I could smell him and taste him although we had never met. He had graciously allowed me to enter the blackness of his soul through words, and I felt comfortable there - like I belonged, like I had returned home after a long absence, not realizing I had been homesick for so many years.
The words he wrote to me were alive. They lived in our minds and stoked the passion within our bodies - a passion we could not realize by touch though it seemed to grow stronger with every passing minute, every long day.
When I saw him in my mind I could feel his hands on my body - fingers probing, finding the wetness which was always present, "His" wetness, "His" power. I was possessed, torn apart by longing - life was tortuous, unbearable. The thought of never being owned by him, made to do his bidding, filled me with a melancholy. A deep, dark sadness that surged in my soul and made everything seem gray....so gray.