D is for…

this was supposed to publish this morning, but my computer and my internet were not speaking to one another…*sigh*…

Again, I just can’t go for the obvious here.

You know what it is, that so easy “D” subject, I know you do!


Yeah, I could write a book about my dom, and more about the “Dream Dom” that I write about all the time and who doesn’t really exist because story heroes have so few flaws (and where else but in a sex blog would a sexual deviant who likes to hurt someone for pleasure be called a ‘hero’, I ask? LOL!) (How’s that for demonstrating a true run on sentence. I was going to fix it but since demonstrating is another D word, let’s *ahem*…run with it!)

But I can’t go the easy route.

Dynamic. That could be interesting. What makes me a submissive? What makes him Dominant. How does our dynamic interlock and exist for so long?

But that’s –really–boring if you’re not part of the story, right?

You want the sexy. The naughty. The HAWT STUFF.

(yeah, so do I, actually)

Who doesn’t? The slaps and bites, the moans and crying. The reddened, bruised flesh, or the aching holes. Oh, the cum-covered face/tits/ass/cunt. All of this is exciting. Hot, stimulating. Even after having a sexy, nasty, down-and-dirty romp, when you read this sort of thing it might just turn you on all over again.

But what about the after?

When you part ways, or the play stops for other reasons.

The high is SO GOOD.

No, really.


For me it lingers, often for days, even a week. But then the bruises begin to fade…I note with sadness when the purples begin to leak into greens. When the greens fade to that ugly color somewhere between grody old army uniform and mold covered swamp.

That’s when Drop hits me.

Sometimes it comes out of the blue. I’m noting the fading bruises and I think I’m okay with it. Hell, I’m a busy gal, who has time for this shit, I think, championing my bravery in moving on.

And then I cry.

I like it when it hurts. I love it when he hurts me. I ache for days afterwards, and bruises he lays upon my flesh will linger for 10 days or more. But when the bruises are gone? When the pain stops? It’s as if that last tangible trace of him is gone, and it is a loss so profound I wonder how I can breathe for the want of it. I wonder when I’ll get more marks (not often, these days) and how I’ll survive the need.

A playtime, a face-time–either–awaken the needs in me. He is my drug of choice and I get so much of it when His hands move over me, that when I can’t/don’t/won’t get more of it soon, I crash and burn, fall into sadness, lethargy, depression.


It passes in time, my sub-drop. It morphs into resignation, then to acceptance. It is what it is and I can’t change the circumstances. Like a good submissive I accept what is, even though my heart might rail against it. Even though my body may scream for that release. Even though I know he feels the same sorts of needs.

Surviving the drop takes time, and friendship and His calm voice on the other end of the phone. I can lean on my friends who are fellow bloggers, who I know IRL, who listen. Who can relate.

Do vanilla people get drop?

I dunno.

But I do.