In part because, hello, rules? Pffft!
But in part because THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!
“I” reminds me of one of our earliest play times. It was summer or late spring, when we’d meet pretty regularly, every 6 weeks or so. He was spending “non-play” times telling me of all the things he was going to torture me with. One of the better things was ice.
Now, I’ve always run to hot. I get hot easily ~in ALL senses of the word! He was just starting to teach me his torturous ways, and he thought he wag going to show me a very different type of putting a hurt on me…He put an Ice cube in my pussy! I melted it in about 5 seconds. Literally, no sooner had he pushed it into me than water was dripping out of me. Aghast, he did it again, then a third time.
“I’m murdering ice here,” he’d said, “and now I guess I just have to beat you. You fucking slut! Your pussy is a fucking oven!”
It’s a good memory, that. We both laugh over it now and again.
I is also for Incredible.
It’s Incredible to me that I’ve now been blogging for 7 years, 8 months. And while I haven’t written every day, there is at least one contribution per month, every month since August 2009!
It’s also Incredible the amount of feedback that I’ve gotten over those many, many months, and the friendships, both online and IRL as a result of the blog. I’ve “met” and met some Incredible people.
It’s Incredible that M and I have lasted so long. There have been rocky periods, but I think every relationship has those resettling periods. Learning to speak clearly, and listen, and knowing when I have to be upfront with him and say “hey, this is serious to me” has been a life lesson that I’ve carried onward into ALL facets of my day-to-day. And some days I’m just too emo, and my vanilla life gets to me and he bears the brunt of it.
I is also for Isolated. For we are, we perverts. We can’t really be open about our proclivities, now can we? Would you tell your dentist that you like to be beaten while you’re being fucked roughly? Would you tell the florist that you have bruises that perfectly match that lovely rose? No. I really don’t think many of us would. Nor on the Dom side. In this world of uber-political correctness, I can’t imagine anyone saying “I like to beat a submissive, then make them have 25 orgasms as further torture. Pleasure and pain, it’s a heady mix.”
WE know it. We love it. But the rest of the world is just not ready for that brutal honesty. (Though I do suspect that more than one vanilla would be turned on by at least some light D/s play on either side of the slash.)
Internal springs to mind. The feelings inside of us that are released when we have this …kink…of ours sated. The letting go of frustrations, the freedom of NOT having to choose, the endorphin rush that being in this position brings to us…so much of it is internal. Doesn’t your mind spin like mine in 50 different directions at the start of play time? Still stuck in the “I’ve got to” mode, making mental lists, and wondering, too, about what’s going to happen, what He’s going to do to you next, and thinking how fun it is and simultaneously thinking how much time will it take and will you get home in time to put in a load of wash before bed and…
In the blink of an I…he takes over. Institutes a physical hold, which becomes a mental one too. Slick words whispered in your ear. Of pain, of pleasure. Oh the names. Slut. Whore. Naughty. Good girl. Take it. Shut the fuck up. Swallow. Open. On your knees. That annoying internal list evaporates. There is only the now. There is only your dominant and you. Your body for his pleasure, and yours. Your mind to fuck. Your body to torture. It’s all there is in the small bubble surrounding you both.
And in that bubble, the most, bestest, coolest I…Intimacy. When it’s you and him (or her). When the rest of the world is pushed away, and there is only skin upon skin. Whether it is beating time, fucking time, or that soft time after, when you both lay sweaty and sated, catching your breath and gathering your energies…that’s when I fall into that deeply connected, intimate time with Him. There is nothing to compare it to, and it doesn’t last exactly the same at any other time except in those quiet aftercare moments. It is the most intensely connected time we have.