Dusty Water-Colored Memories

A brief nostalgic glance back into my submissive past...

Too bad I couldn't make a slideshow of this. Insert the theme music of your choice, I will be walking down memory lane accompanied by Dream a Little Dream sung/played by Louis Armstrong.

The Fighter - I wrote about him once. He asked for my panties. He was missing a bit of ear from a brawl. In retrospect, he was quite lovely.

The Misogynist - I've written of him as well. Shiver.

The Teacher - Ancient but wise. He fucked me with a dildo shaped like...well, you don't want to know. I've never orgasmed quite so deeply.

The Mentor - Kind man, came with a bristly mustache.

The Youth I - His red hair and shyness captured me. His cane caught me. His youth spoiled it.

The Youth II - Too much confusion.

The Weaklings - They came armed with gifts and a repressed desire to be submissive. None of us able to lead. (There were a few of these).

The Historian - I was trounced by his past. It still aches.

The Executive - I had to let go, I could never book an appointment.

The Healer - I've yet to pin him down, but it's a lasting friendship, if nothing else.

And, of course...

The Liars - Far too many. Not single, not straight, not many things but primarily not honest.

They are all like little porcelain figurines on a shelf. I don't forget. I won't forget.

What was I saying?

Sweaty Serendipity

I've taken the Jeep in for some gearhead repair or another (crank position sensor*, if you're interested). After dropping it off and getting a time estimate of approximately two hours, I take myself and my book to a coffee shop. Then I wander a little farther down the road for a quick hair trim. At this point, the shop calls to tell me that it will be a longer than planned, and I make the decision (oh, why didn't I wear walking shoes) to walk another 40 blocks home.

In midday Florida heat.

Instead of walking on the main roads, I walk along the residential areas. And, it being Saturday, happen across a garage sale. And at this garage sale, I find a hammered metal owl.

A quick bit of backstory...the movie Clash of the Titans came out when I was eleven. I'm not sure why, but it captured my fascination, and since then I've been very fond of that little mechanical owl (named Bubo).

I finish the last few blocks with a silly little $9 hammered metal owl in tow.

He makes me happy.

However, I'm not happy about the 40 block walk back to the auto shop. At 3:00 in the afternoon. When the sun is strong and temperature is hovering around 90. I hope it rains on the way.

*This really needs to also be a name of some diagnostic tool for someone's naughty toy box.

My First Taste

I married young, rebelling for the first time, and moved away from all that I knew. My marriage was not successful. He was chameleon-like, always with a different face for each new situation. I was unsettled, and turned to other men.

After my divorce, I spent many years alone, with no desire for male companionship. I was content with my books. Eventually, though, my urges drove me back into a more social life.

Then I met a man. A boy, rather, as he was younger even than my own young age. He was gentle and soft, almost womanly. I needed that as a reintroduction.

But he came with a surprise. A kink I'd never experienced. What did I know of kink then? I said yes, whatever you like (I should have known then) as he feathered my wrists into cuffs, and alright, if you must as he whispered my ankles into restraints.

He stroked me calmly and promised that there would be no pain, then proceeded to flog me.

He was right. I felt no pain. Only this glorious disentanglement from the responsibility of the experience. This is the closest I've come to transcendance. I misinterpreted that meditative mood as sleepiness, my body felt so full and soft and heavy with contentment.

Twelve years later, I remember clearly that moment, and the freedom it afforded.