I want you to invade me.

I want you to own me.

I want you to have access to all my secret places–the only one who does. I want you to have access to all my rooms, just as I want you to have access to every secret passage that leads inside me.

I want to give you the keys to everything. I can't use language with you–only the raw and bloody language of pulse and breath and gasp, of animal cries, of love and violence.

I love and I hate that you reduce me to that even while I crave it.

Inside my head are many rooms, and inside these rooms I wait for you.

In one of them I’m kneeling on a stone floor for you.

In one of them I’m tied and blindfolded, bound to an enormous bed.

In another I bend over a chair with my skirt pulled up and my panties pulled down, masturbating and waiting for you.

In still others I am a whore. You stand in the doorway and wait your turn, watching with your cock in your hand, ready.

In some rooms I am waiting for you with another woman. Sometimes we tie you down.

Sometimes I only let you watch us.

In another you're on your knees for me, parting my thighs to taste me. I want to drown you.

In another I hand you the belt and mutely turn for your blows to fall on me.

In some I beg you to bite me. In still others I leave you marked and bruised.

In some you make me beg; in others I make you crawl.

In another I lie on the bed with my legs spread and my ass raised to you.

We have the never-ending geography of desire to map, a world only we inhabit in the places between. Our secret map existing in the spaces between breaths or heartbeats, but present to you in the daylight world whenever you close your eyes and remember me, let me inside your head and body for that moment.

Come to me lover, you have the keys. Open me.