Friday, July 13, 2012
I called him.
I shouldn’t have called him, but I did, and just hearing him say “Rebecca” in that rich, velvety voice was nearly my undoing. I’m supposed to leave for Australia tomorrow, and I’m not sure I can do it. I’m not sure it’s fair to my new man—not when I now know that I’m still in love with my Master.
And tonight he was different. He was more than a Master. Tonight he was a man who seemed to recognize me as a woman, not just his submissive. I heard vulnerability in his voice. I heard raw need, and even a plea. Could I dare believe he is a man who is ready to discover that love exists?
Now I am swimming in a sea of his promises that everything will change if I go home. He called San Francisco, and his house, my home. He wants me to move back in with him, to get rid of my apartment and the backup plan it had been. There will be no contract between us. There will be just us.
I want us. I need us. So why does this deep foreboding claw at me, the same feeling I got when I was having those horrible nightmares of my mother? What is there to fear about my decision to go to him, but heartache? And it’s worth a little heartache to reveal the real us I’ve always believed we can be. . . .