A bit more of the past

I found this the other day and I wanted to post it. Now for those of you that have been reading here the very longest (my dear brother Paul) you may remember this story. I thought it was lost. This was my attempt to fictionalize some of the early years. I wrote at the request of a friend nearly 5 years ago. It was posted on her blog but I never got around to posting it here.

Most of the time when I write I just farble along with my daily life and what Sue and I or Allie and I are up to and, of course, Tom’s views on whatever that might have been. This story was written a little differently. I hope you’ll like it.


It wasn’t going to work, it was a nice try but it was not going to work. He wanted a submissive and that just wasn’t her style. It was romantic and exciting at first but he was serious. He would be in charge and if she broke his rules he was going to spank her – hard! Nope, too many rules. One of them had to move on, it just couldn’t work.

But the thought of losing him made her chest hurt. She would miss him. They were good together. Lying in his arms at night; talking during the day. So much was good! Why did he have to be so unbending? He had to know it wasn’t going to last. Why didn’t he get it over with? Why wouldn’t he leave? Everyone from her past had always left. Why couldn’t he go before she loved him even more? Didn’t he see it was no use? Why prolong the inevitable? Someone had to go.

So she left. He knew which friend would take her in so she avoided them. She could survive on her own. She didn’t need anyone. The cheap, seedy bars she frequented at night were not her usual haunts so she felt safe from discovery. They were rough places, but it was what she deserved. She missed him. She missed him so much, but she couldn’t to go back. No one was going to tell her what to do.

What was she looking for in the bars? She didn’t want sex, she didn’t want companionship, she just wanted the right to be there. She wanted the thrill of possible danger. What she found were scary, violent men. When the urge to bolt from home died away she couldn’t go back. She couldn’t let him see her with a black eye and split lip.

It had been nearly two weeks; would he have stopped looking by now? She called her friend for refuge. Her friend picked her up, she thought she was safe. But it wasn’t the refuge she had sought; he was there. She would rather have been back on the floor of the bar being punched that to see the pain on his face.

He didn't want to talk on the way home. He said morning would be soon enough. She woke to find him starting at her. He was quiet when he told her what he had to say; she wouldn’t be leaving him again. Whatever she needed, whatever she was searching for he was going to provide it. She tried to draw back into the pillows as he picked up the brush, tears came to her eyes. She shudder slightly, thinking of how the brush felt, how much it burned, how much she resisted being over his lap and how much she truly wanted to be able to let go of the fear and keep only the love. It would happen, it would come, but it would take time.