Tell me you'll be rollin' in.

Reading female domme blogs is oddly enjoyable for me.  To love cock as I do, yet have a whole different experience.  A different side of power.

It's clear that I am submissive.  I relish giving up choice, as it's mostly a burden.  When I had free will, I could not reign back my impulse to "Big Mama".  I want to give all the weary men what they need.  Pouting is a turn off, as is complaining.  But to be that soft place a man can rest his head.  To hold him and make it all feel better for a couple hours.  That is what I fantasize about.  And I know how to help him get me off.  Men just light up when they can make me scream and feel my insides thrum to their rhythm.  For whatever brief time that it is honest, I can make him smile.  My skin longs to be touched by a man who I can fold myself around and make forget about the toil. 

The man who can call me his Big Mama, will be home tomorrow night.  My owner.  I can wrap my arms and legs around him and wash away his trip.

Or are we Dancer?

I guess Mr. White can't describe everything in lyrics.  There is a certain experience.  The first time I heard this song, when it came out a few years ago, I knew exactly what it was about for me.

The last month I have been in reset mode.  My re-adolescence complete.  I'm bored with what I'm supposed to be doing right now--which is carry on.  Is anyone really surprised by this?  When was I ever NOT bored with maintaining?  There are two directions I could go with my life at this point, that will be exciting and fulfilling for me.  Both would drastically affect the family.  After weeks of talking about this with my Knight.  Thinking about everything he says.  Thinking about it all the time.  One option, in our current family situation, has a high probability of pulling us apart in different directions.  The other will force us to all come together. 

I never kneel when I pray.  I pray whenever and however I am.  There is only one experience that has me on my knees and looking for the answer.  Only one experience that makes me feel outside humanity, separate and ethereal.  An experience particular to women. 

Sitting in my little room.

Addict

A label applied to me by a knowledgeable, trusted, professional.  Someone in the business to know. So, being me, I decided to own it.

Now I sit and wonder what is a side effect of the addiction and what is just a personality trait that may have helped the addiction along.  Is everything about me "addict"? Does "addict" cover it all?  And how much of existing in a happy life rests completely on meeting a man who could make me trust him.

*****

Someone asked about how we met and our first date.  At the completion of the story, where I reveal the important part on how the seed of trust started between my Knight and I, the one person audience says that sex in the morning is so much more romantic because it's intentional. 

BLANK STARE

Romantic sex?  A concept I have never thought about and certainly never experienced.  And every time I engaged in sex it has always been very intentional.  From that first time where I went to a friends house to have sex with him, then rescheduled for the next day after asking him if he had condoms mid-dry humping to the last man I picked up at a bar and told to be Professor Snape when he showed up at my apartment, I went into sex intentionally.  Even when I was so drunk that I don't remember how I became undressed, I walked into the room intending to have sex.  Any time that I was with a man and did NOT intend sex, sex did not happen.  One situation I have previously blogged about was extremely frightening.  Another was just sickening and another nail in the coffin of trusting men.  Sex, though, is always intentional.

So back to addiction.  Is my lack of romantic sexual experiences connected to addiction at one end or the other?  There has been romance.  Well, what I have considered romance.  Ok, so washing one of my favorite dish towels so that I can tie it around my waist and clean the kitchen is romance.  So there! Romance!  Maybe I don't understand romance.

There is love.  And trust.  Love and trust are possible.  Even for an addict.

A couple nights ago I was explaining the trust and sex conundrum to the professional who first said "addict" to my face.   If a man has sex with me, I can't trust him.  If he doesn't have sex with me, he is instantly frustrating and not worth my time. 

There, in that little space between two adults making out in a parking lot, my Knight promised that if we went back to my place, we would not have sex that night.  I didn't want to turn him into just another good man I fucked and then drove away.  He didn't want to stop kissing me.  We went back to my bed knowing that I would intend to sex and he would intend to resist.  We fell asleep together on that small bed.  He had kept his promise.  First thing the next morning--penetration.  It was not romantic.  It was validation.  I am desirable.  He can keep promises, even when it is hard to do so.

