The roles we defend

in this space, we are light with liberation. masks slip off, left abandoned at the doorway-- there is no place for such fancy dresses here. the truths we keep buried 5 days a week lie naked, empowered as they become focal points of conversatinon. pvc glistens as excitement intensifies, our words trailing around pleasure, pain and depravity like they were nothing but small talk. leather garters hug my bare hips and thighs. i'd be deemed as outrageously dressed if i were standing outside in such an emsemble, but here norms undergo a paradigm shift. someone hands me a cane and instinct kicks in just like how i wielded it for the first time. nature or nurture? doesn't matter, i bring it down swiftly upon a pristine ass, one, two, three, four, five times until he jovially proclaims defeat. angry red marks bloom across where rattan has kissed flesh, perfectly parallel. 'woah roxy, not bad at all,' his lips pull a wince into a smile. 'i'm not much of a painslut but i'm just curious to be caned by you.' jute ropes are passed around and i marvel at how they're bound differently from how i normally store them away. the shine of thigh high boots and latex outlining the curves of my companions glint as we banter and laugh at the incredulousness of our personal encounters. but there is no shame here, only the mutual understanding of our unique sentiments and misadventures. funny how we're all vulnerable here but there's still a part of us locked away by pseudonyms, protective gear for the roles we fall into for the most part of our lives.

written for my dear friends haze, vexa, lexi, forsaken and chris.