Silly me . . .

Ah, you can’t trust a masochist.

I write last night’s entry, what else would happen but my mind floods with images and scenarios.

I really do not like the idea of being ignored. Perhaps that is why the images thrust themselves on me:

Being bound and gagged to the upright rack and just forgotten while she amuses herself. Though there is the problem of eventual muscle fatigue.

But now that the yard is fenced in I see myself left on my knees chained to a post. Perhaps she wanders out from time to time and allows me to kiss her boots.

Inevitably by the testicles, say, connected by a chain to the garage floor.

All are visualizations of being neglected - forgotten as it were. Sometimes the mind is haunted by what it doesn’t want. Or is it doesn’t know it wants?

Is it response to our separation? A fear that something unusual will be needed to realign us in D/s?

Neglect - something I’d never even partly imagined until someone mentioned it to me a few years evoke is something I wouldn’t venture a guess how I’d respond to. Descent into helplessness or diversion into annoyance …

Not fantasies so much as constructs that fleetingly flash across my mind’s eye.

I do wish I’d bought a different bed frame. Honestly I don’t know how long I could cope with being locked under it but it would be an interesting experience. We do have the futon but I don’t know that would be quite as potent.

More questionably:

For a week everyday when I come home from work I bend over while she gives my buttocks ten whacks with a whip or quirt. Always power in the idea of a scheduled, inescapable punishment. Of course when I come home who knows what mood or condition either of us would be in. Unlikely.

Probably the little masochist deep inside saying “Me! Me!”

Some of this harks back to the strong psychological play mentioned in my fear and uncertainty entry. Glad to know he’s still about somewhere.

The mind is a curious thing.