It's 4:30 am as I am writing, I'm upstairs on Deb's computer and I suspect Eamon is online, since I can't actually dial up... I'm just typing away in notepad. The light is flickering and the electrical outlet hissed a bit, it feels vaguely horror-movie-ish... but at the same time, so very not.

See, there's no way it can be horror-movie, not when ten minutes ago I had my arms wrapped around a delicate, fragile, dark-haired boy who was snuggling against me as if I was the only source of warmth in a world frozen and dark. It was beautiful, and I spent a long time just laying there, feeling him burrow into my arms, head resting on the bed just beside my pillow, his hair tickling my shoulder and neck, his skin silky against me, slender limbs intertwined with mine. Stroked his hair. Listened to him whimper when I pulled away and the little catch in his breath when I slid closer under the blankets, pressed my hand against the small of his back.

Beautiful.

And that's why I am upstairs at 4:30 in the morning, because I am just drunk enough to find that whole scene breathtakingly beautiful, and just sober enough to know that I should get the hell OUT of there before I do what, for my body and my hormones, naturally comes next. He'd look beautiful in the cage, it would be priceless to see leather locked around his wrists, his throat... but that is not what was agreed on, and not, I suspect, what he wants. I am pretty certain that all he wants in the world is some sleep before he drives home and begins his day. 7:00 am. I have two and a half more hours. Just two and a half hours.

And the funny thing is that despite the frustration I'm feeling, the ache between my legs and the way my fingers clench, wanting to tangle themselves in that thick hair, pull him closer, make those tiny unconscious whimpers turn into something deeper, something real... it doesn't hurt, not having it. I knew from the beginning it wasn't gonna be there, I knew that I would want it and decided NO, that's not something I get. And so somehow, oddly, it doesn't hurt. It just feels... *blinks* ...comfortable.

It was nice to get to watch someone sleep. It was nice to snuggle up beside someone for a while. It was nice to hear those little noises, to see something so peaceful, so pretty. It was NICE, and I enjoyed it... *grins* ...and come 7:00 I'll wake him up and send him on his way with a hug, a kiss, and a little bit of pride in myself for not letting my habits overcome my own decisions.

Some days, I don't believe I am strong, I can't see it, all I know then is that I want and need and take and demand and cry and hurt. Tonight though... even with the alcohol, even with the urges, even with all of it, I'm stil here and still me, cuffs still tossed in the toybasket, cage still closed. I do indeed need that sometimes; I cannot comfortably or happily go without it for long. But I do not need it so badly that my need outweighs my friendship or my decisions. I'm proud of that. I feel strong tonight, this morning, whatever it is.

It's a nice feeling.

Eamon's offline now, I'm connecting and about to post this... hopefully there'll be company online, I could use some conversation about now. I'm sobering quite a bit, and drinking watered cola to help with dehydration and caffeine needs, and to help myself remain strong I really don't intend to head back down stairs just yet.

And not that I'll admit to it later, but masturbating while watching him sleep was damned fun. *grins*