Last week Rebecca received a gift from her Master. Does she finally open it? And what actually happened between them that night? Check out the latest entry from Rebecca’s Lost Journals.

Read the first, second and third entry from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals to catch up with her romance. Don’t forget to check back in next week, as Hypable will be running weekly entries from Rebecca’s Lost Journals, which are featured in her Inside Out series, until Valentine’s Day.

Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals: Dream Man Part Four

June 2011
Monday eleven pm

The gift he gave me is still sitting on the kitchen table unopened while I’m alone in my bed, writing this. I suppose most people would be going crazy, wanting to know what is inside the package. I suppose too that I’m really not different than most people. I do want to know what’s inside it. I simply dread what it might be more. Besides, I’ve never been big on gifts, but then, I’ve never had anyone to give me gifts, at least, not before him. My mother wanted to give me gifts. She wanted a lot of things that she never found, and I think her cigarettes became her drug of choice and as we all know, drugs kill, and her drug killed her. But they were the one joy she had in life. He’s my drug.

The problem though is that the first gift he ever gave me was a beautiful ring with a stunning rose on top of it. A ring I was to put on only if I signed the agreement to be his submissive. A ring I wore for two months and gave back to him when that role no longer suited me. Every gift he gave me since then was during that submissive period, and tied directly to something we’d shared when I was in that role. But I wasn’t his submissive Friday night. And he wasn’t the master he’d once been to me. Oh don’t get me wrong. He was sin, sex, and powerful, as I always expect from him, but the man beneath the master, I’d seen glimpses of in the past was there with me. And as I wrote before, I’d sworn not to have sex with him, but that didn’t work out.

Really though, considering how it happened. I don’t regret it. I regret nothing about that night. I’d opened the door and I’d been overwhelmed by not just the force of his presence but the way he’d looked at me, emotion he doesn’t allow anyone to see in his eyes. “Torment” is the word that had come to my mind. Wordless, I’d stepped into the hallway outside my apartment and before I could shut the door, he’d done the unthinkable. After he’d breathed out my name, he’d pulled me to him and kissed me, deeply, passionately, intensely. This is not a man who does such a thing. He builds tension. He makes you crave him and the kiss that might not ever come, even if his mouth finds it’s way to intimate parts of your body, which most assuredly it always did mine. But no. That night he just kissed me. And then there was this explosion of uncontrolled passion between us, that he has never allowed.

One minute we were in the hallway, and the next we are ripping off each others clothes – yes, he let me help him undress, which he never allows. He lets me touch him. And then we’re on my couch. I’m on top of him, and we are just crazy wild making love. Or having sex. I don’t know what it was. It was nothing I’d ever experienced in my life. I just know that there was this moment, where he twined fingers in my hair, and said, “I missed you,” that stole every breath I’ve ever owned. I know that sounds small, but it is not with him. Wild, crazy sex, and admissions of missing someone, missing me, does not fit the master I know. Nor does the desperation I’d tasted in his kisses.

And when it was over, he’d held me for long minutes, like he didn’t want to let me go, until finally he’d rolled me to my back and declared, “Don’t move,” and he walked to my bathroom and returning with a towel before, in all his naked glory, and let me tell you, that man naked is all about glory, he brings me my clothes. “I owe you dinner,” he said. “If you still want to go?”

“Of course I want to go,” I’d replied.

Approval had lit his eyes and I cannot explain how that look affects me, and even arouses me. I shouldn’t need a man’s approval, of course, but it’s really not about that. In that moment, I’d remembered how intensely erotic, and addictive being owned by this man can be. I’d almost changed my mind about dinner out of fear that this was headed right back where we’d once been: master and submissive. And I’d feared I couldn’t say no.

But I just couldn’t say goodbye right then. Not when he’d just told me he’d missed me but after we’d dressed, and headed to the car, I remember holding my breath, after asking, “Where are we going?” afraid it would be some familiar spot that would stir more of those old feelings.

He’d surprised me though, and opened my car door, to announce, “Someplace new. Someplace you pick.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

And since as my master he always chose, I knew this was him telling me, he was really trying to give us a new future. “There’s this hole in the wall Italian place,” I said. “I love it and I want to go there.”
“Then we’ll go there,” he’d said.

And so we went to dinner, and while we didn’t share deep, dark secrets, we’d talked about art, which we both love, for hours. While true, even as his submissive, I’d shared dinners and conversation, with him, and there was always a bond between us, it felt different. Maybe because we’d had that passionate explosion that started the night. Maybe because at the end of the night he’d taken me home and kissed me on my doorstep, before leaving with a promise I’ll never forget. He’d held me close, his lips near my ear, as he’d said, “If I don’t leave now, I’ll do things a proper gentleman would not do to you.” He’d turned then and left me tormented. Because you see, I do not want him to be a proper gentleman. I just don’t want him to be my master.

And that brings me back to the package, that I fear is an invitation to be his submissive again.

Tuesday 7 am

I woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. I’d had the nightmare again only this time I wasn’t in the icy bay water. I was on that trolley, racing toward the plunge that never happened, dreading it. Fearing it. If dreams have meanings to me this one was about the package I haven’t opened. It was telling me that dread and fear, feels as horrible as an unpleasant outcome we don’t want to be real. And you see, fear is what kept me ever entering the art world, where pay tends to be low, and dreams high. But I’ve made it work. Because I got over the fear. I don’t ever want to live my life in fear again.
So I opened the package, and inside was the ring he’d given me as his submissive, but the note inside, stunned me:

Rebecca,
It belongs to you, the way you once belonged to me.
That is all the note says. He does not even sign it. And I don’t know what it means. I just know that as much as I love that ring, I’m not ready to put it back on my finger. Because you see, I fear losing him. I do. I’d admit that to no one but myself. But I fear losing me more than I do him and I was losing me as his submissive. So I put it on a chain around my neck. It’s a message to him. He can have me but this time, it’s on my terms.