[b][u]Thoughts of A Plaything[/u][/b]

It can be hard to enjoy life when you're like me. The entire world takes one look at me and insists I should be kept in a bubble, for safekeeping. All because I am small. All because I am delicate. All because for my entire life, I have been easily hurt. 

So to preserve me, I am barred from experiencing life...both the good, and the bad. People, in their infinite wisdom, believe it would be better for me to feel nothing if it meant I would be protected. Funny, they can't seem to understand that I'd rather feel nothing but pain rather than nothing at all. I can't understand why, either.

But even amongst the pitiful smiles flashed by strangers, I can still find a way to feel something. The dull tinge of apathy can be washed away, even if it's not for long. There is a temporary escape from the void. 

My nails dig into the mattress as I clutch the bedsheets. Hands. Hands larger and rougher than my own hold onto my waist. There is a pressure on my body as they move to caress my stomach, which rises and falls as I breathe. I am okay with this because here, I am alive.

Hands. They may be bigger than my own, but they are gentle. Light touches against my skin as my body is examined. Fleeting. I can't help but break. All I want is to escape the void. Treat me like I am made of blood and guts and not paper. Like you, I am a construct of flesh. Act like it. I can't say it, but I think the words clearly as a soft noise escapes me.

I say no words, but I am understood. A soft breath exits my pink lips, nothing but a faint whine. But to him, the undertones of desperation are heard. He can hear the plea looping in my mind. My desperation for more. More feeling. More attention. More something...

Indulgence. That is all this is. Indulgence in the primal urges that make us all so painfully human. I am human, too. He knows that now. My prayers are answered when he grabs my wrists, hard. I don't care if it leaves red marks against my porcelain skin. I'll wear them with pride. Hues of pink, purple, and blue that break against the whiteness of my body. White, the color of purity, stained by the marks of sinful acts. 

It hurts a bit. I am small, I know this, I've accepted it. Still, pain is better than nothing at all. The twinge of my wrists being pressed against the sheets by his weight...it mixes beautifully with the euphoria of the moment. This pain in my hands feels nothing like the deadening weight of the chains used to hold me down. As I am lost, drowning in a sea of ecstasy, my shackles are gone. 

The world loves irony. It loves to laugh at the coincidences it births into existence- like my life. I am still waiting for the punchline of this cruel joke that is partially of my own making. I probably shouldn't have named myself after an object if my deepest desire is to be treated like a fellow human being. 

I may be the colors of a saint- or a ghost, depending on how you look at it. I may be named after a child's plaything, but...I am very much human. I make mistakes like one and I have desires like one. Undeniable proof that I am very much alive. I have never felt so alive in all of my sheltered years than I do now, consumed by both pleasure and pain. It is intense. It makes my body shake and my voice wavers. It is all of the feelings I was deprived of being administered to me all at once. Again, I can't help myself. There are no still no words as I exhale, mewling into his ear. 

These are not cries of pain, or protest, or desperation. When I am truly hurt, I don't make noise. I don't let them know they've broken me. So I whimper, nestling into his body. It's warm. I feel so warm when I'm not alone. The voice of the void is cold and empty, and it whispers into my ear like I whine into his… But for now, I am deaf. I cannot hear its call. All I hear is myself, and his breath against me.

I know I will ache when morning comes, but that does not stop me- or him. My head spins from the sensations coursing through my being. With each heartbeat, I tense, tugging at the blanket and arching my back. It is all so much to experience… The line between pleasure and pain was blurred long ago. My eyes water. I shut them. I may be spread open for him to see, touch, and use. I am vulnerable and pinned, but I will not share the intimacy of shedding tears with him, or anybody else. I refuse to be a crybaby. 

I learned to never show weakness. Those like me who flaunt their fragility in a parade of warm tears die. Deep down, this world is survival of the fittest, even if the weak are treated with pity. I am by no means the physically strongest, but I will not let my death be a product of Darwinism. Here, splayed in bed, I have a purpose. I am spared from the steely fangs of natural selection, because I play a role in my ecosystem- and I can fight for it.

