Nightmares are also dreams Part 40-Interlude

The room looks like any other office meeting room. Faux wood table, large monitor on the wall for presentation or telepresence, an untouched carafe of water in the center.

Perfectly normal except for the men who sit around the table. They discuss the business human trafficking without remorse or emotion. Its just units acquired. Where they are trained, quality of product, profits from sales and new markets.

It is the economics of evil. Discussed as calmly as and quarterly earnings meeting is.

A chiseled jaw classically good looking man looks up and interrupts the well-worn flow of figures and growth.

“If I may interject?” He asks.

A salt and pepper faded copy of the man looks up and states, “The chair acknowledges the Head of Procurement.”

The young looking man pulls out a sheet of paper from the stack next to him. A prop really as he’s memorized what he needs to say.

“The central hub of procurement for the southwest sector has gone dark. We heard an initial report that there was trouble but the window for the follow on report is late. We sent a team to investigate and have heard from a few of the procurers through that channel that there was a possible takeover initiated. They think that we will have to negotiate with a new consortium shortly.”

The board members look nonplussed until the Head of Finance grins and says, “Maybe this is a opportunity to argue more favorable terms. This outfit sounds professional, which is a good thing. The southwest team was always so vulgar.”

The rest of the board smiles and shakes their heads. Business as usual then.

There is a sharp knock on the conference room door and a scared dough faced young man enters, “Sirs, there is a package here. It is in a cold box and marked perishable.”

The businessmen get up and file out, ready to take a look at this gift. Maybe it’s lobster. Or caviar, the Russian consortium has been trying to make nice….

The box is a 5 ft cubed metal box with a handprint reader on the side.

The young man nervously says to the elder gentleman, “Sir, it says that your handprint will open it.”

The man looks around, clearly suspecting one of them of currying favor. Smiling he places his hand on the panel. There is a brief moment then lid lifts with a soft hiss of escaping air and chill.

The lid is mounted on an arm and it slides easily to the side leaving the interior of frost and 1 ft^3 wooden boxes which fills the it. 80 boxes in total with the remainder of the space taken up by frost and electronics. On top sits a bulging stuffed manilla envelope. The procurement head grabs the envelope and opens it. One of the other men takes the included pry bar and swearing about the cold, opens one of the boxes.

The young man says “Listen to this. It says that this is a order of evacuation. That we are to cease and desist all activity within the southwest area and that we have 48 hours to wrap up all non trafficking related business before other sanctions will be met out.” The young man is smiling at the audacity and looks up, wondering what has the board so silent.

The men are clustered around the crate and are peering inside.

The procurement head looks over and sees what’s inside….it’s heads. The chopped off stumps of the consortium…some of them show signs of torture.

The elder statesmen of the group looks up. The shock bleeds to cold rage. He says, “Gentlemen, it would seem we are at war.”

Split screen reality

I see you in my minds eye
That knowing smile
The deep glimmer of pain and yearning
I see you
Knowing every inch of your heart
At least the surface
Longing to plunge deeper
To claim every millimeter
And in my exposure
Be claimed
As all that we are is laid bare
Hidden eyes waiting with a ready flinch
For the rejection of a misplaced word
Walls break the sound barrier as they clash into place
We stand
Opposite
Hands pressed deeply
Waiting for the wall to drop
Held up by the pressure of our longing
Whispered words shouted
I love you
Echoing out
The attempt to show
Not tell
All these hours away from you
All I have is my words
Hoping each tear shaped drop is enough
Hoping each action proves my constancy
Hoping in my bent back
Smiling lonely
Looking for the path that brings
Me to
Us

A coloring book is not connect the dots

It’s hard to think beyond the next step
The next sleep
The next day
I’ve somehow lost those moments of space
Those silent minutes which roared and shook so loudly
Only time to spare a small smile at the croak of bird
To fawn all over a cat
Or wave like a maniac to a dog in the window
All just gestures of echoed love
Reflecting back to you

