Dreams, Hopes, Memories

I feel I may have let some of you down. With Alexandra away it is harder for me to write from my heart. My brain is always ready to tap at the keyboard. Some of my needs I have to draw a veil across. If only in my own mind. Thinking of my need is a deeper torment than anything practiced in S&M.

Reading a man write sweetly of woman worship can tug at my heart. Reading him write as if it is something that should be the norm cools me down.

For me the joy is in the freely given surrender, giving of myself. If it were something that I should do like brush my teeth or morally right like not kicking cats the happiness wouldn’t be the same.

But the words of those devoted men make me tingle. Remind me of how happy I’ve been on those evening when she takes control. The individual joys in each variation: myself as her happy puppy licking her heels or her helpless creature who willingly suffers under her power.

The woman worship weblogs are probably my idea of porn. Being allowed to surrender is far more evocative than looking at photos from Men in Pain.

If I were in a relationship with someone else my helplessly adapting sexuality might leave me feeling differently. For me it is always about my response to the one that I love. (My intellectual responses would never change.)

Our hopes and happiness, our woes and wants: no power we have can escape their molding who we are.