February 22, 2022 

Original work from Sossity Chiricuzio

Spoons and knives 

I welcome you into my crip boudoir. Soft sheets and fuzzy blankets and piles of pillows for propping and cradling and lifting. For sore joints and hungry mouths. A padded bench at the foot of the bed and plenty of water on hand. The lube keeps company with CBD oil and the sex toys nestle against the CPAP. 

I’ve learned new ways to move. How sexy patience can be. How to make the most of the spoons I have, and the knives they give way to. Flipping gravity from burden to bondage. Indulging in sessions that take days instead of hours. Anticipation building all week in banter, kisses, and caresses that linger. The promise of Saturday on the tongue of Wednesday. 

Bent over my bed, you shiver under my nails, filed smooth but not entirely short. Carefully weighted, my flogger is kind to my shoulder while cruel to you, though my teeth remain my favorite implement when my jaw consents. Pink lines and indentations like a road map. Leading me to where you want to go. 

You spread yourself, a feast, between my legs. I grip your ankles, raise my eyebrow. You slide all your tender secrets closer. I lay my gaze upon your skin and watch you tremble. Submitting to my pace. Forbidden to look away from my face. My clever fingers, my aching wrist, the strength and flares in my bicep conspire to dismantle the dam and set your flood free.   

We take a moment to breathe together. Electric candles flickering the ceiling with no cost of migraine, the only scents our tangled musk and pheromones. You cuddle into my left shoulder, avoid pressing on my hip. Trail kisses soft along my neck between whispers of all the beauty that you so clearly see. Loving the grace and falter equally. 

My pain lives at yellow but desire flares it to green when you grip this complicated sacred flesh in your hands.  I let myself go, knowing you balance sadism with wisdom. The bed is sometimes crowded with ghosts of what I used to be able to give, and take. We all negotiate and commiserate while you fuck me sweet and mean. To tears of release and respite. 

Deep thudding blows to anchor me. Sharp slaps to make me fly. Twisting deep, my heartbeat in your fist. Wordless song pouring from a throat that remembers only the rhythm. The bass line and vibrato. You have deciphered the language of the drawn-out sibilance, the quick flutter or grip of my hand on your shoulder. You know all the syllables spell your name.