It was a walk. Just two lovers going for a walk across the fields at sunset, the sky clear and fading from blue. There was no real plan there at all, and yet I chose the path knowing where it would lead.
As we crossed the corn field we first saw the moon. Huge and red it peeked over the horizon. Still only half a disc, resting between the trees.
We walked on slowly as it rose to become a full circle of light and we reached the tree where I had whipped my boy before, where the switch I had cut still rested against the trunk.
We stopped there, and Mat stripped naked and stood clutching at the rough bark, as I whipped his ass. I was not gentle with him. He threw his head back as he cried out, and I heard the pain of it, but it was not enough.
He trembled in the night air as I held him in my arms. My naked boy kneeling at my feet in the long grass. We watched the moon above us, and both knew we were not finished there.
He stood then in the open. Watching the moon, arms wrapped around his shoulders. I stood behind him, with the switch in my hand and love in my heart.
“I love you” I breathed deeply, and I struck him hard.
His body twisted with the blow, “I love you” he cried, the pain audible in his voice.
Again and again the blows fell, each stroke an act of torture, yet an explicitly avowed act of love. I wondered that I did not cry myself, at the intensity of the passion raging between us, but my eyes were dry as I poured my soul into the moment. I continued until the switch broke, its purpose finally fulfilled.
We returned home then, closer than we had ever been, more deeply connected than before.
The memory of that walk is powerful. I am awed by the immensity of what we did there. Overwhelmed by what Mat did with me, for me.
His whole heart was given in that moment, his love and devotion made real in that deep act of submission.
And for that love, expressed so beautifully under the full moon, what can I possibly give in return?
My love is the least of it.