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.

Dubliner

Last night, after drinks, I walked back to my parked car with my date. At my car, he leaned against it and pulled me into him. He whispered in my ear that he was about to find out just how responsive my body could be. As he kissed me, ran his tongue along my neck, I could feel my body weakening. The warmth between my legs turned liquid. He whispered again, I want to hear you cum. He put his hand beneath my skirt and raised it until his fingers were brushing against my clit. The slight pressure was enough. My breath caught in my throat and I felt his eyes on me. I came against his fingers. One last kiss, and then the whisper again in my ear - take off your panties, I want them. I complied immediately, dropping them, pulling first one ankle out, and then the other. I felt like a lady, I felt like a whore. He took them and pressed them to his face, breathing in my scent.