Sunday, 05/15/2011 - 8:07 p.m.
He looked like a crucified angel - a barefoot, bare-chested, blue-jeaned angel hanging there. His arms were spread on the cross and his hair hung in his face over the blindfold he didn't really want to wear. I had taken it easy with him up until that night, partially because he was kind of a pain wimp and partially because we were still feeling our way around each other BDSM-wise and I was afraid to push too far too fast. He said he was ready to go to the next step so I took him at his word. I laid out all my favorite floggers - the thuds, the stingies, the warm-ups - and told him I was going to beat him until he cried. He scoffed at that so I got him by the chin and said again, "I'm going to beat you until you cry". He didn't cry, even with all I did to him. He collapsed once I got him off the cross, but he never did cry.
It crossed my mind today that it's been over a year since we broke up. It's been just a little over a year that I last wrote about him. And it's been at least since New Years that I thought about him.
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