Lying full-length and face down on the couch, I submitted myself to his attentions.
‘Don’t worry, Daddy’s got you,’ hung in the air as I cringed at the inappropriateness of the sentiment.
But, over the months, we have built up an extraordinary level of trust.
I know that whatever he does, I will feel better in the long run.
And so, I allow myself to be taken to the extremes of pain and back to the joy of release.
Strong hands gliding over my body, he has begun to know each muscle like an old friend. Which ones reflect the tension and strains of my life and which respond best to force or gentle persuasion.
So, at the height of my discomfort, as I alternate between trying to breathe through the agony and cussing him furiously for his the determined pressure of his elbow in my pert derriere, he whispers:
“Is it safe?”
With a sharp inhale of breath as the image of Dustin Hoffman with Laurence Olivier’s dentist’s drill forcing its way into his front tooth sears through my brain, I acknowledge his playfulness and join in the game.
Finally, exhaling the ‘Yes, it’s safe‘ as I feel the muscle relax beneath the force of his treatment, allowing him to release his weight.
This man will heal my body just as surely as Ruf has reshaped my mind.
And the knowledge of his attraction to my physical form only reinforces the security of the bargain.