It's important to remember that little space, as our life grows and diversifies.  Remember how that little seed of trust got started, so we always know what to do.

Walkin' down the street

Late at night...

I'm not, though.  I'm home and about to explode.  Trying not to explode.  Thinking about biology.  Is this ever increasing need just a common symptom of my age?  Am I slowly approaching the famed sexual peak?  If so, how many more years of this can I stand before I'm ripped apart?  How many more years to face with it getting worse every time my knight leaves town? Seven? Ten?! Everytime I go through times that I am just scared.  I'm begging for something to take away this need.  Another baby to kill my sex drive.  At this point I am really enjoying my life and don't really want another baby.  But one would provide relief from needing sex.  Or a little pot to take the edge of the tension.  Something is going to have to give.

I'm not even ovulating this week and my heart is ripped open.  My stomach is full of knots. I can feel the fantom kisses and touches.  I'm starting to hate all my toys.  I feel so reliant on them that I want to use them more and more while having sex with my knight.  And they don't do it for me.  They don't hold me or smell like home.  They don't even smell like desire.  They smell clean.

And this is now!  It gets worse every time.  Some nights I am so scared that we won't make it through this time together.  Another decade, with my drive getting stronger every month?  And the traveling?  I'm afraid we will be ripped apart by a desire that I can only somewhat control now.

And I fought the cold.

After announcing our engagement, a sister told our relatives that I was marrying my knight for his money.  By that time, this was not true.

What is true is that I had spent the previous couple of years seeking a man who would support me financially.  I did start dating him because he could buy me dinner.  Is that so crazy when I was living on mostly yogurt?  Who puts up a fight walking out of Hell?  Six months later, when we started planning a wedding, he had already seen a whole lot of dark shit with his eyes open and not becoming scared.  He had also been my longest lasting relationship at that point.

Those many times in between doomed relationships were not empty.  I was never good at lonely and I didn't have to be.  Didn't matter that I was never beautiful.  Didn't hurt that I had a body, while not small, was round in all the right places.  Really, though, it's because I was a woman wanting something from a man.  That's it.  And I got all kinds of things from men.

Recently loneliness has crept back into my life.  Can I really complain that paying my bills means my knight has to travel?  My world crumbles every time I leave him at the airport.  Everytime searching for some new, safe, way to fill the loneliness.  Looking for someone to play with me through words.  A world of words is what I have.

It is no coincidence that I was already trying to live out fantasies of being owned with I met my knight.  He likes to own everything.  I like that he owns me.  Ownership and desire.  He needs one, I need the other.  Until recently just getting it from the other person has been enough.  But I never was good at lonely.  While he can own many things inanimate, desire has to come from another human being.  Often drunk and alone late at night, I have been soliciting it.  Got more than I bargained for.

Cut loose and high, I strutted through the rain to see a former playmate.  Really, it was just for a laugh, as I had no obvious indication from him that he found me at all interesting any longer.  Then he fucking picked me up.  Like I said, I haven't been small since turning 16.  To be picked up like it was nothing feels like flying.  I haven't been picked up like that in nearly a decade, as my knight did not focus on growing upper body strength as a teenager.  Now it's too late.  I realized this feeling is the driving force behind all my "fucking against a _____" fantasies.  But the night did not end there.  In saying goodbye, this former playmate picked me up again and shared his desire with me.  Strong and palpable desire.

The next afternoon, alone in a cold bath, I had a pit in my stomach thinking about never again orgasming to that feeling of lightness and desire.  A few days after that, I broached the subject with my knight.  The good owner he is, he suggested a possibility that would open up my experiences for now, while reaffirming his ownership of my body.  Since then, he is sharing all sorts of new desires with me.  Things that can happen.  That I would enjoy.  That we can both enjoy.  I don't know how long this hypersexual phase of our marriage will last, but I plan to ride it for all it's worth.  And keep falling in love with my knight anew.

