Taming Gregory

Laney is fragile, petite, and all the things I am not. If I am a woman, then Laney is a girl. If I am a lioness, queen of the pride, then Laney is a youngling, a new mate that Gregory is bringing back for my approval, a companion for him but no threat to me. Her skin is a blank slate compared to my tribal ink, my piercings. I want to watch him with her, but I leave them alone together. She lasts a few months with my blessing, then runs away. He runs after her a few times, keeps bringing her back.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not jealous, but I am envious. I sometimes wonder if anyone will ever run after me like that. But I don’t see him as mine, except that he is mine to share, for now, and I‘m feeling generous. I write her a letter welcoming her into our lives. It confuses her – I think I scare her. I love him but I want him to feel free. For me there is no other kind of love.

It doesn’t last. Laney is the kind of girl that Gregory could bring home to his parents, but he is not the kind of boy Laney could bring home to hers. Weeping, she leaves him to me, and he cries in my arms. My poor baby.

He tells me he loves me.

He tells me he loves me, and I tell him I love him too, but we mean such different things. He doesn’t love easily. He has only said “I love you,” to a few - but I love so many, and so freely. He offers to be mine. I turn him down, although I adore him. He wants to be mine because he wants to truly belong - to someone. But I sense it’s not meant to be me. I couldn’t love someone who caged me - how can I cage someone I love? Even if is their dearest wish?

For my birthday he gives himself to me, gift wraps himself in satin sheets and silk ribbons. He ties his wrists and ankles to the corners of our bed and falls asleep that way, so I will find him there when I come home, and I do.

Surprised, amused, delighted - I unwrap him, kneel between his spread legs, kiss him. I wrap my arms around him, rest my cheek against the fine hairs on his chest, listen to his heartbeat. I feel his cock stir against me and kiss my way down his stomach, letting my hair trail across his skin. As he starts to wake up, I take the leather bracelet from my wrist and wrap it around his balls and his cock in a tight grip. The sound of the snap securing the leather strap wakes him up fully and he moans.

I pet his soft pubic hair, dip my fingers in the scented oil we keep by the bed, stroke and tease his rising cock, listening to his plaintive sounds. He sighs and mews to me like a cat - wordlessly surrendering to my touch and begging me for more.

When he is ready, I straddle him, slide him into me, listen to him gasp. The cock ring makes him so hard and so sensitive - he fills me and I ride him slowly, grinding luxuriously against him until I feel my orgasm surging up through me, warming me and opening my heart. I kiss his soft mouth, lick and bite his neck to make him come with me. I love how loud he is, love listening to him cry out with the intensity of his orgasm, love feeling him arch and twist under me, pulling hard against the restraints. When he finally relaxes, I untie him. I hold him and we whisper affectionately, laugh with each other, fall asleep together. I love him so much.

He is a gift, but I can't keep him. From the beginning, I gave him my blessing to chase girls like Laney, or to look for someone who will keep him forever if that’s what his heart desires.

Was I wrong to go about it this way? I saw something pure inside him that I wanted to set loose in the world. Something uncomplicated, savage, joyful. He loves every woman he sees and wants to fuck them. Someone told him that was wrong and for a long time he believed it, but I find it beautiful, primal, archetypal.

I see women differently now. I see them through his eyes, what makes one more desirable, more fuckable than another, but in truth he wants them all. They draw his attention the way he draws mine, and he can’t stop looking, can’t stop wanting. His ex-girlfriend didn’t like the way he always wanted sex, but once, when Gregory and I were in bed, she called to tell him she forgave him. She forgave him for his constant need and his inability to express love any other way.

I communicate with him in the language he understands; sensation, pleasure, pain. Once we tried to spend an hour without touching. After twenty minutes of stilted conversation I ran my hand from the base of his spine to the back of his neck, watched him shudder with relief at being touched. I pulled him close to me and held him for a long time. I won’t try that experiment again.

So, when the end comes, it will be final. We won’t be friends. How would we be able to be friends who just meet in cafés, hang out and talk? The only times we have done this is when we are girl-watching; he’s still looking for his mate, and I enjoy indulging him. I know the kind of woman he likes, and I know the kind of woman she will be; someone self-assured, beautiful, and above all, possessive. She will make him feel that he belongs to her, that he needs her but also that she needs him, and she will tame him. She may still share him, but she will truly own him.

That is the one thing I cannot do for him; Gregory is my beloved wild child - my untamed panther. How could he ever belong to me? When the day comes, I will have to let him go, and I know I will. It is the best way I have to show him that I love him.