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timpeltjeTomorrow (well, today really), it will have been three years ago when Erik held his birthday party on which I walked him home, on to our first kiss (yet nothing more, because some friend was sleeping over at his place). I wasn't worried I couldn't spend the night, I pretty much knew by the end of the night that it was only a matter of time.
There was a documentary on BBC on how our memory is constantly reconstructing things, inventing things that weren't there (making it harder for policemen to identify criminals based on eyewitness accounts). I have no doubt about my memory of that night though. The night itself may seem a bit shorter now, jumping from one chapter involving Erik to another (skipping other non-important events, like some other guy trying to woo me at the club). The longest memory is that of the way home. I remember our hands silently moving towards each other on the way to his home. My left hand ended up in his right hand, my right hand held my bike (because I had another 30 mins. of cycling to do before I got home). I cannot remember what we talked about, maybe because it wasn't really all that important. Just outside of his place, after stretching the time we had as much as possible, we had our first kiss. Desire had grown over quite some time before that kiss. I think I was the one who made the move (because that's my thing? hmmm...), but I can't be sure. It was obvious it was going to happen anyway.
It was okay to cycle home for half an hour after that (singing aloud in the dark no doubt), because this conquest felt like a special one. The ever insensitive and not-meant-to-feel-Timmy suddenly felt something for a person that wasn't himself. Or another version of himself. Truly, this really was a different person.
And of course I fell in love and became dependent, no, addicted, to this different person.
Tonight (the night before celebrating our 3 years, just so you know that this isn't what we do to celebrate things), I convinced Erik to play a round of jeu de boules with rolls of bondage tape (7 bondage tape rolls which I had bought for quite an elaborate photo I may have planned - since we are unmarried, we do not partake in carnal activity anyway, so we need to use those rolls for other purposes of course (actually, bondage isn't exactly carnal, so would this be okay for Da Lord? Let's grow a beard and ask a priest (the beard is to make us look older, so they definitely won't touch us)).
No matter what, I want more. More life. More him. More of this addiction.
Even if we hurt or disappoint, we do it out of love, I am sure of that.
I love him. Period.
PS: en nimfje, als je dit leest terwijl ik nog slaap (ongetwijfeld), kom je naast me leggen en maak me wakker.
There was a documentary on BBC on how our memory is constantly reconstructing things, inventing things that weren't there (making it harder for policemen to identify criminals based on eyewitness accounts). I have no doubt about my memory of that night though. The night itself may seem a bit shorter now, jumping from one chapter involving Erik to another (skipping other non-important events, like some other guy trying to woo me at the club). The longest memory is that of the way home. I remember our hands silently moving towards each other on the way to his home. My left hand ended up in his right hand, my right hand held my bike (because I had another 30 mins. of cycling to do before I got home). I cannot remember what we talked about, maybe because it wasn't really all that important. Just outside of his place, after stretching the time we had as much as possible, we had our first kiss. Desire had grown over quite some time before that kiss. I think I was the one who made the move (because that's my thing? hmmm...), but I can't be sure. It was obvious it was going to happen anyway.
It was okay to cycle home for half an hour after that (singing aloud in the dark no doubt), because this conquest felt like a special one. The ever insensitive and not-meant-to-feel-Timmy suddenly felt something for a person that wasn't himself. Or another version of himself. Truly, this really was a different person.
And of course I fell in love and became dependent, no, addicted, to this different person.
Tonight (the night before celebrating our 3 years, just so you know that this isn't what we do to celebrate things), I convinced Erik to play a round of jeu de boules with rolls of bondage tape (7 bondage tape rolls which I had bought for quite an elaborate photo I may have planned - since we are unmarried, we do not partake in carnal activity anyway, so we need to use those rolls for other purposes of course (actually, bondage isn't exactly carnal, so would this be okay for Da Lord? Let's grow a beard and ask a priest (the beard is to make us look older, so they definitely won't touch us)).
No matter what, I want more. More life. More him. More of this addiction.
Even if we hurt or disappoint, we do it out of love, I am sure of that.
I love him. Period.
PS: en nimfje, als je dit leest terwijl ik nog slaap (ongetwijfeld), kom je naast me leggen en maak me wakker.
