Spiraling

How easy is it? To spot the point of no return? To know, if I step over this line, right now, in this moment, everything will change. To be able to see that coming on the horizon, and in that moment to make the good decision. The right decision. The one that will not lead me to this place, again and again. Which is here, on all fours, slick with want, waiting for the belt to sting.

Everything that happened was for you, you told me exactly how you wanted it

The message now, burning into my phone, while I wait at the airport, dazed. The burn of the leather, salt sweat skin, hot breath, rough tongue, friction, still fresh. A heat.

I know… I type, one-handed, trying to manage my bags through security.

And it was, almost to the letter. I shift my weight on the seat, I can feel the three welts, hot against my underwear. The memory of him rushing back, his hands pulling up my shirt, his mouth on my neck. I feel the heat rise in my chest. Another notification on my phone.

I can still smell your cunt on my skin, fuck

It’s too much. I put my phone in my bag, check my passport again, all my travel documents. We are boarding soon. I hastily finish my drink in the airport lounge, let the cool of the ice in my glass bring my temperature down. Rest my forehead in my hands, breathe. Slowly. In and out. Is this what a panic attack feels like? Don’t check your messages again. Don’t. I am going home. To my husband. Breathe. Just Breathe. I close my eyes and all I can see is the reflection in the mirror. A belt buckle catching the morning light. Just before the leather meets my skin. Sweet oblivion.

My head is spinning.

How the fuck did I end up here?

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