Love That Makes Sense to Us

I could tell her to walk over to the bed. I could say, “take off your clothes.” I could demand she bends over and spreads her pussy. These are all things I could do and she’d listen. She belongs to me. She’s given me everything. But it feels right to grab her by her hair and pull her. It means more to me that I rip her clothes off and leave them half on, her shorts around her ankles her top, and her bra pulled up over her tits. I don’t need to slap her or maybe I do. How do I convey love and disgust in one single action?

I hit her. I wrap my hands around her throat. I make her look at me. I want her to see my eyes tremor. I want her to feel the steam rushing from my nostrils. “You fucking cunt. You worthless little bitch. Do you have any idea what you did?” Of course, she doesn’t. I don’t know it either. I just know at this moment she needs to be hurt. I need to inflict pain. It seems so right that she’s not crying, she’s not screaming. She knows her place because I’ve placed her in it so many times. She effortlessly falls back in. To her, it’s like a distant memory of a warm safe bed. It’s where the noise stops. It’s where all her past pain makes way for new pain. She doesn’t need to relearn this but I need to reteach it. She needs to be retaught. Everyone has their rituals.

I don’t fuck her. I’ve forgotten how to fuck long ago. What I do is like pointlessly taking a sledgehammer to a junked car. It’s like throwing rocks through the windows of abandoned buildings. I still haven’t learned how to physically destroy something that has no form or substance. I’ve spent my life trying to grab hold of it. I’ve been desperate to feel it between my fingers. I want to grip it until the muscles in my hands give out. But every time I open my fists to see what’s inside the only thing that’s there are the weathered groves deep in my palms.

The words that come out of my mouth are vile. They try to tear apart what I’m unable to touch. They try to seep into her subconscious so there’s no room left for anything but me. Physically and mentally I’ve corrupted every centimeter of her being. I unload deep inside her. I fill her with so much cum it seeps out around my shaft. It drips down her legs. She hides it all so well. She walks through life and no one sees past the veneer. She’s filled in the cracks and appears to be perfectly smooth. But it’s a moment like this as she cums I think I get a glimpse.

When her clothes are still half on her and half off; when my seed is dripping from her cunt a connection takes hold. When her face hurts from my slaps; when her pussy hurts; when the bruises on her body begin to form, the voices inside our heads take a nap. That’s when we can feel love. The tenderness has no place without the violence. The two extremes balance each other. She lays next to me with her head on my chest. Our sweaty bodies feel light enough to float.

I pet her hair. She nestles closer and closer. She’s trying to burrow inside me. She doesn’t say it but I know this is love. This is the love that makes sense to us. We will make it last as long as we can. Everyone has their rituals. Tomorrow, we will do it all over again.

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