Bought items from Paperchase today. A new notebook and some postcards. Have developed overpowering penchant for stationary and devastating footwear.
Started reading Belle de Jour’s first book again. She describes a brief affair with a gentleman called W. Their encounters were violent and she couldn’t imagine any kind of enduring romantic relationship with him. Am forcibly reminded of sir.
There was only the moment when his hand would stop stroking my cheek and I knew the smack was coming; the first hard impact of his palm against the side of my face; the eye-wetting sting of pain; the warm glow of heat there afterwards. It was perhaps the only time when there was nothing else in my head. It hurt, but the pain was neutral: there was no hate or disgust behind it. It was pure and exhilarating, like any other physical experience.
I’ve dropped the capital letter from sir’s name. He is no longer my dominant but I can’t stand the idea of referring to him by his real name. That person is my friend, and through all this nonsense, still exists on the periphery of my life. I haven’t quite lost him, just Sir.