Courtship works in different ways for different folks. Harold and I took our time, flirting heavily and making out at parties for years, but when we finally decided to go to bed together it was serious. The first time was exploratory. I naively asked why we would need four hours to make love. The second time was wild and raw. We were animals together, no words, just rutting and frolicking. But the third time was magic – in the forest, in the moonlight, with a very sharp knife.
The moon hung low, radiant and swollen with desire, embraced in the naked limbs of the trees. My blood raced as I contemplated my plans for the evening. In the warm air, I felt the moon calling me like a siren to come swim, the water’s fine. And it was. Bathed in moonlight, Harold and I stood at the crossroads.
I took his hands, noticing his tidy nails, strong slender fingers, and finely furred forearms. The sleeves of his red button-down shirt were rolled up to the elbow. I’d asked him to wear something old. I didn’t know then that he’d chosen a shirt that had been his father’s, dark red for passion and blood. I looked at him for a long moment, feeling the power of possibility.
“Do you trust me?” I breathed into his ear.
He didn’t even hesitate, although he had no idea what to expect, “I trust you completely. I give myself to you.” Maybe he had some idea of what to expect. He knew me.
I laughed softly, “It might be dangerous.”
I filled my lungs and slowly exhaled, grounding some of my nerves, but I still felt dizzy with desire. I wanted to do this right. I pulled a silver knife from my pocket and let him see it. The razor-sharp blade was about as long as my hand, the hilt wrapped in red leather. It glinted in the moon’s fierce light.
“Is this ok?” I asked him softly. Taking his nod for consent, I cut a long strip from the bottom of his shirt and blindfolded him with it. The simple act carried an aura of rightness, yet I felt awkward. Unsure of where to put the knife, I momentarily held it between my teeth like a pirate.
Ignoring the slight tremor in my hands, I proceeded as though I knew what I was doing. I slid my blade into the gap in the front of the shirt and sliced through the thread holding onto each button. I slipped around him, letting my breasts brush against his arm and my breath caress the back of his neck. I thrust into the fabric, divesting him of his protective layers with a flick of my wrist. We both knew I was removing more than a simple shirt.
He stood before me, bare to his soul. The moon wrapped the gift of his vulnerability in glowing shadow-light. Needing to feel his skin, I shed my own clothes. My nipples hardened against his chest. He was breathing faster than normal when I pressed my lips to his, and although it took him half a second to respond, his embrace was ardent. I hoped that, like me, he felt the danger and the magic of the moment. His body was taut with expectation.
“I have you, “ I told him, touching his chest softly, “I can hurt you and I can heal you.”
I pulled the dull edge of my knife gently across his back, knowing that the weight of the blade would still feel intense in this state of arousal. I made pass after pass, never really breaking his skin, creating a web of lines across his back. He stayed relaxed under my hand, but I could feel that he was achingly present, waiting for the next stroke.
I paused, knife extended. I wanted him so hard. Everything about him turned me on. I had not known that sharing trust like this would be so hot. His utter faith laid me open. I pulled the cloth from his eyes. With a steady hand and an indrawn breath, I let the keen edge penetrate his flesh. I exhaled. Small dots of blood beaded along the lines I had drawn, forming a heart that glistened in the serious moonlight.
It was a night of surrender and bonds were formed. I know we must have had amazing sex, but I don’t remember the specifics. Isn’t that funny? It was an incredible night, and all of the many nights since then haven’t changed the fact that at the core of our relationship, Harold and I, we are still standing in the woods, under that moon, with a very sharp knife.