Own Me Completely

“I want to make you feel good in ways you can’t even imagine.”

8 min readAug 3, 2017

I stand above this man lying on a well worn couch. The upholstery is torn in certain places and my hands work absentmindedly. I take in his body and my heart lurches in my chest. There’s scars on his back, deeply cut into the skin. My fingers glide over the edges of old wounds that have healed, but just barely.

“The scars on my back are from when I was in the war. Someone blew a bomb and the scrap metal cut through me.”

It’s like he read my mind, and I pause briefly with my work. I suck in my breath and I want to touch the scars softly. Like a lover that realizes this body they desired has such a history under their skin.

I don’t want to express sympathy, because it might be taken as pity. I know he’s a proud man, just as I’m an extremely proud woman. I hate when people get soft around me because of what I’ve been through. I know they mean nothing by their kindness, or the ‘I’m sorry’ they say, but it doesn’t make this memory vanish.

It only reminds me how fucked up I truly am. They aren’t saying the words, but I’m reminded how people don’t experience what I’ve been put through. It’s my burden to bear silently.

“I can’t even imagine…” my voice trails off.

I keep massaging him as I fall into a silence. He talks sweetly to his dog and pets her. I notice how he’s so gentle with animals and then try to imagine him within a war zone.

My eyes trace and memorize the scars on his back. I wonder how many women he’s been with and they’ve commented on it. Or, even worse, pretend they don’t exist. Do they try to think that this man doesn’t have the duality that he does?

A soldier in one respect, a deeply kind, endless animal lover in another mask. A world traveler who loves Japan and their culture. A man I’d nickname the Professor on top of the Unicorn man because of his intelligence. A proud, self proclaimed nerd and geek who fully embraces that.

An oddball, a unique snowflake of a human being that doesn’t fit into society. And he doesn’t have a need to… just like I don’t.

I realize with seeing his physical scars my stomach lurches in response. And, with a sinking, terrible flash of a feeling I know I like him. I’ve seen a glimpse of him but what I’ve seen, our conversations, he’s one of the most complex human beings I’ve ever met.

My hands try to work on his arm that is petting his dog. The muscles tense under my fingertips and I want them relaxed.

“Alright, you, give me your arm,” I command.

“Okay, you can have it,” he says with a laugh. He lets it go limp and I work into the connection site for the pectoral muscle. His breath catches and he forces his head against a cushion.

“A little surprised by my pressure, or not really?” I ask him.

“I knew you’d be strong, but it is surprising what you can do,” he says.

I see the small smile on his face and how his eyes look back at me. I cast my eyes down to avoid his gaze.

“You should see when I actually have a table to work on. I’m half strength right now.”

“Oh, I bet, I can tell you’re holding back.”

I wonder if his powerful intuition can tell how much I’m holding back. I bite my lip to reframe from hopping onto him. I hear myself commanding him to flip over onto his back. He complies and I immediately kick myself. I don’t want him to have the ability to look at me and I keep my gaze away from him.

It’s so tempting to look at his face. I work on his arms and I feel him staring at me. I want to work on his neck.

“You can straddle me if that’s easier to work,” he says.

His voice is so honest, straight laced. I make the mistake of looking at him directly in the face. And, my self control ebbs away as my hands pause with their work.

I want to be on top of him. Right now. I find myself carefully straddling him as I face him fully. His body fits perfectly between my powerful thighs. I’m tempted to give his torso a squeeze. His erection is felt as it presses into the side of my leg that straddles him.

We stare at each other and I remember to continue massaging him. My fingers slide up into his neck on both sides.

They find the occipital bone and work into it. I gently move down his neck and spin my fingertips in circles. His eyes are beautiful in this position, and I try to steady my breathing.

I wonder if he can see my eyes change colors right now. I’ve been told the edges around my pupil are red. They are a mixture of green, blue, with tinged of brown and red circling the edges of my pupil. I feel like looking into my eyes, really seeing their color sheds the armor I wear. It’s why I love wearing glasses since they cover the windows to my soul.

