Nothing feels better than letting go, and when I say letting go, I mean completely letting go, letting responsibility bleed from you as effortlessly as losing consciousness when your head hits the pillow. Until I met him, I’d had little opportunity to do that for any length of time.
Going limp requires a high level of security and complete trust in the person holding the reins.
Even now there are times, especially in my professional life, when I have to act, make decisions, be in charge, but with him, it’s different.
When you’re close to him, there’s nothing like his scent. When he’s far away, like when he travels for work, it means even more. His absence only amplifies the need. Luckily, his scent becomes trapped in bedsheets, pillowcases, shirts.
It is entirely inappropriate yearning — a need more visceral than drug addiction. The thrall. And even when there is no owner object (between Master and slave, the objectification goes both ways, and a fetish is just a talisman, after all), there is a need for the thrall.
I found I missed wanting most of all when I was alone. I was clumsy, awkward, extraneous. But to be of service… nothing better.
Serving is a not a state of powerlessness. Instead, it is a more simple, straightforward lend of power, so intense that it borders on magic.
It is only now in crisis that I understand my desire in a way I can articulate and explain, now that I am unfulfilled and vulnerable.
It occurs to me that I want the script more than any specific actor or actress, and it terrifies me that he doesn’t feel the same way. He didn’t develop expectations of what his future relationship would be like — or who his partner should be. He says he recognized me when I arrived as the person who made him happy.
This probably should delight me, but instead it all makes me feel bitter and alone in my fantasy. A fantasy just becomes shadows without full participation — the illusion becomes evident.
Now I am nothing. I am a scientist. I’ve gained some weight. I worry we will end up living our lives in front of the television spreading ever horizontally as we sit.
I do not properly honor my emotional secrets, my inner life. However, it is like a terrain that shifts under all the action. It is vital, if not honored. But after all, I’ve been trained not to honor it.