Someone shared their love of impact the other day.
It’s difficult to explain to the outside, vanilla world that pain and suffering are chosen freely here. It was nice to have the words put simply and clearly. This– is why I love it. This– is why I chose it.
Only, for myself, I don’t need marks or bruises or pretty rope. But I do need something else just as badly. I need to be consumed. Wrapped up in Him. Lost entirely to his voice, his hardness, his hands pressed against every inch of me. As he whispers,
You are mine to do with as I please. Always.
I wish I could easily put into words how I feel, what burns me to be someone else’s.
Not merely claimed in some kind of public fashion. That, yes, but more than that. Something too precious and intimate to be seen beyond the space between Him and me. Something only for us.
I don’t wish for the same things other little girls dreamt of, at least the ones I knew growing up. I didn’t wish for white wedding gowns and bouquets and a Prince Charming. Even then, I found girls to be simply…prettier. But there was something else. Even the most gorgeous girls didn’t fit my fantasies.
I see the beautiful white wedding gowns.
Stunning, flowing, sparkling. Perhaps one day I will wear one. But I, like the girl from Secretary, would soil my wedding dress with my own urine before giving vows to someone who did not want to possess every inch of my soul, my body, my mind, and bend me to his will. Would I bend my life to his? I do not know. He’s never asked me to live a life that I did not want, in fact, he probably says yes to me too often.
I am soft. Vulnerable. Gentle. I am trapped beneath him– and that frees me. But I am not a trapped bird in a gilded cage, but rather a soft, wary kitten protected within her home.
I could not imagine another life…
…though I know an endless number must exist for me. A multitude of possibilities, but only one emerged for me. I am not a cat, neither do I have nine lives.
I must, therefore, live this one to its fullest. Can you say the same?