No more…

“I can’t do this anymore…” He blurted it out in a rush, like he had to release it or it would never come out.

I looked at him. They were the first words out of his mouth after our greeting through the car window. I had pulled up outside the restaurant, he was waiting there for me. It was obvious that he had a lot more to say.

I nodded at him. “Wait, we can talk about it…”

I went and parked, walked back to the restaurant, my head not yet spinning, not yet in turmoil. I was curious, that’s all.

I greeted him properly, warmly, a touch, a gentle kiss. He tried to smile at me, but avoided my inquiring eyes, there was clearly something very wrong.

He had flown up to see me, was here for the weekend. I had made plans around the visit, we had been talking about it in the lead up, had both been looking forward to it. I had sensed nothing but enthusiasm from him, even up to and including his message not an hour before telling me that he had arrived.

As for me, I had barely been able to contain myself: this dominant sexual energy attracting attention as I walked around in the world, like a pheromone signal advertising that I was in heat, strange men like over-eager dogs panting at me and trying to hump my leg in response.

We sat down at a table. He was clearly distressed. I waited.

“I can’t do this anymore…” he said again, his face a picture of misery.

I felt my brow furrow, I didn’t understand what he was saying to me. I looked at him.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t…”

Words, words, so many words… reasons and reasoning and things and stuff and none of it made sense, and through all of it, disbelief, dread, a sickness of heart. I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. I asked him questions that he was unable to answer to my satisfaction. He apologised and then apologised some more. I listened, struggling to take it in. I told myself that I had not imagined his deep involvement in this, with me, I *knew* it was strong in him, I *knew* that he wanted more, that it made him happy, and yet, the knowing made no difference whatsoever.

I had left my murder kit at the hotel for him, he had had instructions to prepare the room for my arrival.

“Come,” I said finally, when there was nothing left to say. “We’ll go and gather my things then…”

We went up to his room in silence, the stunning anticipation now more like a funereal walk. I concentrated on keeping my focus on gathering my things, deliberately not yet processing this. I was not angry, or upset yet, I was numb. I was shocked.

He led me into the room and I looked around, confused. He had taken the trouble to set up the room exactly as he had been instructed. The toys were all laid out neatly, there were ropes snaking under and around the bed, he had tied neat figure-of-eight knots to the ends of the ropes, ready for a body to be tied to it. I glanced at him. His expression was one I knew well, he shyly sought approval from me for doing the right thing. I mentally shook my head to clear the disconnect.

“Get the rope.”

I started to put away the toys, one by one placing them into the bag while he skittered off to crawl around on the floor, untangling the rope from the bed.

He brought the rope to me, showed me the knots he had tied, smiled softly. “Did I do them right?” he asked me.

I looked at them quickly, I was able to smile back at him. “Right, right, right, wrong…” I said.

He looked disappointed at failing, I was wondering why it mattered to him now. I touched his face gently. He closed his eyes and leaned into it.

He sat on the couch, miserably watching me while I packed away the rest of the toys. I went to him when I was done, sitting on the arm of the couch, looking down at him. He had been, for me, such a lovely and surprising revelation, the most vanilla boy I had ever had, nervous and scared, with surprising depth of feeling.

I felt a rush of sweet affection and leaned down to kiss him, he reached up for me like a lifeline, opening his mouth to invite me in. We kissed for a long time, hot and sad, full of promise and dirty heat, there was no less passion for the ending, perhaps there was more even, in that last desperate connection.

I didn’t say goodbye, I didn’t look back, I picked up my bag and left. It was a good exit, a strong and purposeful striding out the door.

I want to end the story there, it is a fine ending, clean and satisfying, but these things never end just like that, do they? They splutter and flare and die slowly and painfully.

When I got back to the car, I sat there in the driver’s seat, stunned and sad and a little lost. I was still sitting there when he tapped on the window.

I opened the car door and he crouched beside the car. “I don’t want it to end this way…” he said.

I looked at him and shrugged slightly. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, but I had nothing to give him. “It’s okay,” I said, ineffectively. “It’s okay…” It wasn’t okay, though, we both knew it.

I touched his face, his cheek, his lips. I couldn’t help it, I knew, really, that I could take him if I wanted, and I held onto that a little, selfishly, even though it was meaningless.

“I’ll be here tomorrow… if you want…” he offered.

I looked at him, puzzled. I seemed to be doing that a lot.

I shrugged again. “What’s the point?” I asked him, getting a cruel satisfaction at his look of hurt at being dismissed.

We said goodbye then, I kissed his cheek, he kissed my palm.

I drove away from him, was stuck at the lights when I saw him for the last time, unobserved. He was walking away from the hotel, head bowed, hands bunched in fists, his gait long and decisive, as if he had somewhere to go. He looked lonely and I wondered at my desire to make sure he was going to be okay… I had to remind myself that it had been his choice.

The next day, I formally released him.

