I was confident that I could compartmentalize tonight – quarantine things from others. I was sure I would have a good time with you, knowing what this is for you and what it is for me. I know you’re a respectful, lovely person and I know you care about me. I don’t think you’d ever do anything to humiliate or belittle me and you’d never do anything to hurt me.

I shaved my legs. I wore a short, tight dress. I put on my heels, red lipstick and a smile. I saw how affected you were when you entered my apartment and I was validated. You looked incredible and I wanted to tell you just how much. Instead I ate my complimentary words in some attempt to retain control over the situation. Like you’re some situation. How absurd. I think my eyes betrayed me regardless of my silence.

I thought I was doing a pretty good job of keeping things under control. Then your hand was under the table, holding my heel in your palm. It surprised me and I had to suppress the sharp intake of breath the action had caused.

I regained some distance and we entered the cinema. The chairs were the special, bucket kind. The sort that affords theatre goers a lot of personal space. You remarked on this and it still didn’t occur to me that physical contact between us in public was something you wanted. I had assumed that any touching between us couldn’t possibly be loving and that’s what I thought that was. If it’s behind closed doors, at home, then it is in the realm of sensual touch and that I could handle.

Your hand caressed the inside of my wrist. It was electric, here, in this crowded cinema, with the sound of ice cream wrappers and popcorn being chomped by oblivious strangers. You whispered in my ear: “I love this part of you, right here”. I melted.

How could I possibly hold myself together when such words of endearment echo in my mind? You didn’t say those words in an animalistic way. You said them because you legitimately enjoy that small, soft part of my body. That you could notice little things like this about me and so unashamedly share your joy about those pieces of me, is truly heartwarming to me.

How do you enjoy me so, but still find it easy to feel comfortable saying this is the limit – right here – this is where it ends? This is the box you fit in and this is the box I fit in? How? I’m not box shaped and neither are you.