Circular

The door is not red.

My price is lower.

I am no longer a menu item. I am a condiment.

I will not lie and say that those facts make me all moist and needy, but they are what they are and I am, above all, a practical sort I guess. I have been guilty of my emotional moments, my moments of weak sentimentalism but in the end, I know what I am and that comes down to a numbers game.

In some ways it feels as if I have come full circle to the days of the red door. Earning coin is my business again and I am sure I will succeed at it. The simple fact is, though, that I am less certain of the thrill of that hunt I guess. Maybe it is as simple as the fact that I no longer have the relative freedom to go seek who to serve,. If it walks through the door and buys a paga, it gets me too.

He has stated his determination to see my utter deconstruction, walls gone, defenses melted, soul bared. I asked him the only question that occurred just then...."and what then Master?". His response was...I am not sure of the right word. Irritating? Scary? Prickish? Those all work, but they do not quite put the finger right on the pulse of it. Oh I laughed it off, choosing to take the words a a challenge, but in reality it makes me feel a bit off balance. A bit cynical and yes, a bit scared.

If you lead someone to the edge of a cliff over what appears to be serene warm waters and bid them jump, is it a kindless to whisper about the jagged stone just horts beneath the surface? Is it some twisted form of compassion to share that truth even as one's hand tries to push them from the edge?

Perhaps. Survival instinct kicks in though and that hand may well get bitten, the ledge backed from with every hort of energy. It confuses even me. I despise lies and trickery and yet when the truth is so blatantly unpleasant, is it so wrong to want to take a measure of refuge in a sweet deception? It is. I know I would hate myself for the weakness of accepting the delusion.

I am his. Of that there is no question, neither legal nor practical. He is in no way mine, however, and that was a factor that made him seem at some points a bit safe. I know better now, though. He is by no means safe, not for me. He is downright dangerous, and for better or worse, danger draws me like a flame. Knowing he could watch without pity as I am immolated in those flames, torn to pieces on those jagged stones should make me hate him. And yet I don't.

I do not love him. I will not love him.

I think I'm fucked.