And I thank that playmate for clarifying my desires by sharing his own.

I got a knockin' in my knees

And, Lord, I sure got a wobble in my walk!
There hasn't been enough time for my Knight to take me in his arms and talk romance.  Sometimes I feel after almost 9 years together, we are set in our grooves.  And I am definitely chafing. 

Not sure what it is.  Maybe it's just a result of stress at home from all this turmoil.  Maybe the safety of my cage is starting to feel too safe.  There are things I can do and be in this safe space created by my love.  A wonderful life I have hidden inside for nearly a decade.  I love this life.  I always want to have his space that outsiders can't invade.  The problem comes that I am feeling power surge through my still relatively young body.  The body wants to go hunt, and then run home to lick my wounds.

I got the chance to do this last week.  It was thrilling.  When my Knight and I go out, I like to turn on the whole room, but only from afar.  I want the men to want me.  I want the men to desire to be my husband--at least for right then.  My recent venture was without my man to hold onto.  I was on several club dance floors.  Touching and drinking and partying.  I woke up the next two mornings in pain.  And confused.

I want to go do that again!  That was open and scary, I want to stay here and hide!  Then a friend's blog post talked about growing up, and to this day, struggling with self power.  Letting what people say affect how she acts.  Using ugliness to feel elevated.  That's not the way to be great.  The way to the center is to treat people well and walk away from ugliness.  So am I headed towards clubbing with friends becoming a regular part of my life again?  Can I show women my age what it's like to be young and lovely?  By that, I mean can I do so and not get lost out there in the wild world. 

Tonight I feel secure inside my home.  With secure comes the ability to venture out.  What has brought this deep sense of stability?  Learning something new with my Knight.  We have finally bridged a gap for both of us.  He has found a new interest, that was a variant of our primary goal.  A cloud has finally lifted for me.  I have finally had an anal sex experience that was not scary, emotionally belittling, or painful.  Sitting here typing, I feel warm, glowing, and like I will be waking someone up in a few minutes.  My Knight half grunting, "God! _(my name)_!" when he came with his cock in one hole and his finger in another will be dominating my fantasies for quite awhile.  With a love bubble this bright, there is no way I could lose sight of it when wiggling my toes in the murky world outside.

Is never on the menu.

I had an experience tonight.  Disturbing.  I want to tell my Knight about it, but he is far away and out of time with me.  Now that I have it resolved in my mind, I can't hold it in until I talk to him next.  He will have to read it here.  That upsets me, but it is also an alternative purpose of this blog.

Lets start with some background.  I have fallen in love with women throughout my adult life.  In truth I was first in love with a woman before I ever sought a male sexual partner.  Being able to fall in love with a person regardless of gender I believe is ubiquitous female characteristic.  What makes me different from every woman I know, is that even though I have fallen in love with women, I have never had any sexual urges for one.  Ever.  My first female love interest, I think I wanted to live inside her skin, to be near her always, but I never wanted to kiss her or to touch her sexually.  I have only lusted for men.

Later, after I became sexually active, I had a much more casual stance when I found myself falling for a woman.  What did it matter? So I had a slightly stronger attachment to one friend over the others.  It wasn't quite the same as other loving friendships.  I have, for instance, never felt I was in love with the woman that I consider my very best friend.  It's a part of my emotional make-up that I have never really thought about or had a clear understanding.  It hasn't factored largely in my lifestyle.

I have had feelings of being in love with one woman friend for several years.  Hasn't really affected anything.  Several months ago that started to change.  She, not knowing she was doing this, offered up a surrogate man for me to put in fantasy.   When she described a relationship situation she wished she had with this man who is her soulmate, I realized that if I was not already spoken for, I could fill her desire.  Even at that point it didn't have a major effect on my life.  Perhaps the occasional, fleeting, vague fantasy.

To me, a truly married couple is like one person.  I know I often feel like my Knight and I combined are a whole person.  He is my soulmate.

