A little something from last weekend. To tide you over whilst I recover from a very dull cold. Apologies to anyone I sneezed on at the very busy U35 munch yesterday.
Sound of the rain. It's a recording, loud and without interruption, a little touch of white noise. But softer, wrapping around me and making me warm, safe and soft inside. The sound of the rain has always had an eroticism to it for me, I don't know why. I am sheltered from the storm, immobile, waiting.
My world is black and tiny. Just the space between my eyes, less than a dot in a universe I cannot see but only imagine. A heavy black latex bag encases me, lying flat on my back on a bench, secured with endless loops of firmly tied rope. I'm breathing deep and slow through a tube that extends, elsewhere, into that uncertain non-existance which is everything outside my shrinking field of experience. With each breath I feel as if I'm dropping further backwards. Deep sea diver, into an inky, thick liquid world which is three layers and counting: the plastic against my skin, my body, my mind. I feel like I'm shrinking. Dropping away. It's beautiful.
I'm still in the doll suit. My plastic skin is smooth and pure, pristine. And invisible. I am a gift wrapped for transport, a toy put away. A dirty secret hidden from prying eyes. A private matter.
He kisses my forehead, through the plastic on plastic so his lips are just an impression in my mind: "Goodnight"
A door clicks shut. I don't know whether he is still watching, or what he could see of me. Something black, the centre rising and falling under the press of the rope.
When he unpacks me later, which can only have been a short while, I have all but forgotten myself. In perfect contentment, curling up, naked having sloughed off my many skins, head pressed against his shoulder, arms around his waist for some sort of support.
I'm blank, but fulfilled. Full of warm nothing but full nonetheless.