Alpha Domme

And treat me coldly. While simple enough in temperature in a sadomasochistic context cold could mean aloofly, disdainfully, contemptuously. My guess would be that she take a serving of each with a side order of hair pulling.

Naturally I’m going “Oh yeah!” - “Sounds good to me!”

Not that I don’t wake up some mornings and then go “WTF?” Should I be treating this as casually as singing “Beat Me Mamma, Eight Beats to the Bar?” Or - more accurately - is this really what I want.

But that is me: too often fearful that I’m misleading myself and thereby someone else. An over finicky fear of being inadvertently meretricious. Doubt, doubt, doubt. Depending on the side of the bed I arise from it seems a virtue or a failing. A core part of my personality. I would cease to exist without it.

Wonder if this poster is the best part of the movie. I think I must’ve watched it.

But guys like me really do want the Ice Queen, Bitch Goddess, Mocking Vixen, the Selfish Tease. (And the more gentle forms of the Divine Feminine.)

The few failed moments we’ve had within BDSM were technical glitches, not errors of goal or theme. A brief moment of bad pain or fear may happen when you play intensely. The main reason I think risk aware is a better motto than safe and sane.

We’ve talked in passing of possibly pushing my past my pain threshold to the point I finally use my originally refused safeword. For me that doesn’t seem to be quite the magic moment it once did. But I’m feeling pretty detached right now. I’ll probably go to bed and fantasize about it.

Pushing the pain limit so far must be tough for a sane top. With the passing of the sainted Bob Flanagan any man can probably be pushed past his limits in sixty seconds or less. But where would be the artistry? And who wants to cope with the aftermath? So it must take some planning. And an intimate knowledge of the bottom. Though I’ve read couples describe the experience as beautifully bonding - when done right.

Right now - my universe will be redefined the night I meet her at the airport - my emotional masochism seems stronger in me. And it is the humiliation bottom who is so enamored of the Cold Female. Especially since she is my Beloved.

The Alpha Dominatrix?

When you contemplate the one who loves you forcing you to do nasty things your brain seems to become without shape.

I want her to ravish my soul.

Alexandra thinks her sadism is stronger and darker. I’m agnostic. She certainly seemed to be working on me with lupine delight some nights. Memory is a selective beast. And often it is the times when we didn’t feel fully actualized that stick in the memory. I’m not sure if there was anything we didn’t do because she felt a need to contain her desire. Some acts contravened her aesthetics and some of my desires were perhaps too arcane or at least unfamiliar.

Alexandra has expressed concern that she might be turning into a monster. A not uncommon worry for dominant women. Maybe a good fear. Of those rare scenes that went too far the top has often come out of the experience more emotionally crippled than the bottom.

She killed her victims with love? Poisoned lipstick?

Of course I trust Alexandra to, as the BDSM clichι has it, hurt me without harming me. If I didn’t and she didn’t love me we wouldn’t be sustaining a relationship limited by distance and bad geopolitics.

While I can’t help but wonder I won’t let myself fixate on what I may find myself ingesting, if some neglected toy will finally be used or how much pain I may be in for. Best to just relax and do whatever I can to insure that we both enjoy the ride.

And so ends this site’s one-thousandth note.