Who wouldn't want a good girl, a soft hand,
A gentle woman for a gentleman?
He said, "It's been fine so far but after a while
I want more than a soft style.
I want some slashes
To go with those long eyelashes. "
And so the bedroom became the black room
But a year later he wanted something more,
Something I wasn't quite prepared for.
He said, "Every woman has an itch
And every nice girl secretly wants to switch. "
"I like how the skins look on your white hands.
I'd like you to deliver one of my demands. "
He said, "Every woman has an itch
And every nice girl wants to switch. "
He led me in and lit the room with a hundred candles
And said "God never gives you more than you can handle."
I sat astride his chest, "It's just a thrill," he said,
As he relaxed on the dark, dark bed, "it's just breath control."
He whispered "Hold me here" and I did and his head fell back.
He whispered "Press harder" and I did and his eyes rolled back.
It's just breath control. Just breath control.
I saw him go pale. I saw him seize up,
I felt something creep up like a taste for this.
Like a reward.
A kind of love,
A kind of lustmord.
It was a minute then three then five then ten,
He wasn't coming up again.
I held on for twelve.
I saw him seize and thrash and twist
And when he was still, I lifted away my wrists
And looked at my hands
And tried to understand.
"It's just a thrill" I said
As he relaxed on the dark, dark bed.
I sat aside his chest,
"It's just a thrill," he said,
"just a thrill. It's just breath control."
When it was over, I slipped off the skins
And drowned them in the river where we used to swim
And a year later in a shop, I was stopped by a man.
He said, "I know you're looking for something that's hard to find
And I think I have what you have in mind. "
And he led me to a glass case
And looked deep into my face...
"It's just... control."