Vegas. Our last morning.
After a weekend in which two people who had never met have explored and discovered each other, each liking what they found enough to fall in love, the ride to the airport approaches.
She asks me to spank her, using the barely audible, but still certain, voice that appears when she wants to be hurt.
I do so, firmly but not for long. We hug and kiss and, when her breathing has recovered, she heads to the shower.
When she re-emerges, I am lying naked on the bed with the belt across my buttocks. Her breath catches as she realises what I am asking her to do. She takes her time drying herself, puts a silky robe on and beats me with the belt, again firmly but not for long.
This is how we choose to leave each other.
It’s not hard to work out why.
Our love language is not intimacy, gifts or acts of service.
It’s violence.
This has made me need to pause in my work. So many feelings. Beautiful.