The trouble with dating is that it happens under this pressure cooker of “this is a romantic relationship”. It’s very where are we going. When do we kiss, was that a signal, etc etc. Outside of Morgan, my best relationships have been a outgrowth of shared experiences and time. Sharing ideas and thoughts and time. Which is not to say that I didn’t fall a bit in love quickly, I mean, this is me we’re talking about but time and ease and talking (in whatever medium) that’s what makes a relationship go. Morgan was lightning but even there we spent hours talking before we ended up in bed and we spent so much time talking about everything.
Communication and time, these are the keys. (I’m glossing over kindness, respect, joy, etc because to me those are a given, an of course. Maybe that’s not the same for everyone? I get the feeling it’s not, from my friends experiences)
The best solution I’ve found is to fall truly madly deeply in love and work it out from there. This is not to say that you won’t suffer for it, just that it is the best thing. Caution is a slow death. Better to leap and know than to take step by cautious step and be undone.
Between the me I know and the me people see
They see the second thought, the revised actions
After my first words filter up. Taking control, taking command, no assumption that they necessarily know.
But the second is what I say, what I do, filtered by my rules. There to protect all of you, not myself.
Maybe that I have and will not breach my rules is the good. Or is it something else? There are actions and thoughts that my rules don’t enter into. The immediate reaction to help those that I love, those that are mine, to defend them, to act in their best interests.
So much seems to hinge on circumstance. The turn of a phrase or an action. A misplaced step or a perfectly balanced step. More and more I see the limits of what may be possible as the disadvantage of not being impulsive or not being secure enough financially to take an action or not have enough faith in my abilities to land on my feet. Because, if I did, I would have flown to her when she got hurt. It might not have made a difference but we would know.
Or I would have moved to Texas where, it seems, there is a nexus of my tribe. And that could be a miracle or a folly. But I can’t know at this distance.
Or maybe that’s all delusion and I’m just wonderful words on a screen and in person it would be disaster. But I don’t know, because I can’t think to take any kind of step to bring me to them. Is it prudence or cowardice? Am I so bound in secondary rules that I can’t even go without a strong reason or a invitation?
Or are they just dreams that on seeing we’d all wake up from. I wish I could tell you.
Consumed by a internal landscape of how to get from one to the other. What is the light, what is my light. I understand the darkness I get that. What does my light look like. Do I need to find it or merely embrace it? That image of the sunny smiley person isn’t me. When I smile, I smoulder or bounce in irreverent joy. But even in joy, I am serious. I may look stern or angry but that’s just surface. Below is either turmoil or placid or passion. I have to choose. Acting as I see neccesary is nature to me. I can’t suppress my desires, my ebbulance. But I’m quiet. And I am certain about things and that is taken for smug or arrogant. I know things. I see things. There is a mystical side to me. And in that area I have definite ideas. It’s in my relationships that I am uncertain. Even my friendships. Not because I don’t know who I am. But because I do. And I know that I can be a bit like a ocean. Deep and easy to drown in. I can be a storm swift and dangerous. I can be fog, unknown and unknowable. I don’t know.
The soft leather is held in my two hands, held so as to take up the slack. The soft sound of flesh and bone moving over hard wood accompanies our walk. The patio doors open onto a concrete path colored as brick and molded in the likeness. This leads to a small table and awning where we take leasurely breakfasts or hold high protocol tea in the winter months. But our path takes us right, over the beaten dirt path leading to a small area fenced with decorative knee high lattice. Here is a soft well maintained grass lawn. Strewn about are large toys. A beach ball, a small water bowl, a bone and chewed on teddy bear. These are arranged carelessly and carefully. Staging the scene for my girl-fox.
I reach down and unclip the leash. I run my hand down and scritch her head. She looks up at me with eager happy eyes. Completely lost in the float. In being my good fox girl. I feel myself tighten and suppress a shudder of partial orgasm. Seeing her in total eager submission, completely free and joyous…I wouldn’t trade it for all the gold in the sea.
“Go play, my fox.” I smile the order.
She looks back at me once and prances away to her water dish. She leans her delicate face to the calm reflection and laps up the cool water.
I look back and see, just barely, the head of my Sara. Positioned so that she can can catch glimpses of movement through the half closed curtains of the bedroom window. Just enough to tease at things happening beyond her knowing. I know that her hips will just be starting to burn. I know because one of our exercises is for her to hold that position and, as the minutes pass, describe to me every physical sensation she is experiencing. It allows me to gauge timing for these activities and allows her to completely occupy her body on a immediate intimate level. People mostly ignore the millions of sensations they are experiencing, but it’s in the simple shifts that we can truly feel.
My fox girl, lithe nakedness and swaying fox tail is worrying her bear. It’s arm held in her mouth, she shakes her head and paws at it. She looks to back to me, her master, and I beam at her. She turns back to her bear. I watch as she rolls on her back, rubbing her back against the grass to reach a itch. Her tits jiggling and taught against her, nipples erect. The flashes of soft blonde bush through her legs. The tightness of her stomach and ass as she unconsciously maintains the tension to hold her tail in place. She’s magnificent and I’m so grateful for her.
So my earlier post was one where I let my overthinking brain effect me in ways that you think I would be used to. But nope.
I spoke with who I was concerned I had wronged and I found that I couldn’t have been more incorrect if I had a team of experts working on it.
As much as I value communication, I suppose I need to be better at it. Practice, practice, practice
For the last three days I was happy. Not manic as I’ve been before but happy, truly happy. Not because I was with someone, not because I’d fallen in love. I’ve let go of all of that. It’s not going to happen. I recognize that now.
But accepting that, I was happy. Then I read something and realized that I may have put my desires ahead of a friend’s needs when they were hurt and the glazing over my heart cracked and shattered. And I am left with this terrible possible truth. I don’t know if she would regard it the same.
For me it had been a bright beautiful moment a day of complete bliss and joy. I thought I was helping a friend. And doing it in a way that was needful, neccesary. The right perfect action in the moment. And if I was wrong about that. Then nothing I’ve ever done is right
My happiness and this incident are months apart.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just looking for a reason to be hurt
When I say “I love someTHING”, I mean I feel a deep emotional connection to that thing or that this thing in some way makes my life livable. I love music or I love Luis Royo’s art. When I say I love you, I mean I feel a deep and abiding emotional connection that changes how I see the world because now all things include you in the context loop of my thoughts. When I click Love in a social media context I mean I either love you the person dealing with situation or that the thing is something I feel a deep emotional connection to.
This is a reaction to the “I love you” vs “I’m in love with you” statement.
People use the wording to differentiate romantic vs Platonic love. For me, platonic love is merely a lower level of romantic love. Often, platonic love is just a suppression of romantic love, which can become more if the opportunity presents itself.
Family is different. I love them at a remove from myself. They exist as love by connection, if that makes sense.
Platonic and romantic love, exist internally. Familial exists outside that. It is a web of obligations and connections. In many respects it is like the way that I regard someone as mine. It invokes a web of obligations and connections. Maybe that makes for a muddle but it exists as crystalline truth to me.
In my heart
is a poison vial
and I know not
whether I am alive or dead
Poised between love and oblivion
I cannot know until I am seen