Then there was a funeral.
A well-known Dom in our circle died of AIDS and I attended the funeral.
I was without a submissive at that time, and so went on my own.
Rosina was there with her owner, surprisingly the same one she had had the previous time I had seen her.
Like so often happens fate plays a trump card and the game suddenly changes.
Her Master, a man known for his excesses, became too drunk to drive and I was asked if would drop both Rosina and her Master off at her Master’s apartment.
For nearly a decade, Rosina and I had never exchanged a word, only glances, which in themselves, now I look back, were tiny intimacies
Once in the apartment we manhandled her Master into bed, and I made to leave.
“Can you not help me”, she asked, at the apartment door and, knowing what she meant, I replied, that honour bade me that I could not?
Soon after I moved from London and lost touch with all the old group.
New submissives came and went, but I could never rid myself of what might have been, had I not allowed honour to stand in my way to having Rosina.
