There was a time I'd laughingly use you to free the monster in me, to soothe the anger, fear, and doubt.

Then, unleash it.

Let it run over your body and over the hills of your curves, like open territory,

only to wake up the next day to find you covered in bruises and marks.

Indentations that told the story of teeth, nails, toys,

and tools, a tapestry, in growing order, of what I had done to you the night before when I had lost my mind and allowed the beast to take control.

Why did you allow it?

Love for me.

Adoration?

Pleasure alone wasn't worth it, I know, not for the things I've done to you.

The beautiful, lovely creature that I have draped over my shoulder and dragged into darkness the only woman that i could look into the eyes of the next day and say i truly loved

the one that i allowed the weakness and intimacy of pushing my face into her skin and letting her stroke my hair before I tried to kiss and soothe the pain away.

Over time, we have become something else. You've made me less of a monster and more of a man.

Just as I tried to take the pain of being used away from you the next day,

you'd release from me the notion that I had to be anything other than whole, present, and happy.

And every time I pushed you so hard that there were tears,

you were there to embrace me.

Hold me.

Stroke my face with your thumbs,

and tell me that you adored me.

Time flew, and the monster left.

Or, so I had thought, until I saw a bit of your thigh peaking out from beneath your skirt today, more of it than I'd ever seen in public.

...