the things she had done, for the person she was. She hated every inch of herself, and there was no escaping the squalor that was her. And he saw that, and she supposed the scream she daren't give voice too might have an echo in him as well. "I'm pushing the limits of my dark side as it is," he'd said once, and she believed him. But he was determined to meet her, to draw her out with any temptation just to see her.
No promises of forever, no strings, and she wanted none. He made no secret of having other women, of being in love with someone else. In return, she made no secret of being wounded and jaded and very insecure, nor did she hide the idea he would leave once he got a taste of her. Didn't they always, these men? Use up their desire to sex her and her usefulness is at an end in their world; there is no such thing as "just friends," simply men who haven't quite gotten their rocks off yet.
"Tell you what," she said when he warned her not to get attached again, warnings she was heeding this time, "whatever else happens, however else this goes down..." And she hesitates, pauses before extending that hand again, remembering what happened the last time she tried. She second guesses herself, knowing what's coming, what could happen again. Then, with a pause of just a couple breaths, she completes the thought; "whatever else, I'd like to be your friend." And she holds her breath.
Still, he reached to her, and every time he did she was amazed. It was over a year now, of her reaching and others turning away, pulling away, running away, beating her away, until she felt like the scummiest thing in creation. So many people who had called her psycho and needy and seven forms of a monster until she couldn't stand it, couldn't stand herself. Then, beyond all reason and hope, this bright, perceptive man, this man who could call her best and her worst, who could even tell her on IM when she was crying, still wanted her, even after seeing her so clearly. He wanted her up there, visiting, wanted to discover more. And he didn't see her that way at all, as something too needy or too evil or too damaged for salvation.
She just prayed he saw clearly.
She stalled more in the shower, but had run out of things to groom. She stalled in the bathroom, putting on makeup ever so lightly, feeling like she needed too just to be seen, even though half her face would be hidden. Pictures are so kind, your best moments frozen forever. She was terrified he'd be disappointed by the real thing. She kept screwing up her nerve. It had been easy to ignore on the bus, but was practically impossible to ignore here, now, with her naked in his bathroom.
"You don't have to do this you know, we could meet at a Starbucks instead."
"No, I'm determined to do this."
"You might just be one of the bravest people I know."
She walked into his room, all wall to wall books, a mantle of DVDs, various clutter scattered about. He wasn't there, as planned. She wouldn't see him until the blindfold left her eyes. She looked at the bed, Vaseline, a ball gag, handcuffs, blindfold, leg bonds, it was all in place. She could still try to call it off now, be taken to a coffee shop, or at least meet him head on, not helpless. But this was what it came down too, wasn't it? What she desired, what she thought she deserved, and deserved punished for. Trust, love, need, the desire for others...sex, always sex. If it was going to get her in trouble, it always came from between her legs, the root of every evil she had ever had heaped upon her. If she could just shut off those needs, walk away, never want, never desire...but life didn't work that way. She didn't work that way. Stupid little cunt, always trying again, trusting again, turning another corner and acting like she mattered to just one more person.
Always lying to herself that she meant anything at all.
Stupid cunt.
"Awww, bunny...."
As they had agreed, she tied her legs tight, didn't allow for any give to escape. She prepared the gag, placed the blindfold over her eyes so she couldn't even peek out. Then, by feel, she took the handcuffs and bound herself to the iron frame of the bed. No going back. She'd never even laid eyes on this man. She wouldn't either, until he'd finished with her.
Penance.
A soft knock came on the door, footsteps muffled by carpet, and she trembled.