Things have been difficult the last few months.  I was, am, dealing with stress related depression.  I have not felt my sexual self for a couple months or so.  This is my first ovulation cycle where I am again overcome sex thoughts.  Since my Knight is far away, I am talking about sex with all my friends who are willing to do so.  After confessing to the friend that I have had passing fantasies about her and her soulmate, those fantasies started to consume my mind.  Not only that, they became more detailed and increasingly fantastically erotic.  By fantastically, I mean not something that could happen in real life with real physics.

I didn't meant for these fantasies to get this way.  I was frustrated with myself when I did.  I eventually let go, let the fantasies take over, and got off to them with my glass dildo inside for help.  I sat there for over an hour with the dildo still inside, feeling ashamed.  Finally I pulled it out and held the warm glass in my hands.  I smelled it and realized instantly what my REAL problem is.

With all the depression recently, my Knight and I have been at each other a couple times a week or LESS!!  His smell is not on me!  I knew sitting there with the warm glass that only smelled of me, that if I could smell is brand on me, I would never have vivid fantasies about another real life person.   Whatever strange and stray fantasy emotions that may cross my self, if I can smell my Knight's brand, I feel safely anchored to him.  There is nothing in my life I feel more strongly about that my relief to be anchored sexually to my Knight.  Whatever happens, he will be there to take care of me and I will encourage him to reach levels of pleasure he has only dreamed of.

Tomorrow my Knight will come home.  Every desire I am currently experiencing is wrapped up in smelling him next to me.  The smelling him mixed with me.  Then feeling him in charge of me.  I don't know any love stronger than the love I feel for him.  It's more than being in love.  It's more than being in love AND being in lust.  It's a connection that consumes me.  My love for him is my world.

When the song takes over me.

So I can't keep quiet for long. This new album is milk and honey on my soul. It's so powerful that I had to listen to Ledbelly this morning just for a break. As for my sex life these days, it's up and down. This is one of those lovely hard times. My knight and I are still very much in love. Things came to a head and I had to put severe pressure on him to get all his stuff out of my house. We are still in that process. His spending any available daylight to move stuff into his warehouse in the front yard has put a pause on our liaisons. Morning is too crowded and by nighttime I am too exhausted. Oh, we've still had the occasion nighttime sex. It's not the same. I am sometimes having to use extreme self control to keep from pulling him away while he is clearing. And now he is gone again. So much traveling. When I look at this situation straight in the face, I am overwhelmed. Trying to focus on little things, trusting that this hard time will be over and our passionate life will pick back up. I can't fight it or sit still. I may have to make a powder blue pair of full seat breaches with matching vest.

Fan Letter #2

March 21, 2012
Dear Mr. White,

Here it is, 22 months since my first fan letter. I have now seen you live. It was amazing. Everything you have for your fans, you put in the show.

You were only the second celebrity crush I have had in my life. It will sound totally phoney if I say who my teenage celebrity crush was for. At the time my crush for you started, I did not know how much you loved him as well. I was always infatuated with the man on the cover of Nashville Skyline. That album is still my favorite of his.

Everything I needed to discover with this blog, this obsession, has been found. Even things I didn't know I wanted. Here I am 22 months later, passionately in love with my husband, happy in my life, and even happy with who I am. All of it. I am happy to be me. And it all started by being surprised to suddenly have a new celebrity crush after 15 years.

So, thank you, Mr. White. Thank you for enduring the public eye to share your gifts. Thank you for playing small venues, where I was ten feet from the stage. Thank you for the energy you put into your music. Thank you for helping me reach this point in my life.

As for the obsession and this blog--I am released.

Sincerely,
Your happiest 30-something fan.

I won't forsake my husband too

Somewhere along the way I became a full-fledged groupie. Well, except for one aspect of that word. This post is about words.

Often I think that Mr. White's new penchant to frown is a way to deter women from falling in love with him. He must have realized that his smiling face is near irresistible. It doesn't work. We all love him anyway.

