Just…what…uh…no idea

I’m in a position now where I want so much to be holding in my arms the ones that I love. But I know that is either a distant future or a impossibility and I have to deal with that.

In a way it’s like a breakup but without the constant questioning and self recriminations. In this case I know the reasons. I just lament them.

Right now, I’m sad often and I don’t want to be but I also don’t know how to stop it my self.

I’ve been incredibly lucky to meet extraordinary people through my blog and though some hurt me, I still feel incredibly fortunate to have the chance to be with people who meet my mind first rather than the crucible of a dating site or a munch or something. Because, I’m not great at those.

Let’s be clear. I’m weird. I have odd notions and hobbies. I have strange views and see things differently. What the majority find interesting, I find mostly a nuisance. I point this out, not to set myself apart, but to demonstrate that I feel as if I’m a outsider.

When you add in BDSM and a preference for strong submissives, I find I’ve narrowed my interests perhaps too narrowly.

I’d love to say that such a narrow focus means that I find my way clear but really I’m all a muddle.

I scare people away because I’m intense and always seek clarity. Not because I am meek but because I can have a effect where I bowl someone over.
But then I just melt if someone says, “Yes, Sir,” and means it.

I don’t know where forward is. Or if I need to heal first. Or if I just need someone I love to look me in the eyes and say “Yes, I choose you” and mean it down to their bones.

Passing thought of a Sir

I read many blogs about BDSM. Mostly they are stories written by or in Submissive voice. Because I don’t need to know Master voice. There are a few that I read that are for Dominants but those are mostly theory or techniques. I read those to learn or to see what other Masters think on a subject.

The ones written by Submissives or in the Submissive’s voice almost all seem to focus on the acts or what they feel during them. And a repeated theme is the suddenness of switch from normal to scene. The seeming randomness and, for some, the thrill of fear that this elicits.

Now, I won’t speak for other Dominants. But, those sudden scenes, those seemingly random changes? If I may pull back the curtain? They aren’t.

They are not random. They are constructed. Piece by piece, idea and accouterment. Sometimes they are pulled together on the fly from already used or existing pieces. But the sequence is planned. The beginning to the finish, as much as possible, each possibility and the outcome of each branch.

For the Submissive , it’s a bolt out of the blue or a rollercoaster ride. For the Dominant, it’s nested if/then statement. Done well, the Dominant can let one thing flow to the other naturally, each piece of the orchestra working in concert. And they can be in the moment, but at another level, they are running the scenario.

The Dominant has goals, has points that must be met and, in some cases, a scoreboard of reward vs punishment.

The Submissive dances on the stage. The Dominant is the choreographer, the stage director, and the audience. Done well, they feel like they are a fellow dancer.

Just, there is much thought and planning that gets us to that point


I will make a canvas of your skin
In blacks and blues
In swirled greens and yellows
In words pressed deep into flesh

My marks will bind us
Deep as the soul
This possession of all that you are

Belies the truth
Your total possession of me
Looking up

Eyes pleading for one more flick of the lash
The key to your ownership
Words drip like heroin
“Thank you, Sir”

Waking dream 

She stood before me. Tall in her heel, standing fierce. The soft paleness of calves curve upward. Her form is strength and hardship. But soft, so soft. Flesh that takes the markings of our lovemaking, that marks the lines of her possession. The heady scent of her cunt mingles with her soft perfume. Smelling of delicacy and delight, recalling the taste of her sweetness. Eyes take in the slight abundance of belly, this she sees as flaw and I see as beautiful. Yielding, the sound of a flogger slapping lightly, further marking her as mine. Her breasts are pillows, showing my bite marks, bruising in blacks, blues and yellows. She says they hurt and remind her of my attention and intention throughout the day. Each mark, each bruise, each small pain, reminding her of my total possession.

She watches me drink her in, wicked grin on her face. This our ritual each time. Her grin bursts wider pulling deep within me. This the smile that makes me want to ravish her, to take her until there is nothing left but grunts and pain and pleasure. All humanity torn away. Give in to shear animalistic rutt.

Her eyes twinkle, like she knows what I’m thinking. Like she knows and deeply approves. Knowing in my gaze and less than tender mercies, finally at last, how truly beautiful she is.

Better to be lucky?

I feel like I have been terribly lucky, even though I don’t believe in luck, with my past partners. Though I also know I am ignoring disappointing relationships when I say that. My Morgan was an accomplished Submissive and the older woman as well, by three years. She effectively fostered my training in being a Master. I had the desire but not the tools. That we extended beyond play into a place where I can only say that she was mine and I was hers, is amazing to me. Everything began with her. I wish I could say it ends with her as well and we’re happy and still together, but as anyone who reads my posts knows, this is not the case. Then there was Eric who was my Master. As I’ve said, I’m a Switch. And being a Submissive is some of the best training on being a good Master. Seeing both sides allows me to better see how best to proceed in both aspects. And even with My Miss, while it lasted, she was a phenomenal submissive, especially for one so new. I was thrilled with what time we had together, though it seems like that is at an end now. I have friends who have had bad Submissives and bad Masters and can only be grateful to whatever leather clad whip bearing god(dess) is looking out for me.

Switchy thoughts in the Afternoon

I’ll tell you my innermost thoughts but you’ll see only filthy desires.

I hear you say “Come over here.” An innocent phrase, but it makes me want to crawl to you. To say, “Yes, Mistress,” and wait for your next command.
Gazing up in adoration. Waiting to be beaten, punished, taken, humiliated and fucked. Waiting to hear the order to pleasure you. For most I’m a Master, for you I’d trade in my paddle for a collar, at least for a while.

Is this a poem?

You think Master means bastard
That orders mean abuse
That owned means prison
You couldn’t be more wrong
Master means lover, protector, elevator
Orders mean structure and support
Owned means fierce pride and a desire for wellbeing
relationships are built on communication
Built on trust
You confuse the trappings for the relationship
I am the pillar of certainty upon which my submissive can stake it all
do not waiver, do not bend
They know where I stand, always.
  They know what I feel because there is communication.
I never want to be less than clear.