Attempt to Fill the Hole?

Perhaps it was because I had to serve myself. But I have done that many times even when there were ten dozen slaves to serve me. My independence has always been sacred to me.

Perhaps it was the blackwine rush. The high that had my blood humming through my veins and little lights in my head flashing like summer bugs beneath the full moons.

Perhaps it was the dusty empty interior of my wagon. The cold lonely feel it has when I climb the steps at night and I know no one has entered the flap. Nothing is disturbed. No little prints on the polished wood. No feminine scent lingering in the air.

Perhaps it was the late night visitor. The empty air my fist closed around when I woke. The tease of touch on skin. I have never been one to be teased. There are a few women that could tell you that .. if they were still around to do so.

Perhaps it is just the empty hole left inside of me. A couple of days ago I had the most beautiful energetic precocious jit monkey of a female filling me up with ideas and dreams and thoughts and emotions and even though I did not always deal with them in the most mature and wise fashion .. I miss ... her.

Only it was not just a couple of days. It was a long .. long lonely time ago.

Perhaps it really is just to fill that empty hole in me. If so I suppose it is doomed to failure and even I know that. I am smart enough not to tie myself into a mate that I do not love nor care for and .. honestly I would not do that to any woman I had respect for which is most women in the Tribe. I know that a slave can not and will not fill this black hole in me. I know it like I know the bosk and the grass and the Sky. I do not need a wise old Tuchuk to warn me of the redundantly inescapable knowledge that all attempts to fill that hole will result in more pain.

But for some reason ... I intend to do just that.