How do we love him? I want to meet him this weekend. He will be in town again. It is SXSW after all. And now I have the most amazing groupie pants. A friend agreed to dye the fabric for me when I could not find the right colors in the right fiber content. Today, when I started sewing the fly, I felt about to orgasm. I was getting dizzy! I had to take a break, drink some water, take a few deep breaths before I could start sewing again. They turned out too hot. Maybe they only make me hot thinking about them. Left leg is red. Right leg is black. Even the waistband is split along those lines. But that is not all. They are not a direct copy of Mr. White's jeans. These are riding breeches, otherwise know as "full seat breeches". The "full seat" is heart-shaped, white microsuede. Oh, and they are skin tight twill. Probably I will be laughed at wearing them in public. It is unlikely that they will make Mr. White want to meet me. I would like to meet him. In my absolute wildest fantasies, I refuse his sexual advances.

What is it about me that I want everyone to lust for me. I don't really want EVERYONE to lust for me. I fantasize about it, though. And then there is the word. The word I use here. The word that described me for years of my life. A word that I am no longer afraid of. Slut. I was a slut. Some people don't like that word at all, but I get to label myself. Slut. I was a slut. And that was okay.

Don't get me wrong, I haven't changed my position on what I hope for my children. I don't think the choices I made were "right". Just that they were the choices I made. Those few years of my life were not a black hole of misery. Yes, I was very sad through most of it. There were kindnesses. There are happy memories. It was life--good and bad. I don't have to hate the good, just because it was the result of bad choices. I don't have to hate anyone--including myself. I don't have to be afraid to call slut to my past self. I was a slut. I get to say it. I get to own it. I am no longer a slut.

I am no longer a slut, I just have an overactive libido and a husband, a knight, who mans up to fulfill my desires. I will not forsake him. I will not forsake my babies. It is so great being over thirty and in control of what you want. And whatever else he is, smile and all, Mr. White is not Black Jack Devey.

Gestation

I think this post is going to turn out happier than I expected. I went today to visit the baby that is not mine. A baby conceived within days of our anti-miracle. A baby that was born this week. Not my baby. I did not hold her.

The last few days I have been feeling bad about this. Feeling bad about myself. Wishing my Knight were here to fuck the memories away. Feeling bad about using sex to hide depression.

Tonight I am feeling OK about that. All of it. Someone once told me that touch must be my primary form of connection to other people. That sounds true. Really, though, I don't care what's right or wrong. I don't have to understand.

Gestation is just a phase of life and it comes to an end. Maybe that is what I need to make my grown up decision. To have an end to this phase of my life. I am never going to have another baby.

Yesterday is dead and gone. I can focus on all the pain, or just remember all the kindnesses. So many kindnesses through the years. So many kindnesses to share tomorrow. If we are happy, we need never worry about what is right. Whatever new adventures to come are out of sight. We won't be facing them alone. I won't be facing them alone.

By the time that I get that old.

Lying in bed a few nights ago, with my knight holding my breasts after coming on my belly, I felt so safe. So much in love. So amazingly in love and at peace. So peacefully in love that sometimes I fear it can't last forever. How did I get here? Somebody sure is watching out for me.

I think often of how I wound up here. And even more often, how I can help my kids wind up in a place like this without all the pain in between. I think about them becoming teenagers. I know what I would wish for them. I also know that it isn't my life to live again. It's their lives. They are already five hundred thousand times more amazing than I was.

Then I think of the steps that I took to the dark place. And no matter what I say, remember that I know fully they were MY steps. I was in charge and no one else was at all responsible for anything I've ever done.

So, we talk about my abusive alcoholic father. Perhaps mention that I probably (okay, very fucking likely) have the so called "slut gene". I certainly have all the other behavior traits linked the that gene variant.

Then I think about the first 3 boys I had sex with. Well, the first two boys and one man.

