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"Who are you?" He asked me amid the sport, and I looked down into his eyes from straddling his lap. We had already been in his bed for several minutes, and been introduced not many more of them before...his question was curious, What does he mean? His eyes were deep and held caution, licking the words right from my tongue, swallowing them whole. His lean but muscular body flexed beneath mine, fighting against the desire to devour, sweat lying shamelessly on his naked, woolly breast. His steady grip around my small biceps, as if firmly holding me away from falling down a rabbit hole.
We met at a bar, where a band was playing that my friend and I had traveled many miles to see. "You have a beautiful ass." I remember hearing him say from behind me. I was standing next to a high table, center in the room, watching the stage. There was one more band before who we came to see would play. Turning around, drink in both hands, I assessed the stranger and invited the flattery: my ass was beautiful, and I'd never been with a Bear before. With a smile and suggestion, I followed him into the night, disappearing without a goodbye, abandoning my intentions, to have a "good time". I forgive myself for the lack of surprise.
I was lead into wandering, beneath foggy street lamps, up steep and curvy hills, icy breath racing us to the next, hand in hand with this mysterious man, dangerously seeking. My body can want hungrily to know a stranger, intimately meld them into my mind, by a simple touch and connection of the eyes. Then, a sense of comfort dares my spirit, wild and reckless, to take the arm of a Bear into the unknown, alone. Fearless. We arrived, no regard for the passed time, with our lips fiercely intertwined, we romped up the stairs, slid into his lair, and peeled each other's masks off like lovers. Layers of fabric and skin fell to the ground, our bodies bare, down to the glories found beyond mortal sin. My will knows no boundaries, and enthralled by the Mesmer, my mouth opens wide, and I consume him. Intellectually imposing myself into his psyche, I dug deep and tore flesh, bursting opening a dormant wound, where I watched as his soul bled out on his bed. I held my hands pressed against that faucet of death, to keep in, to protect, whatever was left. Shit, I did it again. When will I learn and keep out of their heads? I watched his eyes shift, unveiled and surprised, maybe shocked and invaded, but with want in his voice, "Who are you?" he cried. Tearing from his grasp, I couldn't stay there. I had to go, disappearing again without a goodbye.
How my feet remembered the way, I know not but this: in my flight, my wings followed the beating of my heart, pounding in my ears. Was he just as afraid as I? The night was silent. The heavy air wrapped me in a blanket of plight, treading a lonely, winding path, along the starlit street, long after the lamps have gone to sleep. What did he mean, still, I wonder... Though I know myself to pry and peek, still, I wonder...even though I ran down the stairs, out the door and through chilly streets, away... still his voice echoes in my mind, calling me back to stay. Why did I flee? Could the blood have been mine? The memory, misty and far away now, lingers and haunts with a profound presence. Who am I?