“A world without clocks and cell phones.”
That feeling.
The marks might last a day or two – mementos to their togetherness in a world of his crafted making. A world without clocks and cell phones, only trust, hope, fear, love. The things that remain when everything else is torn away.
She cherished her marks as reminders of what was real.
M’s Infernal Cabinet of Desire: But is it Art?
You know when you’re uncomfortable with how much something turns you on and so you share it with other perverts in hopes of validation?
The photographer with whom she had an entanglement invited her to an art show, entitled ‘Consent, Ecstasy and Despair: a Study.’ He asked her to arrive early.
He cornered her in the cloakroom, kissed her hard. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” he said, his hands roving over her body, reaching under her…
It’s gonna be ok.
Growing up is a pretty awful thing isn’t it? Time whisks us along faster than we’d like, our bodies change, and our minds wander places they never used to, and sometimes settle on ideas that we don’t understand. We’ve all woken up in the middle of the night in a sweat, rattled by a dream so vivid we’re nearly convinced it was real, shocked at the pictures that crept into our heads while our backs were turned… It can be enough to spark a small-scale existential crisis.
How did all this stuff get there? What’s happening to me? Why is everything so complicated all of a sudden?
…and what the heck am I supposed to do now?
It’s that last one that’s important. I think maybe our biology, our psychology, the ticking clock on the bedside table… They’re not working against us so much as they’re pushing us to work hard at being “us,” and asking that we consider why we’re here in the first place.
We don’t get to control this uncomfortable metamorphosis. No set of ‘medical theories,’ western or otherwise, has demonstrated a complete understanding of how our bodies work. Fortunately, we are resilient creatures.
We can’t expect to shield ourselves from the influence that’s all around us. Others will try to tell us what they think we should be doing, and while there’s great value in considering their ideas, it’s our own compass that should be our guide. Our ‘gut’ will know, even if we don’t yet understand. Trust it.
So what next?
Start small. Find something you like to do and do it as best you can. Maybe it’s something fancy like playing an instrument, or studying the stars, or maybe something as simple as cooking, or drawing, or even volunteering and helping other people… It doesn’t matter what, it matters that you try your best so that at the end of the day you can be proud of yourself.
…and being proud of yourself isn’t always easy. It takes some practice, but it’s worth the effort. Do what you love as best you can, and be good to the people you meet while you do it. It won’t happen overnight, but in time the pieces will start to come together and you’ll have learned a great deal about yourself in the process.
Growing up is all about realizing what you need in order to be happy, and doing it.
Simple as that.
So, dear little anon, I’m sorry you’re having a rough day, but hang in there and rest assured that you’re not alone. If your ears get bent out of shape along the way, all you need to do is straighten them out as best you can and keep on hopping.
Usually I’m reblogging and liking whyexactly for the really sexy stuff he produces.
But the way he responded to his anon is just wonderful and worth a read, no matter what stage of “growing up” you’re at.
(But don’t go on his tumblr, or mine, until you’re 18. Really, yo. That’s the bottom limit cutoff for stages of growing up.)
Aaaand I’m blushing.
Q: Can you do that with a strap on? Put it on her backwards, with the cock pointing in?
“B…, b…, but… you’re putting it on all wrong!”
-“Hold still and be quiet cupcake. It doesn’t matter what the other little girls’ daddies do, as I’m not the other little girls’ Daddy, am I?”
*pouts*
A: …
You didn’t think I was pretending when I told you I would own you, did you? That somehow we were playing? We are grown-ups, dear. Children play; we commit. And you and I have committed.
In your case, to sleeping in this cage, chained to the bars, until you have developed a more positive attitude to your new situation. If you are good perhaps you will in time deserve a mattress, maybe even a blanket.
Mmmm. Damn.
Tiredness does not equal an acceptable reprieve. You should have thought about rest before you talked shit about how many times you could come in one hour. You’ll just have to be a little trooper. It’s not so bad. You’ll feel overstimulated, shell-shocked for a minute or two, but after that, you’ll stretch and writhe and unfurl. You’ll feel the life flow back into your etiolated limbs. Just a few minutes more and you’ll be clutching and grinding and laughing and counting off number six.
Oh, holy hell.
never before and now all the time. that scares me.
I know.
I want you to be a little bit afraid because,
When your body acts before your mind is ready,
That’s when you’re real.
So stop hiding and
Come meet the real you.
You might like her.
Well, good thing other sexy tumblrs are writing out my fantasies for me so I don’t have to.
Now somebody get me something to fan myself with.
You know why I’ve made you kneel on a towel pet?
It goes like this. I’m going to talk to you, I’m going to whisper sinful things in your ear. I’m going to tease you with words but I will not touch you.
You see there will be no touching until you have dripped your honey on the towel.
Do you understand now pet? Just nod and listen.
“She makes me feel like a dirty old pervert and a romantic, both at the same time.”
I don’t know, just something about that grabs me tonight. It’s just sort of how it’s done. And it emphasizes all those dichotomies present in this lifestyle.
I made her wear the same knickers all day. I made her keep them on while I played with her or talked dirty, and she got more and more wet. The knickers were black. I knew by the end of the day that they would be well soiled, showing the evidence of what a little slut she is, how she can’t stop being wet all day long. She said by night-time that they were ‘disgusting’. Good, I said. That’s just what I want.
She’s sealing them tight in a plastic bag and sending them to me. I can’t wait for them to arrive. I’ll put them to my nose and inhale the scent of her. I’ll keep them wrapped up tight, hoping it will last for ever, though I know it won’t.
She makes me feel like a dirty old pervert and a romantic, both at the same time. It’s a very good feeling. I think she’s wonderful.
I’m told red wine is good for you. So open up and take your medicine.
I’m not sure if the fact that the above commentary makes me hot is indicative of the tone being incredibly sexy and commanding and hot-mental-scenario-inducing or that I’m just an enthusiastic drinker.
I’ll be going with the first, for many reasons.
Have I told you all that I get unreasonably, um, eager when I have a little red wine? It’s an affliction.