I've been thinking of you a lot the last few days, more than usual. I do that at the oddest times… no rhyme or reason to it. Life can be going along swimmingly, or I can be fighting to keep my head above water, and I think of you and go a bit weak at the knees. I sometimes think that if I could just figure it out, I'd be able to cure what ails me, or at least find some sort of substitute. That's the frustrating part, knowing that there isn't a way to make it all smooth and easy.
I love you, you know… not the mushy gooey warm fuzzy on a cold night kind of love. The kind that settles deep in the center of your chest and re-arranges all the furniture. The kind that can turn your blood to molten metal in a breath, or ice over your veins until you've got frostbite. I used to think it'd fade over time but it hasn't. Instead it's just brought home strays, pushed the coffee table 6 inches to the left, and plumped the cushions on the recliner. I think I've become resigned to it, finally, and there's a working truce in effect. Most of the time it stays cozily where it belongs, and I go about my life without a thought of you. Other times, it's that irritating neighbor that comes over late, stays too long, and eats all the crisps. I can't function normally then, and I don't even try. The harder I try, the longer it takes to get those feelings settled back in that recliner, remote in hand.
I've been playing a lot more lately, looking for a boy to keep nearby to use regularly. You know all about that though, so it's no surprise. I think I've gotten much more selective in my old age. The checklist of compatibility in my youth consisted mainly of "does he have a pulse? is he breathing? does he look good naked and bent over?" Not so much any more. Now I want to know what his experience is, whether I can stand to have him around when I'm not whipping his exposed flesh, if I like the way he says "yes Ma'am," if his drive to please outweighs his fetishes. Fat, thin, muscular, tall, short, black, white, brown… all just packaging. I'm more interested in the other bits, and if it comes in a pretty package, it's just a bonus, like marshmallows in hot chocolate on a cold day. Good, but not necessary.
My desires and requirements seem to be evolving as well. As I get more settled and sure in my every day life, I'm more demanding in my BDSM life. They're getting mixed together as well. The two sides of my personality, the Domme and the woman, have been blending for a while now, and have gotten to the point that there isn't any separation between the two. I feel whole for the first time in my life, instead of vaguely schizophrenic around the edges. It's a good thing. I'm less sensual and more sadist, although I think there will always be a part of me that is very sensual. After all, it's a huge part of the way I see the world, using all my senses to capture the nuances of things. The sadist though, she adores being let out to play. The inner beast and I are best buddies it seems. A bit shocking. I didn't think I’d ever see the day.
I suppose I'll get it all figured out eventually. One does, I think. The more simply I live, the more content I am with my life, and the more all the whirling bits settle into place.
I love you, you know… not the mushy gooey warm fuzzy on a cold night kind of love. The kind that settles deep in the center of your chest and re-arranges all the furniture. The kind that can turn your blood to molten metal in a breath, or ice over your veins until you've got frostbite. I used to think it'd fade over time but it hasn't. Instead it's just brought home strays, pushed the coffee table 6 inches to the left, and plumped the cushions on the recliner. I think I've become resigned to it, finally, and there's a working truce in effect. Most of the time it stays cozily where it belongs, and I go about my life without a thought of you. Other times, it's that irritating neighbor that comes over late, stays too long, and eats all the crisps. I can't function normally then, and I don't even try. The harder I try, the longer it takes to get those feelings settled back in that recliner, remote in hand.
I've been playing a lot more lately, looking for a boy to keep nearby to use regularly. You know all about that though, so it's no surprise. I think I've gotten much more selective in my old age. The checklist of compatibility in my youth consisted mainly of "does he have a pulse? is he breathing? does he look good naked and bent over?" Not so much any more. Now I want to know what his experience is, whether I can stand to have him around when I'm not whipping his exposed flesh, if I like the way he says "yes Ma'am," if his drive to please outweighs his fetishes. Fat, thin, muscular, tall, short, black, white, brown… all just packaging. I'm more interested in the other bits, and if it comes in a pretty package, it's just a bonus, like marshmallows in hot chocolate on a cold day. Good, but not necessary.
My desires and requirements seem to be evolving as well. As I get more settled and sure in my every day life, I'm more demanding in my BDSM life. They're getting mixed together as well. The two sides of my personality, the Domme and the woman, have been blending for a while now, and have gotten to the point that there isn't any separation between the two. I feel whole for the first time in my life, instead of vaguely schizophrenic around the edges. It's a good thing. I'm less sensual and more sadist, although I think there will always be a part of me that is very sensual. After all, it's a huge part of the way I see the world, using all my senses to capture the nuances of things. The sadist though, she adores being let out to play. The inner beast and I are best buddies it seems. A bit shocking. I didn't think I’d ever see the day.
I suppose I'll get it all figured out eventually. One does, I think. The more simply I live, the more content I am with my life, and the more all the whirling bits settle into place.
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