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| These were the ‘First Days of my Last Days.’ The lyrics to Trent Reznor’s ‘Wish’ seemed terribly apropos that day, and they wouldn’t stop echoing in my head. He had come to my apartment for the second time, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving me there again, alone and cold. He hadn’t taken me yet, not the way I wanted him to. Not the way I was aching, dying for him to. In fact, I hadn’t even seen him without a shirt. For two days he had beaten me, restrained me, and soaked me with anticipation. He seemed to delight in tormenting me until I exploded with pleasure at his lightest touch. And yet, I hadn’t even run my fingers across the smooth skin of his chest. I couldn’t stand it. I hated it that I couldn’t make him want me enough to forget about his commitments and ideals, so that he would simply throw me down and pillage my body, letting me ravage him in return. I knew it would be stupid to actually ask, in fact beg, for him to take me home with him, out o...
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