There are voids in my life.

Each one was once occupied by a friend or relative now gone.

They vary in size according to the impact that person had on me.

This week has been especially bad, Tuesday’s void looms chasm like in my heart.

He who has passed was the best.

I am bereft.

The dark envelopes my soul, creeping in through my pores to inhabit every fibre of my being. My Wolf gnawing at my sanity, feasting on those stolen moments of joy. It devours my confidence, whispering story’s of failures past and fuelling my fears of those to come.

I want her.

But cannot have her.

I need her.

But cannot be with her.

I miss her.

But this shall continue.

Damn Virus.

Damn Disease.

I’m in hiding.

I hide from my desire.

She is so close yet so far away.

My heart aches for her.

I am nothing without her.

Draw a line

Make the past the past

Stepping back only places you back into the pain.

Move only forward.

The darkness wells up inside me. I wish to be anywhere but here.

What follows is a deeply personal piece written as I lay on my bed post shower contemplating life. If you don’t want to read intimate details of my sex life stop now.

We live in a world of immediacy. Must do this, must do that, now now now.

This doesn’t seem to only apply to work, home, TV etc but also sex. The need to achieve something, both for the man and the woman seems paramount.

Did you cum?

That is probably the worst question you can ever ask your partner. Trust me if she/he did you would know.

Although if you asked me the answer would probably be no. Because I can’t. I can fuck for what seems like hours without finishing.

I have through years of back issues and other related problems lost a degree of sensation in my extremities that means that variously; I can stub a toe to the point of making it bleed, cut a finger or stab myself in the leg all without feeling it particularly.

Hardly ideal in day to day life.

Sexually it’s both a blessing and a curse. Your average lady will enjoy it for a while and then it becomes quite boring, relentless even. By the time I’m getting somewhere she’s already thinking about what to cook for dinner and often getting quite sore.

Medication I take for other things only compounds the problem. Antidepressants are often SSUI based. They slow the processing of Serotonin which means you’re always on that little bit of a high. However Serotonin is used to treat premature ejaculation, hardly ideal in my situation.

There is no cure, at least according to the medical professionals I’ve spoken to. We’re it erectile difficulties I suffered from I could take any number of little pills and wayhey! I’ve tried various sensation boosting creams and the like but for some reason the manufacturers pair them with things designed to delay ejaculation. Unhelpful.

Even masterbation doesn’t work. I’ve often done more harm than good by persisting. Trust me a red raw cock is not a pleasant thing to try keep under control at work.

I’m not looking for sympathy, empathy maybe because I surely can’t be alone.

She slumbers on her side, sated, as I watch the rise and fall of her breathing. Eyes devouring her beauty, the rise of her ample breasts, the flush of her skin left by our exertions. They drift across her curves. I am enraptured by her, enslaved.

Focused as you are on your laptop you don’t hear the door closing softly behind me.

“Kneel” the harsh tone bringing you back from your focus on work to the reality of your submission.

Automatically you slip swiftly to your knees, hands behind your back, head tilted backwards, mouth open tongue extended.

I walk towards you, removing my belt as I do so, wrapping it around my hand.

My fingers gently grazing your cheek then entwining in your long locks.

Turning you to face the low bench in the centre of the room.

Pushing you onto the padded surface, clipping your chain bracelets to the discrete points on the legs.

Your head down, knees together, bum up presenting you to me in the time honoured manner.

A moment to admire my handiwork and then the snick as the blade of my pocket knife opens.

The soft susurration of the sharp edge parting the fabric as your clothes fall aside the only sound in room aside our soft breathing.

A less than gentle smack on each raised buttock before the first strike of the belt catches your breath.

A single broad red welt rising swiftly across your bum.

Another sharp retort as a second red stripe is added to cross your perfect soft pink flesh.

A third, fourth and fifth land in quick succession, each slightly harder than the last.

Your breathing catching with each blow.

The stripes becoming raised, defined in ever angrier shades of red.

Fingers inspect you, finding them wet a smile flickers across my face.

The short plastic cane secreted in the adjacent flower pot is flexed and steadied before adding its narrower stripes to the artworks across your bum and back.

Still no word is spoken.

Five, ten, fifteen stripes each yielding its own distinct and separate welt.

You stoic silence deserving of reward. Smiling I slip behind you my hands on your buttocks gently parting them.

Then the warmth and hardness of my broad cock nudges against your sex.

As I slide inside you I lean forward and growl softly into your ear “Mine!”

Pain comes in waves.

Mental pain comes at the sight of her suffering. Moments when I love at her stooped posture, staggering gait, reduced mobility and can no longer see the vibrant person I fell in love with. .

Physical pain when I try too hard to achieve things my younger self would have dealt with in moments. Years of pain lay behind me and ahead of me triggered by that blast of light and sound that still wakes me sweating in the early hours 30+ years after it happened.

Comfort is sought, currently it remains just out of reach.

I pray daily, hourly for it to be released to encompass me and my soul.