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| There is a song called February Seven by the Avett Brothers. I love that song.
I am a classically trained submissive. I know my role, but I also hope that in performing my duties a love could develop. In public the dynamic would seemingly appear very "vanilla" but your hand would always be at the small of my back, guiding me, you would always order my meals for me, you and I would always know exactly who is in control.
Behind closed doors, there would never be any need for show. Very 1950's lifestyle...Your meals would always be well-prepared, offspring well-behaved, housework meticulously handled, clothes washed and pressed....And whatever you wanted when you wanted it....If it's in my dislikes or limits, it's there for a reason. Please respect that and I will yours as well. If you are over the age of 45 I will absolutely entertain a conversation with you, but I will not be interested in anything more than that.
If this seems like I might be a good fit, please write me so that we may get to know one another.
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And so it shall begin. A creative outlet for thoughts of him. The one who will change her life and be the answer to the question she can't stop asking herself over and over again. Every day I wage an internal war with myself. I wear all the hats, convey the fa?e for as long as necessary...I desire so much to feel it....That moment where I cease to be the thinking, caring, intellect. I want to shut it off; disappear in the power....Feel that precise moment where all responsibility goes by the wayside and now it's just do...Do as I'm told and do it better than any before me so there's no need for any after me......She is weak. Weak-willed, weak-minded.....He is strong...Powerful...Manipulative...She is his in a thousand more ways than she would ever want to admit...But if he asked her, she wouldn't be able to keep it from him.....She would be compelled to tell him.....She is weak. |
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