#1 Number One. I wanted it and so did he. Don't think I actually loved him. I wanted him. I wanted to feel something, more like. I was seventeen and he was eighteen and I expected too much of him. That is what I remember looking back from this age. What I expected from him was ridiculous. It was totally unreasonable. I had this idea at the time that he was WAY experienced. Do I really know that? Did I really know? No. Anyway, I was a virgin, he is large in girth and didn't know much about lubrication. He couldn't get all the way in. I was so frustrated. So resentful for years after I learned about lube. I know now how crazy that was. How I let my expectations get the better of me in that situation.

#2 Poor Number Two. That is not kind. I was not kind in this relationship. I sought someone who would give me attention that I felt #1 had not provided. A couple years ago he contacted me, and told me that his friends had warned him against me. Warned him that I was using him, although they did not know the real reason why.

Anyway, I didn't get was I was seeking from him either. He was so small, I could not feel him inside me at all. I treated him worse after our first sexual encounter. I was frustrated by his ability to come when I got nothing. Nothing. I couldn't respect him. That sounds totally bitchy, but it's the truth. I couldn't respect him after I knew how tiny his cock is. I'm a bitch.

#3 Number Three I was in love. I was in love with a man who was not capable of feeling love. He was a great lover. I finally got the sexual release I was looking for. He was older than me. I met him first through a friend while in highschool, but our sexual relationship started a little more than a year after #1.

Number 3 was also very large in girth. Knew all about lubricants, though. It was the first time with him when I discovered I was allergic to spermicide. With him was the only time in my life I took LSD. So many things I did with him--including being homeless in Chicago after he ran through my bank account and stole all my stuff. Yes, number three was abusive.

I went from resentful, to ugly, to abused again. When I crawled out of the hole several months later, I don't think I knew how to properly connect with people. I went straight into promiscuous sex for the sake of sex. For the sake of being sad and alone. By three years later, a few months before I met my knight, i did not believe it was possible for anyone to actual love me. I was only looking for men who could be part of a fantasy for me. I didn't have faith in me or in men. I was so fucked up.

I'm so thankful to get to be this old. I don't have any resentment left. I don't have pain left to feel for any abuse from any man. I only have love and contentment; and a lingering fear that it won't last and I don't really deserve it. The best I can try for is not to see #1, #2, or #3 in any of the boyfriends my daughter will bring home one day. They are not these boys, these men. She is not me. It's all going to be fucking awesome for her, whatever choices she makes.

Just one drink

Is not enough. Transformation complete. I have turned my knight into a power lover. Anything he learns from here on out is PhD level. He can make me come with his mouth, he can find my clit with just his fingers, he can tease me into begging for it, moaning and writhing. I'm living on ibuprofen the last couple days because my body won't listen to my pleas to keep it external. He walks in with that boyish, excited smile and my body screams, "Touch me! Kiss me! Fuck me!"

I normally only write on this blog under the influence--usually of alcohol. Pretty sure I'm love-drunk right now. My body's swimming around me. Better go find the ibuprofen, so I won't cry when he comes back in.

If your thinking I'm crazy to keep wanting him inside me when I'm obviously worn, just watch the Mr. White sing Lovin' Cup with the Stones. Then imagine a smile like that directed at you by your lover, your knight, that makes your whole body sing. You'll be begging for it too, ibuprofen and all!

Listening to my Heart

My knight has been away, but I know everything is OK. People may think that he is being used, that I need a lot of attention. What they forget is that I am not a feminist. I want him to think he owns me. I am his girl. I want him to own me. I feel safe knowing that I am not under my own jurisdiction. My Knight knows everything is OK. They don't even know me. My heart tells me what to do. I am his girl. Everything I do is for him.

Teach myself, maybe that will be nice

Series of circumstances has made me focus on parts of my life. How one path lead to another. Guess I'm trying to understand who I am? Here what I told someone I probably should have not:

I realized in the traffic home that the (partial) story of the cocaine guy probably left the impression that I was raped. I was never raped. I was NEVER raped. There are times were the condition I was in leaves one to worry about the state of morality among men (young and old), but whatever happened (and I don't always remember) I did invite them back with the definite intention of sex. It was always about power.