I suck in a breath, my chest shaking, and my eyes flutter open. I can move my hands again. One by one, I tap my fingertips against my thumb. My wrists ache as I move my digits, but I can move them freely now. There is no pressure holding me still anymore. Why? He had stopped. I was looking into his eyes. I am sure mine were wide, people always said I had big eyes. Glossy pools of grayish-blue. Pale, like the rest of me.

He had stopped. I was slipping back into the void. The more he pulled away, the deeper I fell into the vast pit of nothingness. I was alone, like I always was. Maybe I am foolish. Foolish for believing that any of them would actually stay afterwards. It was childish, but I hoped so. Maybe eventually, there would be a day when somebody would stay behind to help clear up the mess I made of my life. Please?
[hr]
[u][b]Thoughts of Buck Anderlow[/b][/u]

I am absolutely terrified of you. I can barely touch you without getting scared. Your hand barely fits into mine. Holding you close feels almost unnatural. Your body is so small compared to mine... When we talk, I have to look down. To kiss, I have to gently tilt your chin up with my hand.

Even now, reaching for your face so that we can touch lips is making me nervous. You're the confident one here, though. I can tell. There is no fear in your eyes or hesitation in your movements. You are in your element. 

I didn't notice at first, but your nimble little hands were unbuttoning my shirt. So dexterous. Have you done this that many times? You have petite hands- everything about you is petite. We are so incredibly different. My hands are large and weathered, sometimes even a bit clumsy. You don't notice, though. That's because I'm doing everything I can to make sure they don't slip out of place. 

Do you always wear shirts too big for you?  Or is it that hard to find anything in the right size? I am being very careful with my big hands, undressing you as if I was handling a porcelain doll. You look like one, with those round eyes and long white hair.

I don't know why seeing the pale skin that hides beneath your clothes surprises me so much. What did I expect? It's exactly the same as it is on your face and arms, and yet… You are so beautiful. I could stare at your milky complexion for hours. It's as soft as it looks, too.

Am I in love? Or is this just a new fetish? I can't tear my eyes off of you, and I can't keep my hands to myself. They travel across your chest and torso, lower and lower… You don't seem to mind. You encourage it, actually. I pull more fabric away from your figure, and I hold your features with my weathered hands. Gorgeous thing.

You turn pink! The color suits you. The more I drag my fingers across your body, relishing the soft friction of your skin against mine, the more color blossoms on your face. Pink, almost red. The color of passion spreading across your cheeks. I want to see how red I can turn that snow-white skin. Do you like this as much as I do? I hope so. 

I'm sure you do. In fact, you beg for more. Is this a good idea? My clumsy hands are wrapped around your dainty wrists. I could snap them if I wasn't careful. I promise I'll do everything I can to be cautious. You vocalize again but don't speak. It's an assurance that I'm doing the right thing. Your whines are a pleasant melody. Music. Soft, but crescendoing. Even so, are you sure I'm not hurting you?

Your head is tilted back. When your breath shudders, your entire body trembles a bit. I can feel it. You are so...weak! Melting at the feelings I'm bestowing upon you. I have to hold your wrists still to keep you in place, and yet it only takes a fraction of my strength to do so. Even so, even with my weight against you, you refuse to falter. I think that's brave…and maybe a little stupid.

I feel it, too. Pleasure. It makes you pant and squirm beneath me. Your delicate body's reactions to it are both endearing and worrying. Are you being dramatic, or am I hurting you? I can't always tell, I've never had to read somebody so small before. You aren't unbelievably short, but accompanied with your fragile build. You seem so much smaller than you are. I'd try to be more gentle, but that only seems to vex you.

Are you an angel? Is it a sin to sleep with an angel? It doesn't matter, does it? This is already a sin, and you've done it before, countless times. I'm lying with you when I don't even think you know my name… I would like it if you did, but telling you might be inappropriate. I know how this works. Preferably, we will never see each other after tonight. Preferably for you, but not for me. 

