Archive for February, 2013


Then Get A More Precise Vocabulary.

[ i just think that more words means less meaning per word, but it’s been hard to make a full story without enough words ] he says. 

 

I have a sub. 
Remember that time that I wasn’t going to be tied to anyone? … In spirit?

Well … in a way, I’m not. This is not a vanilla relationship. There is no obligation, nor any necessity for compromise or any of the other things I have been conditioned to dish out.
That doesn’t mean that there aren’t rules. Instead, service and aftercare. Devotion and care. Good intentions and healing and support. Aren’t these the things I’ve been seeking? Yes.

He keeps being confused at the amount of dominance I allow him, however. And does things like ask if I’m sure I’m as much of a Domme-in-training as I claim to be to which I respond that I’m definitely a switch, but that the crux of it comes down to who says what gets to happen where. I’ve just posed to him, in fact: My sub serves by delivering what I ask for does he not? Who’s to say it can’t be that I ask for domination, on occasion, in the same way I might ask for adoration, worship, or massage? A blow job can be because all I want is to suck the shit out of a beautiful cock or maybe I want to reward you for excellent service? It’s all about the flavor and intent.

I was told on a Fet date once that the biggest giveaway to my being a Domme was that I won’t take cum in my mouth.

I think these sorts of statements are simultaneously fascinating and arbitrary.

He also is older than I. This is manifesting in very particular ways such as being far more burdened, both in life and spirit. It means far more experienced and educated, in play and profession. It also means far more defined in himself and his tendencies which include fretting, stubbornness, and fierce protective instinct. This is the spark to ignite the fuel that courses through his veins of nurturing and care. Which make our time together like a voracious fire of warmth, worship, and wonder. Oh, how I wonder about this inexplicable excitement, giddyness even, at the attention. I have never been such a coquette and yet it flows naturally; I am thrilled to reward and reciprocate because the care came like the slam of warmth upon your frigid cheeks upon walking within the cozy proximity to the campfire. I am enveloped. 

I feel him watch me; he peruses my body with his fingers and he peruses my psyche with his assumptions. Many of which are correct. And that was what was shocking. You paid that much attention to me? To see beyond the layer of the obvious I share with the rest of the world into the far more lush, jagged, seductive place of my self?

Do you know what I anticipate? I would not be surprised if he became the first to make me cum all on his own. Such a feat that would be; I say that without an inkling of the facetious. 

And yet, at this very moment, I am gchatting (of all things) with PM, Problème Maestro, who is making some very logical arguments to the way that this hostile, hurtful, and primarily silent time has unfolded. The thing is though that now I am armed with the wider horizon to be able to say (perhaps I even will, later!); 

“What I would like from you, PM, man to whom I gave an important, significant moment often signified by colloquialisms known as VCard: is the freedom to get what I need. Because you cannot, or maybe just do not, give me what I want or desire. And yet I do still desire you. And I am tired of pushing. So you may give what you wish to give. And if that’s enough, then that will be enough. But in the event that it is not, I will be able to go elsewhere. It means that I no longer initiate. You will come to me, if you want to be with me. The others do. You do not need to know about them, although I have to tell you my sub could show you a thing or two. Maybe even about massage; I think if you felt what he can do if you allow yourself to be vulnerable through pain breathing the whole way and trusting that the person has your back and there actually is a reason to be pushed so hard, so intensely, so intently. And maybe you still won’t care. 
I want you to be open to open. Because probably there are other women you’d like to be with and you can know I’m trying on the idea of Pad Thai v Chilli. If I make the best fucking Pad Thai that you love and one day you wake up and want Chilli … somewhere else might have the best chilli. And that can be okay. Because lord oh lord do I prefer his Crepes sometimes. Mmm. So do what you need to do, and I’ll do what I need to do, and if what we need to do is each other then wonderful!”

I don’t think PM is ready for that yet, which means I’m sure as hell not ready to let him back in. He will earn it with opening and understanding, but I imagine that he does not want them. And that is his choice. That will be when I change my mind. 

