Monday, November 14, 2016


I assumed my drought of inspiration these past several months came from being alone. Not much to draw from an endless parade of inane messages and two failed dates, really. But now that I've been in a new relationship for about 7 weeks, I still find it difficult to put words down. I find it difficult to write about him or us, and I'm not sure why. I should have a font of material. This is by far the most engaged relationship I've ever been in.

Perhaps that's it. I've never been this entangled with a man before. As you know, if you've been following me for a while, my previous owner did not ask much of me. The lack of physical contact left me with a lot of time for contemplation. The whole of relationship was mental, so I could spend countless hours navel gazing and cranking out page after page of BDSM rhetoric.

Here there is no distance to sit around and contemplate. I'm either with him or anticipating being with him. I spend the week trying to complete the list of weekly tasks I've been given. Sometimes I manage it. Sometimes things pop up and I can't, and then I kind of panic. I wouldn't say that is caused by fear of his reaction, but that I have OCD and I hate when things don't go as planned. I'm either with him, talking to him, or doing things for him and that doesn't leave a ton of room for general theorizing.

As I said in my previous piece, he's pretty damned enthralling. I tend to get wrapped up in my owners, but not to this degree. But then, I've spent more time with this man than either of my previous two partners and it hasn't even been two months.

It's strangely perfect. Everything fits together rather nicely. I can't pick out a single thing that bothers me.

I've never really done a ton of negotiating. I attribute that mostly to my default slave mode. I can't say we've done a ton of it here either. We've just naturally fallen into the M/s category, some flavor of TPE. At least, as much as you can this early in the relationship whilst living apart.

If I stay with him, he cooks for me. If he stays with me, he decides whether I am permitted to cook for him or if we will go out. In either case, he decides where and when we go somewhere. He drives. Always. He opens all the doors. Always. At restaurants, he decides either what we eat or if I am allowed to order for myself. He often decides what I will wear, as well, if I get to wear anything at all. He decides if we play, how we play, when it starts, when it stops.

He takes my physical limitations and emotional states into consideration, of course. He is a Daddy, after all. He tells me he's a Daddy, not a Master, but I think he sells himself short on that front. They aren't mutually exclusive and he fits into both categories nicely in my opinion.

He told me the first weekend we spent together that regardless, he will get his way. I think that's probably one of the hottest things a man has ever said to me.

I find it difficult to write about him, about us. Not only because I know he will read it, but because I find it damn near impossible to untangle my thoughts. He literally breaks my brain.

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