Trust

I felt your cold hands on my face as you blindfolded me.

I felt your sultry breath on my neck as you stood so close behind me.

Don't move.

Don't speak.

Just stand.

And give yourself to me.

You instructed.

"You can trust me" you spoke softly.

I felt your cold fingers lingering on my back as you leisurely unzipped my dress

Your satisfaction as my black dress fell onto the ground,

and the hairs on my body stood erect is undeniable.

I can feel your heart beat rapidly with desire,

ready to explode right out of your chest

"You can trust me" you spoke softly.

I felt an unfamiliar brush on my collarbone,

moist and cold.

The scent of paint filled the air

I could barely grasp my breath with the air so thick.

But I knew that I was ready.

Ready to take what you give.

Ready to give myself to you.

My senses heightened,

ready to succumb to every stroke of paint

you smear onto my exposed body.

With my skin as your canvas,

you painted.

Yes, I'm blindfolded, but I saw with every curve,

every line,

and every stroke you ran across your canvas.

I saw a painting so vivid;

a painting that gave rise to all my senses.

I glimpsed the sun creeping through our window,

assuring me that with you,

every morning is a bright morning.

I embraced the aroma of freshly brewed coffee,

with a hint of you.

I savored the sweet raspberries on your soft lips,

the raspberries you knew I loved,

the ones you handpicked from our backyard.

I sensed your breath as you whispered your indulging words into my ear.

I caught your husky voice calling out my name.

With every gentle stroke,

the painting became more vibrant,

more alive.

I saw a painting that is

breathtaking,

heart stopping.

It started with a passionate streak.

So gracefully, you coated the surface of my skin

with paint that I can easily wash away.

But you dug in deeper and deeper.

Your brush turned into a sharp knife.

A knife that you used

to carve in the painting you wanted me to see.

I saw a painting that is

breathtaking,

heart stopping.

How could it not be,

when my blood was the paint you needed

to carve your lies onto my body.

"You can trust me" you spoke softly.

I did.

And I wish I hadn't.