The night wears a heartbeat of silence

The only joys are those we seize for ourselves
Those bare moments where you describe your day to a person you love
That dream that haunts you
Of walking in a arboreal garden
And seeing your person’s face light up with your
Mere
Presence
A minute for yourself
Alone in the ache of love
And distance
The first perfect bite which explodes so flavorful and tempting
The words unspoken
The ones that pierce
A desperate frissioned ragged edge
Tears unshed
And a song that makes you dance
Life spinning and time fleeing
Too many obligations
Not enough you

Nightmares are also dreams Part 39-Sara

“I just thought of a third option,” Pel says, his eyes
swimming in darkness.

I see in Pel a deep hurt. Like a stab wound so sharp you don’t realize its killing you until its too late.

I’m his. His slave. His. And yet, always he stops. Always, just short of his full desires. And I know that I will always want to go deeper than he is comfortable with. He’ll pass it off as protection. As if this scenario isn’t something we have worked out and so is off the table. I suspect he’s been watching the footage they took off the Circle. And that there is a dark part of him that desires what they did. And really, everything they do is within scope. It’s the human trafficking, nonconsent, and the permanent breaking of the people that is at issue. Not the activities, not really. But he sees them as monsters. And since he desires what they do, he seems himself as monstrous. And he is anything but that.

My only limit I have for him is that he is comfortable with what we do. So, I’ll let this slide for tonight. But…I would have taken those three men. Would have put on a show and begged and pleaded. Would have thrown myself completely into it. It’s something I fantasize about. Something I know Pel thinks about. Something we both wanted. But here we are. Back in safety with only one other partner and one which is mostly for Pel. It’s incredibly frustrating and completely Pel. For every four steps deeper we go, there is always this moment where he walks us three steps back. He’s so deep in his own head that he fakes himself out. That deep thinking also leads to some epic sessions and surprises. Like the raven scar he created for our anniversary. Like vetting Tara and surprising me with her inclusion at work.

After this, we’ll need to have a talk. Not about what he can do, but about how disappointed I was that he chose just one. Plant the idea that it will be acceptable for more. And reinforce the idea that he can’t break me. That I’m already his. Body, mind, and soul. And we’ll dance forward again, and we’ll get closer to the edge that I know he wants.

I hip sway over to Pel and reach out. At the last minute, I grab our new friend and push Pel away. I growl, “Me first.” Then shove my hand down the mans pants and grab his cock.

I know I need to push Pel to get what I need tonight. All so that when I am hurting with the delicious ache of his righteous wrath, and he is beginning to feel guilty, I can act contritely. And he will know that he did right. And maybe that he could have pushed much further.

Soft breathe which catches on waking

We are bent flower promises
Our light touches over skin
Hands soft but ridged in callouses
A legacy of past actions written in scar and stretch
Wrinkle and aches in joints
Broken bones which
Now healed still click
For all of this
Is our passion less for being out of focus
Beyond the lens of society
Or instead
Is passion which knows itself
The more powerful
We who survive and still find each other despite the wounds of the past
Still open ourselves
Vulnerable and exposed
Is our love less
For having been born from a distant song
Or instead
Is it strength to find a heart that’s bright and desirous
And in the knowing
We find beauty
And flame
And the circling of fingertips against skin
The brushing of lips against neck
The soft smile and the lascivious grin
And a hope
Born in the taste of her

Bent willow by the rushing water

Days spent in the quiet ache of waiting
Pressed lip consonants and soft wet vowels
Dull repetition needed to bring us together
The possible made real by the simple choice
Again and again
Of you

The days ticking by which promise some future yes
Lost in the drift
Of seconds ripping
On razor wings
Each moment an agonize
In which the only balm is the thought of you

Though through the haze of fogged up desire
Still
Quietly I bleed
Patters against the tile
Curling steam in a chill air

How dangerous the need
To have you by my side
I feel myself rushing to you
And wish
I could see you
Rushing to me