… wonder what I made him do?

an email exchange

Dearest Scunt:

Watched torture porn (teeth were pulled, barbed wire was shoved up an ass … ya know, business as usual) over the weekend and thought about you.

xoxoxo,

Ms. Angela

My Goddess:

I am so hungry for you right now that I can taste my suffering.

Groveling and cringing,

Scunt

Harry S. Franklyn

Drag Queen. circa 1920s

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We’re born naked, and the rest is drag. ~RuPaul

Dear Mistress Angela,

Thank you for our call tonight.

I can’t explain my feelings around you. I do trust you more than anyone I have ever known. I trust you to want the best for me, to protect me, and yet… I fear. I fear where you can take me, I fear how depraved and dirty you make me feel, I fear how excited this makes me.

And yet I want it all. I want you to control me, my everything. I want to suffer for you and I want to rejoice for you. I want to be afraid. I want to know the fear. I want to put myself to your absolute control, and mercy. I want to know the joy that only you can open for me.

I want to lick my tears from your feet.
Tears of pain and fear.
Tears of joy and wonder.
Tears that I wept on you, for you.
I want to taste your flesh seasoned with my salt.

Please Goddess, I want to orgasm. I want to come with your voice in my ears and your name on my lips. I want beyond all words, beyond all grammar. I want so that all I know is want. I want so desperately that it is not the orgasm I desire, but the communion with you that allows it.

Love,

Your Boy

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Mmmm. Emails like this.

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language.

And next year’s words await another voice.

T.S. Eliot

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Calls $1.00 off per minute this evening.

xo, Angela