Sorry, I know I’ve been a horrible slacker, not just here on the blog, but with writing too. I really need to get better at plotting a project while drafting a second one, because I’m much more efficient that way. The plotting for Victor’s story has been painfully slow, enough that I started drafting the opening sections. Openings are *hard* for me, so I’ll probably revise it half a dozen times, but it’s a start, and it’s okay for this part to go slowly. I’m hoping to hit high gear, full speed ahead next month and build on the coming NaNoWriMo fever!
However, Samhain is going to be giving away lots of short stories next month, and I really want to participate. It just so happened that Conn stopped by for a little visit today. Evidently, Rae asked him to write HER a letter! After researching the right poem for two days, this is the opening for a new short freebie tentatively titled “Take Me.” If you’ve read Dear Sir, I’m Yours, it should remind you of “Make Me” – which was one of the titles we played around with at one point.
So without further ado, Dr. Connagher writes: (first draft only, subject to revision!)
Since you’ve written to me for years about your secret longings and desires, I suppose it’s only fair that I share my darkest fantasies with you, too. However, I must admit that I’m reluctant. Not because I don’t want you to know, not at all; I’m simply ashamed. I don’t want to scare you away, this time for good.
You asked me to share my most forbidden fantasies with you, and you know that I’ll never fail to give you exactly what you want. Just remember above all, darlin’, that I love you more than life itself. If I lost you…I’d be forced to take up residence as another ghost at Beulah Land.
The truth is I’m a hypocrite. Byron said it best in Damaetas:
Ev’n still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of Pleasure’s bowl;
But, pall’d with vice, he breaks his former chain,
And what was once his bliss appears his bane.
Every day, I put on this nice civilized English professor mask. I lecture at Drury and grade bad essays and my colleagues think the most scandalous thing I do is demonstrate swordplay at the local Renaissance Faire.
While underneath, I’m just a bloody, savage barbarian who dreams of razing you to the ground.
Nobody knows the constant battle I wage to control the darkness eating away at me. Nobody but you. You’ve seen hints of this darkness, Rae, and I thank the good Lord above that you haven’t fled in horror.
“Make me,” you said, and you know that I love making you do exactly what we both want. I love for you to challenge me into force. I like you to be just a little bit afraid of me. I like to hear those soft little whimpers escape your lush mouth. I like to feel you struggle against my grip. I especially love the incredible sounds of your pleasure rolling out of your throat in cry after cry.
I treasure the knowledge that you trust me enough to glimpse that dark side and not only find pleasure in it but also still love me on the morrow.
Trust, Rae. It’s so fragile, like a delicate little bird held in the palm of my hand. Sometimes I can’t help but close my eyes and imagine tightening my fist on that frantic fluttering little creature, harder, meaner, more than you could possibly want.
I’m a dirty, selfish sonofabitch. On a good day, I’m going to take every single thing you’ll give me. On a bad day? I can’t help but fantasize about taking more than you’ll give me.
You know I’d rather torment you with pleasure until you give me your safe word, than ever scare you into giving it. But madness whispers in my head:
She’s helpless. Take her. Take it all.
Don’t ever unchain that beast, darlin’. I love you too much to risk it. And please, by all that’s good and holy in this world, remember your safe word. Always. When all other chains break, Ozymandias will still render the bloodthirsty barbarian into a penitent man on his knees, begging for your love.