This is one of those days when I wish I had a play partner who just wanted pure edge masochistic play.  I don’t often need that.  Usually, I’m more interested in pain/pleasure thresholds and the blending of one into the other.  But sometimes, only screams and blood will satisfy.  I worry sometimes, does that make me a monster.

An aspect of mining my sexual history and emotional states is I no longer have any fear of exposure for my proclivities or for how I feel.  Oh, you found out about my depressions, would you like to read some poetry about it? You found out I like leather, would you like to read a story about how far I take that?

When I write erotica I draw from my experiences and don’t really embellish things.  Sometimes I clean it up a little.  But because of that, I sometimes feel like I’m bragging.  I’m not, I don’t think.  But it just hit me that it might.  And there are people that read my work that know me IRL, so I sometimes wonder what they make of it. 

I’m writing a new story. The fantasy stories are interesting to me but I find I have a hard time connecting the scenes together.  And it’s hard to write them. Which is not to say the endeavor is not worthwhile but it feels like I’m going against the grain of my soul.  So I’m writing another erotic tale.  A continuation or an elaboration of characters introduced in Ballroom.  This one just flows.  It feels right.  Thanks for reading.

The Why story has been discontinued, due to lack of interest on my readers part and story muddle on my part

Why 8 is delayed, working through some creative issues, there will be a poem instead

So depressed right now.  Just want to hold someone, to be held.  Why is it always sex?  So boring.  Someone come be vulnerable with me; Look into my eyes as I look into yours; Feel our warmth radiating.

If I say you are beautiful or intelligent, if I say you are amazing or sexy, I’m saying it to give voice to something in me that demands that I acknowledge what it’s seen in you.

Let’s talk about beauty.

Beauty, to me, refers to the totality. All of you, your past, your emotions, your joy. The way you laugh or tuck your hair behind your ear. The unshed tears in your eyes. The conscious effort and the unconscious gesture. Everything that makes you, you.

That is what I find beautiful. And when I tell someone they are beautiful, that is what I mean. I’m not validating you, only you can do that. I’m saying “I see you, and to me, your presence in my life, my world makes it better.”

I hope that clarifies things.

I’ll be starting a new story Monday.  Should be interesting.

This concludes this installment of Ballroom.  I suppose I should name these characters.  If you felt I gave short shrift to the whipping scene, then I can only offer this,  you are right.  I have never found whipping someone to be compelling. Being whipped on the other hand has some appeal.  But for my extreme edge play, I prefer flechettes.  Something about the blade parting skin is very compelling.  I plotted out the scenes and knew it would culminate in the whipping but by the end I now longer desired to portray it.  So instead we see safety and domesticity brought to the forefront.  I think adequately showing that play is only a facet of these characters relationship.  As well as how much the top truly cares for his sub.  Comments welcome.