What DO I want?

I'm often asked that terribly complicated question...what are you looking for, what is it you seek?

Unable to respond, I'm usually paralyzed with the thoughts that start running through my mind...interspersed with images and memories, actions I've seen from others, things other trusted souls have confided, and the sometimes chilling advice from Doms.

What it boils down to is that I have no clue what it is that I want. When something happens that I don't want, rest assured that you will know right away. I just can't name those experiences until I've had them.

So what do I want? What do I know that I want? Someone who...

Can string together a proper sentence.
Knows that dominant can be used as a noun or adjective, and that dominate is a verb.
Can say 'girl' to me in a tone where I feel it all the way to my toes.
Doesn't push me for too much, but doesn't let me get away with pushing either.
Intrigues me, beguiles me, fascinates me, owns me.

Bah. I'm being turned inside out with want at the moment, and it's infecting my words.

Wake me when the worst is over.

The Color of Things

I'm in the place that grounds me. Which, to be less obscure, is my childhood home of Tennessee.

It's green to me here. In Florida, everything is yellow. The sun is bright, the people are blond, the earth is bleached. Farther north is blue. I was in New Hampshire recently, and in Virginia last year, and they were both so rich in scent and color that they were a deep saturated blue. When I lived in the desert of California, it was a dusty faded tan.

It's the blue places I crave. I must leave Florida soon. All the yellow is leeching out the blue in my bones, and I'm feeling brittle and worn.

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.

Conflicted

While what I want most is to submit, I find myself struggling against it. They seem unworthy, these demi-Doms who require respect from someone they do not know. Yet I remember reading the first chapter of Gordon, and feeling that lassitude of spirit that comes on so easily in the presence of someone who conveys that quiet control. That rush of feeling...or perhaps better termed a lack of feeling...that I continue to crave and not find. To stop fighting it, to let go, is what I need. But all around me are misogyny, ego, and weakness. I watch them come and go, and the names change or the collars change hands, and it seems so ridiculously pointless. I'm not sure why I persist, and not sure that I will for much longer.

Far, Far Away

In all ways, I am completely turned inward. This introspection taints every part of my life. Here and there, a brief respite from the continual analysis, the wiggling of loose teeth, the prodding of a bruise, the peeling of a scab. I feel so removed from my life.

I had a short fling with a man who claimed domination, but reality proved feeble. Our first encounter was....satisfactory. He took his time, but his method was crude. Domination, apparently, is the sexual portrayal of misogyny. At least to him.

Our second encounter was disappointing. My capitulation to his previous crudeness sparked some vague romantic notion. There were strawberries and chocolates. He did not brush his teeth prior to my arrival. I removed myself further.

He demanded, I retreated. It was cat and mouse, physically. I left immediately after, his eyes were barren and hard as I said goodbye. We never spoke again.