A reply, and a little more.

Spiralsong's most recent post reminds me of two things. First and foremost, I am reminded of just how proud a Dominant can be of his submissive. It is never easy to stand naked in front of the world, and this leads me into thing number B. We are real live people. We take risks with what we share here. Personally, professionaly, socially; being honest with you is risky. We try to be as open as possible in this forum, to give you a glimpse into the lives and minds of two of your poly/BDSM community peers. What works for us, what doesn't work, our highs and our lows, our thoughts and our feelings. We do not share everything, admittedly, that's simply impossible. What Spiralsong shared with you is a pretty deep glimpse into her person; insecurities, fantasies, fears and all. I am very proud.

Deep.

Subsumed. I think that's the right word for it.

I'm a cathartic submissive. Most of the time I just skim along the surface like a slung stone and touch down for a moment; just enough to get wet. It's spiritual and meaningful and releasing, but it's not long-term. It's good, and I need it to keep my universe on track, but it's not exactly the Large Hadron Collider.

I don't know why this weekend was different. It might be the equipment -- safe but shaky and putting me in a far more vulnerable position than a mere x-frame. It might be the tools -- the machete got involved, which scares me a lot. It might be that my arms weren't immobilized, so it was ME that kept me from trying to get away, not ropes and cuffs. It might be the atmosphere or the erstwhile company (a private party from earlier in the evening turned my nice safe club into a somewhat scary place.)

Because here we are four days later and I'm STILL in headspace; moreover I'm still so far gone I'm perpetually on the verge of tears, unable to remember the simplest tasks, unable to focus. My mind returns to the weekend; the nerves flare, breath hitches in the throat and the only way that I'm here now is in the physical space I occupy -- the rest of me is back there, long gone.

We watched Secretary last night. No, it's not the first time I've seen it. I still thought I was going to die.

Why? Because I went into shock (or something approaching it,) on Saturday night? Because we reprised yesterday and something yet further broke and let go and finally I could get some of the words out? I couldn't tell you. Those answers are hidden from me; may always be that way.

The words don't come; I can't speak them. Gods help he who has to stand in the flood when those gates break.

Master brought up a good point -- might this all be due to Master's new companion? All of this extra depth, the desire for rough(er) play, the submission, the surrender could be my stupid brain reacting to his attraction to her. It doesn't feel like it, but it could be. My stupid brain has done things like this before.

I don't want it to be because of her, because of any non-existent threat that my head understands and my heart can't believe. And right now it's limited to play, but it might go further -- I couldn't even see this coming -- what's going to happen then? I know she reads this and all I can say is that I'm sorry for being stupid. I'm happy that she's there for Master and that he can be there for her, because they're good for each other, and because they are to each other something I can never be for either of them.

I'm afraid to question this too much.

I'm afraid that I like it too much.

Before, I could come home, ease into a scene, be bound, be flogged and never doubt.

Now, I could walk blind into a non-con scene, go without dinner, be branded, be cut and never flinch. I could crawl through broken glass for him and my mind would remain deep and still as a quarry lake.

I can barely function. I don't care. I don't want this to go away.

In love.


I miss you, Master.