She Makes Me

I slumped forward, saying nothing. She said nothing either, merely releasing me from my bonds, allowing me to collapse to the floor. She looked at me again, differently this time, perhaps sympathy or sadness or understanding , or maybe it was just boredom I saw in her eyes. Whatever it was, I did not have time to look closely as after a few moments she left.

Half an hour later I was back on the street. I was again a respectable businessman, dressed in a nice suit with shiny black shoes. Nobody would ever have suspected what I had just been put through… What I had allowed myself to be put through. The only outward sign was the slightly gingerness with which I walked, still suffering from the fresh wounds.

But it was the mental wounds that affected me the deepest. The feelings of guilt and horror at what I had done to myself always remained for a while afterwards. I would feel wretched, as if nobody would ever look at me the same away again, how could I go on pretending to be the same person after that? However much I tried to reassure myself that I was just obeying the natural human instincts I had within me, it never did any good. I was dirty, ruined, spoiled. How could I claim to feel the way I did about other things now that I had done this?

This was the way I always felt, but it always passed of course. I knew as I walked onto the tube train for the journey home, I knew just as assuredly as I knew that the sun would rise tomorrow morning, that I would go back again. I did not know when, it could be days or weeks or even months, but sometime, when the urge again became too strong to contain, I would go back.