To be opened, vulnerable, to Him.  To feel the warmth, His eyes on me, but not be allowed to meet them with my own.  To feel the heat of the candle, to see it come closer.  He tells me to watch.  My eyes, caught in the light, what I see is clear to me, why it doesn’t pain me is a mystery.

The knife, beautiful, dull enough to be safe, but a point sharp enough to invoke fear.  Knowledge that I am safe, that I can trust what will be done with it, how it will be used.  It gently peels wax from my body, scraping every now and then, the word “insertable” explained clearly without any words ever being used.

He opens me up.  New thoughts, questions, feelings, spaces.  The pleasure He brings me, perplexing.  The pain, mesmerizing.  The questions, neverending.  Wondering if I can give Him what He needs, and if He’ll accept the things I may not be able to offer.  Wondering how it’s possible to have so many different feelings at one time, and how to understand them all.

The ...

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