Month: July 2005

Where it becomes difficult to color between the lines. Where you’re left wondering why you were wondering in the first place. Where you tell yourself that you will take just one small bite but find yourself reaching for more.

What do I think about when I fall asleep at night?

I dream about…

…her…nameless…faceless…perfect in her imperfections…her…the girl I passed in the walkway at work…her…the woman I smiled at while ordering strawberries at the diner…her…the submissive upon whose throat my hands feels entirely too comfortable…her…embodied in the words of a stranger describing how it feels to drag her fingers across her clit at my demanding insistence….her…

…and I am…

…wanting the first touch, the first time a hand finds her bare thigh, bare everything, fingers arching to slide against her. This could be anywhere. It could be at my door. It could be in the backseat of my car. It could be on my couch, or my bed. Or floor. The first kiss might be on the small of her back, or the curve of her neck. It’s that first taste of her skin, the first moment I realize my hands have found the warmth of something deliciously dangerous. A hint of something. A promise, a threat of more. A first touch that is both hesitant and sure, finding her wet already….

…and I am pressing her back against a wall, holding her wrists behind her back, and kissing her, knowing she can’t stop me, that she just have to give in entirely to the kiss…

…and I am tracing promises into her skin with my fingertips and tasting her answers on her lips. Wrapping her so tight that a whisper can push her over…

…and I am enjoying the danger in living out a fantasy; the harder the step, the more lines that are crossed, the harder it hits, the stronger the desire. Sometimes it is the step itself that burns. How many lines does can one dream cross…

…and I am hearing the catch in her breathing when lips move along the back of her neck, drawing her head to the side to nuzzle and hold her still while small burning kisses are left against her skin…

…and I am traveling those dark woods and freeing the wolves that haunt them; beasts that feast on the things you keep tamed through friendship, through routine, through art…

…and I am spiraling along the edge, tasting life and breathing it in like the cool crisp air after rain. Left sensitive and shivering. Hungry and happy…

…and I am practicing evil subtle enough that the soul is a gift already given…

…and I awake to the taste of lingering dreams like absinthe on my lips and the fevered echoes of desire that tickle the back of my mind until I slide under again, this time into a slumber filled not with dreams, but of…

I could regale you with details from my trip to sin city and the beach. Share images of debauchery and devilishness.

I could, but I won’t.

Not today. Today, I want to talk about edges. I want to talk about the fine line we walk when we indulge ourselves. The places where life comes to a point sharp enough to draw blood. The moments of clarity so striking that they contrast harshly with the stills making up the rest of our lives. Places of pivots. Joy. Guilt. Edges.

***

I have a large collection of edged weapons. Rapier, damascus knife, sword-breaker, dagger, gladiator sword. The knife and dagger have sharp edges, the swords less so – but all are dangerous if not handled correctly. You risk cutting yourself and those near you. The same is true for the way we wield our weapons of words, touches, and company. Sometimes we cut so quickly and without thought that the marks we leave don’t show for days, weeks, or years.

I like to play with naked blades. My prey blindfolded and bared, the icy tickle of a sharp edge along the edge of the neck, up across the inner thigh, just against a nipple. Cold, sharp, it awakens nerve endings. The promise held in the edge is enough to stir breasts to rise, breathing to quicken, and a body to shiver.

It is the threat that holds promise, not the cutting. But there other edges, aside from steel.

Lust

Lust is a finely honed knife; if you’re not careful it can cut deeply; and if you are careful…it can cut even deeper. It is the edge on which I most often experience my life upon.

The right blade, of course, requires the right sheathe.

Love

Was ever there so tempestuous a place to live? Dwell too long in its’ embrace and without it you become lost. Love has its’ own edge. Twin blades of jealousy and need.

Danger

Adrenaline driven acts. Pulse-setting seconds in which you taste both fear and joy in the same breath.

Sky-diving. Affairs. Bungee jumping. One-night stands. Bar room brawls. Self-awareness (perhaps the most dangerous of them all).

They all hold an element of risk. To each person, some dangers are abhorrent, while others tantalizing. The secret of knowing which appeals to each person is a key to understanding them.

Back from the city of sin, and now off to the beach for a few days. Enjoy!

NE is my best friend.

Our D/s relationship is not 24/7, but it is always there – like the leather flogger I have laid out so carefully on my bookcase: most visitors politely pretend to ignore it, but it’s mere presence puts everything else in my study in a slightly different light.

Several years ago I spent a great deal of time with a friend of mine who was just learning about the D/s lifestyle. I’m not extremely overt about what I do behind closed doors, but he knew about NE and I’s relationship. Once, almost casually, he mentioned that he planned ‘to break’ his girlfriend. He’s not a physically or emotionally violent person. I *know* he wouldn’t harm anyone. He was trying to convey the fact that he planned to take her down.

But words have power. Using the right words is very important.

I don’t like to break things. Bend? Oh yes. I’ll bend someone so far they *think* they might snap. But part of being dominant is knowing just how far someone can be pushed.

A broken toy is of no use. A broken friend even less so. A broken best friend? …

There are ways to reach inside someone and grip them with such intensity that their world is reduced to a single sensation. Force them outside themselves. Faster. Harder. Now. Now. NOW.

Moments like these can rip people apart in more then a metaphorical manner.

Relationships made only of these moments will burn brightly and quickly. Before NE, most of my relationships were made almost entirely of these moments. Long term relationships require a different strategy. I have to pace myself with her. I don’t have to break her to make her mine.

With her, I have different moments – those that I tease along slowly. Weeks, months, of planned disagreements, subtle touches, a random letter or two and then I descend and take what is mine. The heat has been brought to a boiling point and in a war of attrition, I win it all without having to burn her out. This method is much more insidious. And just as enjoyable.

Oh, I still enjoy a good hard mind-fuck once in a while. But I’ve also learned to enjoy the more gradual rewards of the longer view.