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22 Comments

  1. This is your boy? Or another play thing?

    either way, my condolences. If it is your boy, not just a play thing….then my heart aches for you.

    MK

  2. MK: Thank you so much. I thought about putting a disclaimer at the top of this post for my regular readers but it SO spoils the reading of it…

    This is the story of my last boy, not my current.

    He sent me a sweet and friendly Christmas note, which put me in a reflective mood.

    Ferns

  3. I can't even imagine your current boy saying those things. You surprised me with this one, Ferns!

    It's funny how wrapped up we get in each other's lives. Had that been your boy, I would have been crushed. I'm so glad it wasn't…

  4. i was crushed reading it even though it was a pain from Your past. it must have been hard to go through. Sorry that my comments have been absent from the past week, Mistress is home again and we've been spending a lot of time catching up.

  5. thumper: “I can't even imagine your current boy saying those things. You surprised me with this one, Ferns!”

    I do like to surprise people!

    “It's funny how wrapped up we get in each other's lives.”

    It *is* funny, but I do know exactly what you mean, I develop a level of concern, a feeling of involvement with those I read regularly also.

    “Had that been your boy, I would have been crushed. I'm so glad it wasn't…”

    Had it been my boy, I would have been crushed also, and would probably have been in a cave licking my wounds for a while before I could write about it. Even now when I write about this I revisit those feelings.

    Thank you, little rabbit, for your kind thoughts.

    Ferns

  6. Secretive Slave: “i was crushed reading it even though it was a pain from Your past. it must have been hard to go through.”

    It was… are those things ever easy? I could say something trite like 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger', but what I *really* want to say is 'relationship endings SUCK!'. However, they do lead us into new opportunities. I was already friends with my boy when this happened, and he showed his strength by being a great support in the aftermath.

    “Sorry that my comments have been absent from the past week, Mistress is home again and we've been spending a lot of time catching up.”

    Oh, no need for apologies! I am glad to hear that your Mistress is back home and the two of you are enjoying time together.

    Ferns

  7. Reading this one hurt. I could feel your pain and was, at first, unsure of how to respond although I knew I had to. Although I have only been following you for about a month, I feel as though I have gotten to know you a bit and care about what happens to you.

    Having just had a relationship of 13 years collapse this past summer, the pain is still very fresh in my mind and would not wish it on anyone.

    I am relieved that it was not about your current boy and that it is well between you two.

  8. I was also relieved to find out that it wasn't your current boy. My heart sarted to break there. So much so I am posting my first comment!

    Thumper made me smile; I am quite wrapped up in your story. Funny that way.

    I love your writing. Thank you for opening yourself up to me.

    ~Molly

  9. “I thought about putting a disclaimer at the top of this post for my regular readers but it SO spoils the reading of it…”

    That's such a cruel thing to do…

  10. slapshot: “I feel as though I have gotten to know you a bit and care about what happens to you.”

    Oh thank you, I do appreciate that.

    “Having just had a relationship of 13 years collapse this past summer, the pain is still very fresh in my mind…”

    That's so tough, I am sorry to hear that. It is no good, this relationship breakup business, and after 13 years… ouch! I am sure that recovery is slow, it is the nature of it, but hopefully it is getting a little better every day.

    Ferns

  11. Molly: “…My heart started to break there. So much so I am posting my first comment!”

    Thank you so much for your first comment, I do appreciate your kind thoughts… I feel a little bad that I didn't put that disclaimer up after all, but I *did* want the feeling of it to come across and I felt that a note at the front would have made it 'less than'.

    “I love your writing. Thank you for opening yourself up to me.”

    I'm glad, and you are most welcome!

    Ferns

  12. Oh my, I almost had a heart attack here. I don't think I've commented before, but this calls for a comment – for a second there, I thought it was about your boy … even though the distance and the vanilla part didn't make sense. but phew, I'm relieved. I really like reading you two.

  13. N: “Oh my, I almost had a heart attack here… for a second there, I thought it was about your boy …”

    I do apologise for your nearly heart attack and thank you for delurking to make a 'post-heart-attack' comment!

    “I really like reading you two.”

    Thank you! We do really like being read, we are kind of sluts like that…

    Ferns

  14. Oh Goddess, and I read that while talking to Actaeon…. ouch!
    Your emotions, as always, evoke mine- right down to the desire to make it better and hurt him as badly as he hurt me/us at the same time!

  15. Bellaforte: “…the desire to make it better and hurt him as badly as he hurt me/us at the same time!”

    Ouch is right! I would almost rather that he was a complete arsehole/creep/pig so I at least would then only feel the desire to stick a knife in him and walk away, but I guess that involves choosing men with that potential in the first place…

    Ferns

  16. PB: “Here via eLust and I am very touched by the bittersweet feel on this one. Thanks for sharing it with us all!”

    You are so welcome. Perhaps not quite the hot erotica you were expecting coming from e[lust] but I am glad it touched you.

    Ferns

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