I indulged. From about the 1920s, I think, and certainly restorable.
Here’s to indulgence.
knives
Both Craftsmate and Penthouse had expressed to me that they were not particularly into knives or knifeplay when I first met them.
Today, both of them texted me on separate occasions to let me know that this is no longer the case. They’re in deep enough that Penthouse has kindled a book on it.
And apparently this is all my fault.
Sorry I’m not sorry?
I like to engage in acts of creative destruction. Never to truly hurt you but rather to startle you into feeling alive.
Photo (by {E}mma)
You tease.
Why, hello there.
Yeah, I didn’t really like knives before. I may be changing my mind on that one.
Suh. Mirk.
Game over? Really now? Are you sure?
Because, in my house, this is just about when the games begin.
We play a game, she and I. We know the places in the woods where no one goes; those are our favorite places to walk. After ten minutes or so, my pace begins to slow. She keeps going, deeper into the forest, and when she is just out of sight, I change my path. Cut off the faint trail we’ve marked. Move between the trees. And then, when enough time has passed, my hunt begins.
And when I find her, she’s mine.
Sometimes, I frighten myself when I really pull back the now vaguely socially acceptable kinky fun I engage in to find some of the things that really grip me.
I have to admit that every time I see knives, I think of Ivy.
Funny, every time I see sexy ladies in dinosaur masks, I think of you. But that doesn’t happen nearly as much as it should.
Hello, old friends.
I used to have some crazy fantasies like these. It’s funny how your mind can kind of push things that arouse you (in my case, danger, knives) to extremes so you can dive into it and find a happy, safe medium from the aspects of it that you enjoy.