The Golden Cage

There was a sweaty pause punctuated by asthmatic wheezings. Sweetie leaned over  me, dripping and struggling for breath, grasping wildly for his inhaler.

"I don't want to die before you love me."

He had just been screaming. It was about halftime of one of our marathons. I don't understand how a man who is not on medication can go so long and stay so hard and hungry... but it's perfect. My delayed orgasms allow me to enjoy filth for hours before finally collapsing into a twitching mass.  He was forcing himself on me hard, interweaving nasty commentary and loving orders, screaming with pleasure when he finally came close. Our activities had become so aerobic, he had to stop, or else his heart would have stopped first. The wailing call to prayer sounded to score inappropriate melancholy under the moment.

I had been screaming too: he is so large that at his fullness, he is often either ripping me apart or punching me in the cervix. It's painful, but also wonderful. I love how he shoves himself into my narrower passageway, pushing in deep and fast... I struggle and cry out and he hushes me, saying:

"I know, I know... don't worry my love, it's ok...it's ok."

I take comfort and fly with pleasure, even in the pain. I think of sex and death, impermanence and it's counterpart.

"If you try to leave me, I just kill you and make [jumpsuit] out of your skin."
Şaka, şaka... jokes, jokes. 

I can see the shining bars falling into place... we are becoming slave to one another, to the insanity, wistfulness, and impracticality of our affections. He wants me to "belong to him" -- he in essence wants to collar me, without knowing that specific terminology or the BDSM culture aspect. If I told him about that, he probably wouldn't care. Despite the violence, love, and power play we do engage in, the emotional significance of "belonging" is enough for him, regardless of leather.

As a non-monogamist already involved in other relationships, this sort of talk is disconcerting. As per usual, I have no idea what I am doing. I enjoy being a slave to him, but I wonder if I should escape the country before the bars of gilded insanity and ownership become welded around me. I don't know at this point if I will stay or if I will go -- I have relationships to honor back in the U.S. and people I love. What keeps me from returning is a certain terror of my own disillusionment: I scoff at the idea that America is the land of opportunity (if anybody actually still believes that anymore). I don't know if I can swallow returning to my pseudo posh service industry job and all the bullshit that it entails knowing that I haven't yet achieved what I came to Istanbul for. Maybe the problem is that I don't know what that is, so I might never find it. Haunting questions come to mind: am I numbing this doubt with compulsive behavior bordering on addiction with Sweetie? Have I been doing this my whole adult life? (But is it such a terrible thing, anyway, to do so?)

If someone I trusted called me a fool, I would be inclined to agree. Scales of optimism are tilting: I hope I'm learning the hard way, otherwise my life will just be "the hard way" without learning. We'll see. All I want is to be free, and to learn to love the people in my life without destroying them. Maybe for their sake I should be kept in a cage after all. (That sounds awfully narcissistic -- what to do?)

Meet Sweetie for the first time HERE and enjoy more sexy anecdotes HERE. 
Don't forget to check out the latest from Seduce and Confuse.