It was a drawing of a woman, her hair flowing in the wind, her eyes sparkling with tears. The expression captured was like ‘goodbye’ or longing. L...st? Forlorn. It kind of looked like me…a strange idea… I was wondering who did it, when I felt warmth creeping up to my cheeks because a man with long brown hair stood up. I recognized him instantly. Matt. The artist. From high school. I had no idea he was attending college here, it didn’t occur to ask all those years ago… He swaggered over to me in. I am not like these other weak willed men and women that allow another to use them for their own pleasure, to do these unspeakable things that you want. I am no one’s slave and I never will be.” You sent me off with a look of disdain that only made me more determined to have you. And to show you that in submission, you are the one with the power. That it is the person who gives themselves fully to the other that is truly in charge. How to do this became an ever invasive thought in the back of. More

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