I saw the blade. He made sure I saw the blade and how skilled he was with it, slicing through air, conducting each movement of this unheard symphony. In true it wasn’t a blade as much as a razor. A razor, an ancient artifact, straight, single purposed, deadly. He made sure I saw it as he prepared it for task. So bright, wickedly sharp, lethal. “Don’t move now or I will cut you.” He must of know that was a command I could not obey. Nerves. It touches me now, the razor, unyielding steel against tender flesh. It’s not cold. In fact there is a certain warmth. A familiar comforting sensation. I open my eyes. He smiles. The orgasm subsides. Now we can begin, again.