Jack Steeles: May 4th
Brysie is making me crazy.
She is a Light-damned tease. She says she's chaste. She says this vow of hers means she's sworn off smoking and drinking and sex, yet she comes to me in my inn room with skin bared and lays on my bed and puts those soft little hands all over me. She kisses me as though she's never been kissed so well, and then tells me she wants me, but when I try to have her for my own she changes her mind and says she can't.
I know this isn't all her fault, because I push her. I seduce her, I unwind her, I kiss that spot on the curve of her ear and I tell her all of the truths she needs to hear from a man: that she is breath-takingly beautiful, that her radiance leaves me blind, that her voice and laugh are the sweetest sounds to my ears. Everything about her is sweet, and I want more.
I call her 'doll' because she is. She's small, delicate, and I can move her so easily, I can pick her up, pull her against me, turn her over, and all she can do is come along. She lets me. She wants to be touched, and appreciated, so desperately. I've held her in the palm of my hand. Literally. I've felt her melt there against me and heard her voice rise in ecstasy, and had my own reward from it, but I guess that was just a mistake. A momentary lapse of reason.
I am a good man, and I am a gentleman. These are things I know and can rely on about myself. I don't want to hurt anyone and I don't want to push this woman away.
She's in my bed right now. Well, not my bed; we're in the Blue Recluse. It's somewhere in the midmorning, I'm not sure. All I can smell is the ale I spilled on the floor and I want to punch myself for throwing her gift around like that. But I was so on edge from sending her away, angry and tense because I wanted her and she wouldn't let me have her. It sounds childish now, and maybe it is. But I promised that I would play by her rules, and I'll try not to push her to that point where she needs to tell me to stop again.
Which is why I'm sitting at this table, looking across the room at her in the bed, pale hair spread out across my pillow. She's on her back and she's reached out to where I was laying; I wonder if she knows I'm gone. I'll be back soon, but I couldn't stay there wrapped around her and still be a good man, when in my dreams we were all kinds of entwined with one another and just giving in, her silly vow irrelevant and discarded. It takes strength that I don't know if I have to do this, sleep with her in my arms with only clothing between us.
She'll wake up soon and go to class, and I'll pack up what I brought into the city and leave. I don't know when I'll see her again.
I just know it won't be too far from now.
She is a Light-damned tease. She says she's chaste. She says this vow of hers means she's sworn off smoking and drinking and sex, yet she comes to me in my inn room with skin bared and lays on my bed and puts those soft little hands all over me. She kisses me as though she's never been kissed so well, and then tells me she wants me, but when I try to have her for my own she changes her mind and says she can't.
I know this isn't all her fault, because I push her. I seduce her, I unwind her, I kiss that spot on the curve of her ear and I tell her all of the truths she needs to hear from a man: that she is breath-takingly beautiful, that her radiance leaves me blind, that her voice and laugh are the sweetest sounds to my ears. Everything about her is sweet, and I want more.
I call her 'doll' because she is. She's small, delicate, and I can move her so easily, I can pick her up, pull her against me, turn her over, and all she can do is come along. She lets me. She wants to be touched, and appreciated, so desperately. I've held her in the palm of my hand. Literally. I've felt her melt there against me and heard her voice rise in ecstasy, and had my own reward from it, but I guess that was just a mistake. A momentary lapse of reason.
I am a good man, and I am a gentleman. These are things I know and can rely on about myself. I don't want to hurt anyone and I don't want to push this woman away.
She's in my bed right now. Well, not my bed; we're in the Blue Recluse. It's somewhere in the midmorning, I'm not sure. All I can smell is the ale I spilled on the floor and I want to punch myself for throwing her gift around like that. But I was so on edge from sending her away, angry and tense because I wanted her and she wouldn't let me have her. It sounds childish now, and maybe it is. But I promised that I would play by her rules, and I'll try not to push her to that point where she needs to tell me to stop again.
Which is why I'm sitting at this table, looking across the room at her in the bed, pale hair spread out across my pillow. She's on her back and she's reached out to where I was laying; I wonder if she knows I'm gone. I'll be back soon, but I couldn't stay there wrapped around her and still be a good man, when in my dreams we were all kinds of entwined with one another and just giving in, her silly vow irrelevant and discarded. It takes strength that I don't know if I have to do this, sleep with her in my arms with only clothing between us.
She'll wake up soon and go to class, and I'll pack up what I brought into the city and leave. I don't know when I'll see her again.
I just know it won't be too far from now.