It has been a while now. The habit of looking for your messages has lessened….if only a little. I have reconciled with the fact that you will no longer answer my calls. The desperation has subsided to longing. I have refused to look at your words for several weeks now…if only for self-preservation. No more do I write to you daily, filling your inbox with sorrow and anger that will one day be deleted by some automated demon…unread.
But I still hear your voice….sometimes a whisper…other
Yes, I know: you've been wounded, and wounded again. The urge to hide is so strong that the simple act of stepping out the door, greeting another day, taking another risk, reflects heroic effort.
Welcome, wounded friend, to the company of the shattered.
The internet is rife with recitation of a line from the 13th century Sufi poet and lawyer, commonly called Rumi. "The wound is the place with the light enters." Translation is treacherous, translation from
Just to lay some questions and fears to rest, I have not left the library and I have not simply disappeared.
In a previous blog I spoke of redirecting and refocusing my energies and my goals. That is what I have been doing.
More than anything, I have been writing. I set a goal to spend at least 4 hours each day at some writing goal or project. I have mostly been able to meet this goal. I have several new projects in place as well as the old projects that are
Someday I’ll try again to find a Dom. But what if he’s not out there? What if “My Mr. Perfect” doesn’t exist?
I thought I found it this time, I thought it was going so well. Long phone conversations, texting every day, amazing sex, deep mental and emotional connection. We even had fun together, laughed during sex, lazy time spent resting in his arms or on the couch talking with our feet meeting in the middle. Everything was so easy. Except one critical
Updated 04-10-2016 at 10:38 AM by sweetlynaughty
I'm back. Again. It's been a loooong journey since the first posts in 2008 when I was first admitting to myself I wanted to be submissive. 8 years of a relationship, 5 of those married, have finally come to an end. Lots learned, but the most important is that I cannot give up myself for someone else. There's a major difference to enjoying submission and being walked upon.
She never became the Domme I wanted. She wasn't able to fully admit to herself what she wanted. And so I went
In his arms is my safe place
At his feet, between his legs I feel so submissive
His deep voice beacons me
I get lost in our deep consuming kisses
Red imprints heat my skin marked by large hands
My room smells of his intoxicating scent
Tangled bed sheets covered in sweat and cum
Floggers and toys covered the dresser
Bondage ties around the four bed posts
If walls could talk…
Updated 03-22-2016 at 08:32 AM by sweetlynaughty
Over the past few days I have taken at close look at my goals. I have not been happy at all with the way I have been focusing my energies and attentions. So, I have decided that I need to refocus and then redirect my energies and my attentions so that they better reflect where my true desires are.
What does this mean. Basically it means that I have identified three basic areas of my life where I need to direct the majority of my time, my energy and my attention. This means less
Have you ever been in a place where you can see happiness just out of reach; just out of your grasp yet so close you could see it, smell it, perhaps even taste it. So close that you can physically feel the need to be where you cannot go. A situation that makes you so miserable that you become willing to do anything short of something illegal to make it possible; to have what you want. A yearning so intense that it pervades every waking minute of everyday. A need so deep that every breath
In a previous post I declared that I do not want to get old. That remains true.
It then occurred to me that I needed to take a look at where I am in both my life and my station in the BDSM lifestyle.
This requires a bit of background.
I was introduced into the lifestyle almost by accident. I was a 20 something, young stud in a university town, who was living life large. I was typical. Parties, clubs, etc. etc. This was in the middle 70's, the
I sit in the dark as he paints his portrait of us
Dark reds and purples, form into bodies in lust
He whispers in my ear of dark deeds he will soon do
My wrists and ankles shackled, flogging me black & blue
Pain for pleasure are his wicked promises in the dark hour
His mouth will consume me, my sweet flavor he will devour
He will claim me as his with adoration and a collar
I will worship him every day calling him Sir with honor