I want to get to know you- not just your body. I want to know what makes you laugh. I only heard it briefly before undressing you, but it's just as addicting as when you whimper into my ear. You are so close to me right now, and you only get closer by nestling into me. Still, I feel like I know nothing about you! But I can't ask now, I'm not even sure if I can talk. I think if you tried, you'd barely be able to get a word out. I don't blame you, you're trembling so much.

Even if it feels awkward and unnatural at times, I'll miss it when your hand isn't in mine. I swear I'll do everything I can to make sure you are safe. I want you to be mine. God, I can't get you out of my head! Your smile. Your sweet scent. I could get drunk off of you if you'd let me... I think this is love. 

I am still terrified of you. How do I tell you all of this? How do I tell you that these few hours have been the best in my life in years? Would you believe me if I said "I love you" right now? I mean it, I promise- I… Would you even love me back?
[hr]
[u][b]Thoughts of Pascal Harper[/b][/u]

You look at me as if I'm the pervert here. I'm almost insulted. I may be a prostitute, but I keep that tucked away. Hidden behind closed doors. You're the one that came looking for it. You're the one who asked. Who's the real solicitor here?

You should really blink more, it's unnerving. The fact that you won't stop staring at me like I'm a prize makes my nose wrinkle- but you can't see that, can you? You're blinded by my white skin. Stuck in a trance to bore your eyes into me like I'm a piece of meat...and you're a starved wolf. 

I'm astounded that I ever enjoyed this. How could I have basked confidently in your gaze when you look at me like that? You're starving, I can see that oh so clearly. I'm pretty sure there's drool pooling in your mouth. You're not the only man who salivates in my presence, and you weren't the first… I doubt you'll be the last. 

I throw myself to the lions willingly. Somebody needs to feed them, eventually. That's my job. And I'm getting tired of it. I am sick of having my flesh stripped from my bones, metaphorically. The only thing actually being stripped is my clothing- and you're the one doing it. But what's the difference? Either way, I'm being pulled apart and made vulnerable. 

And for what? Money? I'm always a bit short on that… You know that. That's why you seized your chance the moment it revealed itself. I couldn't say no to that wad of cash, and you in extension, so here we are. Enjoy it while it lasts, because next time you ask I will gouge your unblinking eyes out with my bare hands.

I hate you so, so much. Be more gentle, you're going to bruise my wrists. I am not a toy, I can get hurt. There's no point in telling you this because you don't listen. You have never listened. I am convinced your brain rotted away years ago, or maybe you were born without one. Oh, to be stupid. If ignorance is bliss, your life must be incredibly happy. 

I am miserable because I am smarter than you, and also you're rusty. I know this sounds egocentric, but I'm right. I think over the past few years I have matured more. It was a strange process, but I understand now that I deserve respect- and I need to respect myself. Clearly, you will never see me as anything more than a trophy. The epitome of your desires. I'm your fetish.

You have not and most likely will not ever respect me, so why am I here? Lying with you is an insult to myself. Money. It's all for the money. I will take immense satisfaction in the fact that I was able to nearly triple my prices for you. It's the small victories. I will bleed you dry, just like how you drink my blood when you rip me apart (figuratively). This is a metaphor for something. 

I honestly can't tell who's who in this game of cat and mouse. Who has really won?  On one hand, I caved… I am willingly letting you hurt me. On the other, well, there's not much. There's the fact that you will never be able to do this again, but I don't think that's enough. Dammit! I'm not as crafty as you because I don't have some innate desire to want to emotionally harm people. Oh, you can deny it all you want, but I know you feel euphoria when somebody is under your thumb. You disgust me.

That's what's on the other hand. I can deny that feeling to you because I am not yours. I am not your plaything anymore- and even here, I can have some semblance of control. Just enough to remind you that I am not your bitch. You can cry your fake little tears and whine about how you miss me. I don't care about your feelings anymore, you know? You hold no power over me because you are worth less than trash in my eyes, and I hope you burn. Consider this a parting gift.