Copyright 1997 to <firstname.lastname@example.org>.
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I saw a white iron headboard at Macy's today
and thought of Tori . . . and ribbons.
How to explain? We lived together a year,
me nineteen, she twenty. Friends first of course. Also lovers
- but not 'of course'. Such good Catholic girls, so surprised
at finding ourselves kissing, touching.
Despite being friends, despite being lovers
. . . or maybe because . . . this was no calm relationship.
There was too much anger inside us both. Our fights were loud,
hard, mean - mostly over our families.
Her mother made midnight calls in drunken
rages to rip at Tori's self-esteem. I didn't try and comfort
her - instead yelled she should hang up the damned phone, finally
yanking the jack out of the wall.
Whenever my father called, I rearranged my
life, Tori's life, ignored plans with her, made us have dinner
with him. She understood why I never refused. And her
anger boiled over. The spanking that night wasn't play.
And I discovered I loved her all the more.
That evening, once again I couldn't bear the
intensity of our passion and pushed Tori away. She held my hands,
made me hold the white iron headboard.
"Don't. Let me."
Again I pushed Tori away. She grabbed my hands
and held them as she started again her - our - gentle rhythm,
her mouth feeling softer than it ever spoke. I closed myself
- wouldn't - couldn't let her.
"You will let me."
I didn't resist as she turned me over, held
my hands in the small of my back, took her hairbrush from the
night table and spanked me . . . hard . . . until promises to
be good were drowned out by sobs.
She turned me back over, the sheet feeling
rough against my tender bottom. Tori again closed my hands on
the cold, strong headboard.
- "I can't."
Tears started to fall again.
She kissed them away, the brush in her hand
smoothing my hair. Tori undid my hair's red ribbon. Took and
wrapped it around my wrists and the headboard. Tied a knot.
I pulled at the bonds. Not hard, but making
sure they were really tied. They were.
Now I couldn't push Tori away, couldn't close
myself from her. Blinding jolts of sensation passed through
my body, Tori's gift to me. As I lay, still trembling, she untied
my hands, held me to her as I kissed and caressed both her mouths.
I came home the next day to find all fourteen
of my multi-colored hair ribbons in bows tied to her headboard.
I knew I wouldn't push her away again.
Yet ultimately I did. And on the day I publicly
bound myself to the wrong person, I received a gift from Tori.
A flat white box full of my ribbons, all untied.
My eyes fill as I think of that year. Both
of us so hurt, trying to heal each other. Our anger, the parts
of our life together that weren't healthy, cutting off finally
our desire to bind ourselves together.
Back to Mija's
Back to the treehouse