Long miles.
Quite far.
In a totally different state.
Some days that distance is acute. I would give anything to feel his hand closed hard around my wrist, to hear the growl in his voice -- I need this. He knows this about me, and so recently he gave me a gift.
No, it's not what you think. It's not the notebook, or the pen. Though either would be a very nice gift. I'm his poet, and he loves that I write for him and for myself. The actual gift does appear in this photo, however. It's the elastic band around my wrist.
(Let's not talk about the fact that I need a manicure, please. My hands are not my favorite feature. Thank you.)
That little elastic band was my Top's idea. He knew I was feeling lonely, and missing his presence, his propinquity. (How I love that word.) So, he instructed me to wear this band. It's always there, even when he isn't.
In addition, he suggested that whenever I feel lonely, or am particularly missing him, I might snap the band against the tender place at the inside of my wrist, and enjoy the sting. I love that the feel reminds me very much of his possessive grip of my wrist. I love that he knows me so well, and that the smarting bite of such an little bit of elastic can bring me pleasure. He is very good to me, my Top. He loves me this way...
with a little, black, elastic band.
It's perfect.
