Worship

You know, she is always a goddess to me. Reading, puttering about, whatever she does she is the sole focus of my affections and worship. Knowing that no matter what happens she’ll be there gets me through the days I’d just as soon lie down and forget about it all.

Worship has at least two connotations. Back in the days of courtly loved the men loved their ‘maiden faire.’ And while maidenhood is a quaint idea in the 21st century at best she’ll always be that for me. Since you are reading this blog you know there’s another kind. When you surrender to her as a divinity.

I enjoy both sides and don’t much worry about where one begins and the other ends. She is much more alive to the distinctions but I happily let her decide the emotional space for me. As a masculine man and a surrendered man I’m happy.

Let me put it in terms of feet. In bed on her back I may sit riveted by the shape of her ankles. (It could be the curve of her shoulders but won’t work for this example.) Or having given myself to her on one of those (for me too) rare evening when she wants that I discern every detail of each toe. Man or slave I’m a silly romantic and I’d shoot you if you tried to take it away from me.

When her mood is just so she lets me treat her as Goddess. The Goddess if you will. I only worship one.

Usually I find a note. What it says I shan’t share with you. But I understand.

On those nights I switch to a white t-shirt and shorts. Opening the door of the room I know she will be in I fall quietly to my hands and knees and crawl in. She is resting stretched out, relaxed.

I crawl over and light sticks of incense on each side of her, over to the stereo and press the play button to start the music she wishes to hear.

Then I crawl in front of her and bend until my forehead touches the floor and thank her for setting aside time for me to worship her. I hold myself there for a bit but if she says nothing I bend back up on my knees.

Her feet rest on a low cushioned stool. I caress, then lick each one in turn. In each action I strive to be slow and silent but not linger too long.

Taking an aromatic oil of her selection I gingerly massage it into her feet, between her toes and along her legs.

That done I put my head on the cushion between her feet to await her pleasure. This is the most intense period. I never know how long she will rest. Only a few minutes some time. Others long enough for my body to ache to move.

But it is the best of times. She may arise to be a sweet lover or a cruel owner. The uncertainty excites me, ministering to her satisfies me.