So, cocaine guy--lets call him Carlos, as I did then even though that was not his name. I was camping at the beach with my best friend, her sister, some other friends, you get the idea. Lily (bff's sister, 40's movie star) boyfriend was headed down from Austin and bringing a friend. I had recently read an article that said it was bad for women to to sleep w/ 10 or more men before marriage. Currently I had slept w/ 9 (not including giving my friend a blow job one night a couple years before this) and decided the this friend was going to be #10 to put me squarely in the realm of slut. Whenever I decided that I would have sex with this stranger, I couldn't remember his name and started him calling him Carlos. Lily's boyfriend called again when they stopped at a grocery and asked if there was anything they should bring. I called out that they should be sure to bring condoms because i was going to have sex w/ "Carlos" when he got there. I got a blank stare, but then they all figured out who was meant by Carlos. By the end of the night, we had indeed had quite a large amount of sex. According to Maya's (bff) account later, half of (a beach town) could hear it. The next afternoon, we all had breakfast together at a restaurant before heading off in our own directions. I asked right across several tables stuck together what Carlos's actual name was, so that I could write it in my book. (at the time I was keeping a list of men. I later gave up this practice otu of lack of caring or wanting to keep count)

Fast forward several months to Lily's 21st bday party. I am currently with one of my short-term boyfriends (whole 'nother story). Carlos is there and pushes me into a bathroom and locks the door. He wants me to undress so that he can take pictures of me. (long side note: at the time I had a 25 inch waist with practically the same size (although considerably less saggy) breasts and ass. I indeed, as one man put it, had a body like Betty Boop--only longer. For comparison, I currently have a 28" waist. And the wonderful red pubic hair--as you know I feel is the best part of being a redhead.) I kept tell him no, and trying to get back to the door, when he said, "Come on, someone like you?" And he was right. At that point in my life, that was a very accurate expression of surprise and frustration. Even so, I got out of the bathroom w/o ever taking off my clothes and left the party. This is the point in my life where I completely identified, and would be accurately described, as a slut. He was right. A person like me shouldn't care what kind of liberties others take. While I never took money (more's the pity) and I was always in control (for the most part) of what happened to me, it was all out of deep sadness. At the time, I would have become angry if someone said I was acting out from the sadness. Isn't anger a normal response to honesty we don't want to hear?

It was from that time, that Lily has commented on before. She told me once that she never dispared of the woman I have become with (My Knight), because I was obviously never happy then and I am obviously happy now (this was before the current period of sadness).

Know that this is not the worst story. I was not a nice person. (My Knight) came to me when I was tired. So tired. And he held on. Passion doesn't just express itself in one area of life. It is all over, and at that point it was wilder from years of... of something that corresponds to every bad idea about men being confirmed. He held on so tight. Years later, when I realized that he was in some part a normal man in regards to sex, I was able to come to him as an equal, as myself, and know that he is not actually bettter than the rest of us.

In retrospect, and sobriety, I believe it was Lily's 18th birthday. Maybe she will let me know. Nothing about that time is direct to a timeline. I became even more high a week or so ago and told my Knight all about this conversation. He does have the right to know all the ugliness. There is so much ugly back there.

Recently I have seen doubt in others eyes. Doubt in me, doubt in my trust of my knight. I have put all my chips in one bowl and am dependent on another person. I am not afraid of that dependency. Nor am I worried about him being dissatisfied with me. There is no one so amazing to me as my knight. We can exist together simultaneously on an ethereal world where conversations are obscure and intriguing to the extreme; and on the basic world where we love based on sex and consideration. No man I have ever met has lived up to being this close to a true genius. And if he needs to be fucked by a whore, I am just the woman for THAT job. We are both old enough to accept, and revel in, that part of our relationship. We are enough for each other.

Seems like I am teaching myself. Maybe that is nice.