Even though I’ve been fucking for years, I’m new to my sexuality. Like a child discovering candy, I want to sample each sweet tidbit offered to me. Jay has been patient with me as I explore, showing me how to embrace my deeper self without the fear and shame that’s been holding me back for so long. Jay had approached this new question gently, knowing about my abusive past. It took me a few months to think about it, but now I feel ready.
He opens a drawer to reveal a small ornate knife with a twisty silver blade. “It’s pretty,” I say as he hands it to me to inspect. “It’s custom made, I only ever use it for this purpose,” he explains. The knife is heavy and sharp, it’s no toy. My stomach knots. He won’t hurt me on purpose, I know that. I have to know that and believe it. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks. I pause, then nod.
Jay kisses my forehead then dims the lights. We both undress. Even though the room is warm, I’m covered in goosebumps. “Get completely comfortable, do all your wiggling now,” he instructs as I position myself on my stomach. “Once I start, you absolutely cannot move, or I’ll end up cutting you,” he reminds me. “If you really need to move or want me to stop, just say so.”
I wiggle and scratch, trying to still myself. I feel carbonated, like I’m covered in little nervous bubbles. Jay straddles me, his weight comfortable on my upper thighs. The heat of his body ripples through me like warm water. I feel him breathe deep and I try to match it. I push a burst of panic down. As he touches my back with his hand, I jump. I’m glad he didn’t start with the knife, then I realize that was the point. Jay lays the knife down between my shoulders then rubs my back slowly until the tension drifts away.
“Here we go,” he whispers. I hold my breath.
The tip of the blade touches between my shoulders. I expect it to be cold, but it isn’t. Jay traces the knife in a line following my spine, then curves wide to the left. “It’s a pattern,” he says quietly, as if he can hear my question. I feel him concentrate and settle more deeply into my thighs. As the knife travels across my back, the pattern feels ornate and prescribed. Once he reaches the top of my back again, I realize he was just starting me out easy. With the next pass, the pressure increases. I gasp. “It’s not breaking the skin, it only feels like it,” he explains, “but if you move, it really will cut you. It’s on you. It’s about your self-discipline now. Concentrate.”
The blade hurts, no question. It’s like being drawn on with a pencil made of white heat. I try to keep my brain still, to join this like the meditation it is for Jay. “Shhhh…” is all he says. The knife starts again, following the same path over and over. In my head, I start to trace the pattern along with him. Up, over, down, curve, up…
The room is hot, my skin is hot, the knife is hot, Jay’s body is hot. I feel like we’re in a fever together. It takes all of my concentration to not move. I breathe as slow as I can as the knife repeats the dance over and over. Jay’s gone, the whole world has been reduced to the knife tracing my flesh. I start to relax into it, welcome it. The pain becomes a lullaby.
I feel Jay become hard against me, but the knife never wavers from its course. I want to open up to receive him, but I don’t dare move, not even a twitch. Jay is fully erect, his hard tip resting against my entrance. A razor line of electricity shoots through me. I channel it all to my brain, where it can roam free and wild. The energy in the room has changed, a unmoving frenzy as Jay and I engage in this silent dance. His singular concentration on the knife is unwavering, the intensity travels through both of us, meeting in the knife and exploding into the air.
I want to rip open against it, to feel it plunge through my skin and release me. Drops of his sweat splatter like a soft rain against my body. I’m aware of every molecule in the room, everything is magnified to a brilliant clarity. Quickly and without warning my thoughts turn dark. Every bad thing that’s ever happened to me suddenly surfaces, churning black at the surface. I realize the pillow is soaked with my tears. “Let it out,” Jay whispers. We ride my dark wave together for a long time until it finally burns away and I feel myself coming back to life.
Jay presses the knife deeper still. I can feel the tension of the tip and the skin wanting to yield, to break open once and for all. He slows the tracing to half speed. It’s so slow, so deep. I feel raw and exposed, but I remain immobile, my body suspended in a heavy trance. Jay stiffens again, a new electricity spreads from him to me through the knife. Our wanting fills the room, becomes frantic, swallows us whole.
Jay traces one last time with an delicious, deliberate slowness. The pain blooms, travels down my spine, rests heavy between my legs. Jay starts to tremble against my thighs, breathing hard. I can feel his concentration as he guides the sharp edge up to complete the journey. The moment hangs an eternity, then in one swift motion, Jay lifts the knife and slides himself into me. He falls onto my back, his sweat and salt burn me like a million little liquid flames. I arch back hard, pushing into him, absorbing him through my skin and my breath.