And yet, I am testing him to see if it is happening. Or at least on its way? Because the silence has been stark. And I have built up a lot of anger. Against all the times of discontent, heartache, betrayal, and indifference. Indifference will not do. Passiveness will not do. I am inquiring in a cyberfrantic manner of why he hasn’t asked me anything if he was wondering anything or if he just is so over it and ambivalent that he doesn’t wonder anymore. 

RynPx: ‘ are you sad or are you over it? are we fighting right now? do you feel resented? I can’t tell if you care or not or are projecting this resentment on me or would be interested in knowing if it’s true or not or why you haven’t just asked me what you wanted to know or if you just don’t care enough to want to know anything? ‘

Manic, but articulate even so. If you are paying attention. 
Pay attention to me. 
I will answer and then some. 
This goes for anyone. 
I am easily flattered,
accessibly charming and charm-able,
and believe in positive reinforcement and reward
and gifts if I believe they will be appreciated
because I am worth something
I forgot the currency for a little while and how it fits within the wider market
but I’m the catch of the year
there’s just one small spark that will either
make you fun or make you run
and that is 
I know it. 
Je suis délicieuse et dangereuse. 

 

Spitting is not something I’m usually inclined to do. Saliva is horrifying. 
And yet. That is how I’m feeling about you. 

But how can it be that, after all of the understanding I’ve come to… Your birthday came and I let down my guard and had to pour a little bit of the good me back into you? Why did I do it?
It was because I didn’t need anything back. A birthday greeting of the true form is something that you give, without expecting anything in return because it is for that person’s day. (This is, of course, assuming that you’re not the manipulative, obligatory, calculating kind that only gives gifts in accordance to those you receive from.) I was able to remember only, vividly, on that birthday the other birthdays and cakes and sweaters and … tried to convey it.   
And he responded with daggers.
I am hurt. 
Alas.
He received my gift as tepid and insincere. Did he find me out?
No. Because truly deeply I wanted to hand him back a little something in a reminder of what we used to share in intimacy and affection. It was there, sometime. Some time ago. 
But no. 
So then he prodded and poked and I called him a martyr and he threw it back in my fact rhetorically. 

PM:
I didn’t ask you how you were because i (rightly) didnt expect a response.

Maybe that’s being a martyr, but so is not talking to me.

Ray:

Of course you didn’t get a response bc how am I to respond to such blatant self pity? Christ. Well calculated. You really are a fortune teller. 

I’m not talking to you bc you make me feel shitty. So when you stop doing that (like dumping your ‘no one will love me or even bone me on vdayyy’ moaning on me) then I’ll be happy to know you. A bientot.

 

No response.
I hope one never comes. 

One Thousand Lashes of the Spurned Tongue

Prompt:
I hope your valentines day is looking better than mine is…

Retorts:
I’m not sure how to respond to that.

Meaning what?

Oh, if only you knew.

What, the fuck buddies not working out… not putting out any more?

What, she finally washed her hands of you, too? Good girl.

Seventeen belt notches achieved since you? I’d say the odds are pretty good.

Wouldn’t you like to know.

Please do not speak to me.

No one to blame but yourself if that is, in fact, the case.

Don’t be a martyr.

Because Valentine’s was so precious with me? I don’t recall one spit of romance.

I’ll bet you see that as a caring well meaning reaching out; how funny that is still pretty much all about you.

Hope so.

It would have been the best with you, after all third time’s the charm, right? Oh well. No use crying over rotten spoiled emotionally abusive milk.

Are you asking am I going to get laid? The answer is I could if I wanted but honestly I’m tired from that happening the rest of this week so I was thinking of taking it easy on Vday. Vagina Day, you know.

Go fuck a freshman, you sonofabitch. You’re so good at it, are you not?

Wouldn’t take much, I imagine.

What’s it to you?

Even if it weren’t going to be, I certainly wouldn’t tell you.

(Come to me and it will be as good for the both of us as it could ever be.)

Response:
Utter silence.
Because you only have as much power as I now give you. And I do not wish any satisfaction or closure upon you. After all, someone very important once said to me that he had no obligation to an ex 400 miles away. I hand that back to you, on a gilded platter of disdain. That’s all you’ll be receiving from me for a little while. Welcome to how neglect feels.

Seduction: A Haiku

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