“I like your eyes. You know mine actually change color with my mood and whatever shirt I wear.”

He stares at my face fully. Like he’s meant to do for a long time but he’s reframed from it. Or, maybe I just didn’t allow him in case he saw something terrible in their hazel depths.

That he would see the broken edges I try to glue together. I wanted to save him from falling into them, continuously. There is this confidence I portray that isn’t a lie, but isn’t the full truth either. I’m afraid he’ll see the little girl who was bullied so endlessly she doesn’t trust a kind word ever said to her.

The woman who is so scared of connecting with others that she hides in plain sight. That I don’t know why I’m here with him and it goes against every fiber of my sanity.

“All of my brothers have green eyes. It’s really striking, but I like my brown eyes.”

“Why’s that?”

“I like blending in with things. I don’t like bringing attention to myself, it’s not good for my job.”

We continue to stare at each other with that disarmed, vulnerable gaze. My fingers knead the muscles in his scalp. He makes soft mumbles of appreciation and a grin grows on my face. There’s this sigh he releases and he leans into my fingertips in a sort of silent surrender.

“This is my kryptonite, the head, oh. And yours too from what I could discern from working on you.”

He whispers softly in a tone that edges with desire. I bite my lip and drag my fingertips down his temples.

I want desperately to kiss him. Everything within me fights against this desire. I tell myself I don’t kiss anyone on the lips, ever. It might be the key to falling for someone and I don’t need that shit in my life.

My hands cradle his head on either side. I put equal pressure on his scalp in the way I love. His breath escapes his lips in an appreciative sigh. Hearing his noises sets off a need deep within my core. It’s this slithering sensation happening within my gut that travels in between my legs.

He opens his eyes and I see a dominant glimmer in their depths. And a deep need that’s suddenly realized.

“With you making me feel good I want to do the same to you,” he says.

He stares at me in a way that has taken on a deeply turned on edge. I know that I’ve stepped over a line for us that was clearly marked do not cross without consequences. He runs his fingers through my hair and I close my eyes. He pulls my hair and I let out a gasp.

“I’m going to kiss your neck.”

He informs me, and my body abides to his command. His lips find my neck and my controlling side kicks in. I squeal and try to pull against his hold. He holds me fast as his lips find my heated skin and he kisses me gently.

It feels like electricity to have his full lips on my sensitive, starved skin. I haven’t let many, if any, people close enough to touch me, let alone kiss one of my most sensitive areas.

I’ve had orgasms just having a man breathe into my ear. My back spasms in response and this is the only area I’m still ticklish in. It’s delicious and terrible torture all in one.

His lips move to my ears as if reading my thoughts. He grasps my tiny ear lobe in a light kiss. My mind silently requests him to bite it and I come back to myself. I’m losing control of the situation and I don’t need to give into my desires.

My body bolts up from the position he forced me into. He laughs and I pout at him as my hands shift to my hips.

“And you fight me even though I told you what I’d do.”

“You don’t need to make me feel good. This is about you,” I say in a soft grumble.

His head tilts to the side with a sudden revelation. It lights up his face with this stunning, deliriously sexy smirk.

“You’ve never had anyone focus on you before, have you? You’ve never had a man just want you to feel good, have you?”

“Not really, I guess,” I admit.

My face heats up in that familiarly frustrating sensation of embarrassment. He touches my bare shoulders and his fingers run through my hair again. There’s the unmistakably hot sensation of him pulling my hair again to do what he wants with my head. My neck is pulled close to his lips and he continues kissing the skin.

I comply to his commands and I want him to own me absolutely and completely. A moan releases from my lips that I can’t control. I submit to him in this moment and I wonder what he has in store for me.




I'm unapologetically me with a hard edged view of life. I love to travel and have crazy amounts of fun spaced between quiet moments.