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In brief: Deceptively wholesome. Complicated and silly and as deep as you’re willing to go. Quiet, controlled, sensual, methodical. More kinks than a bendy straw.
I'm intellectual in nature, affectionate and paternal in spirit. I come off to some as introverted, but I have an inward intensity that surprises most people. I am friendly, funny, and very protective of the people I love.
I can be gentle or cruel, depending on my mood. I love to tease, to torment, and to deny. I believe a true submissive knows her place, yet she performs her best when she is frequently made aware of it. To that end, I have an evil mind, and I put it to good use.
Above all, I value trust and devotion in a submissive. I cherish those who are young at heart, and love a developed intellect. If you possess these qualities, you most likely have my attention.
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There are moments when it comes back to me—the hunger, the need. It becomes real again, not some hypothetical set of principles, but a gnawing emptiness, active and visceral; more familiar than any memory, more natural than any pretense of self-sufficiency. It’s easy to embrace numbness sometimes, to let it swallow and consume you. It’s a simple matter of falling into compliance—to dull your mind with alcohol and cynicism, to forget the steps behind you and ignore the path ahead. But there are brief moments when it all comes flooding back, when I remember living on the precarious edge, holding her vulnerability wrapped up in my arms; her sweet, hot innocence, radiating only for me—so willing to open herself up for me, to take the warmth with the pain, to beg for the pleasure of feeling my strength over her thoughts. I’m not dead inside yet—I still know the meaning of surrender, I still taste it on my lips; faded, but thick with memory. And I still know the road by heart, all the right words and every soft touch, all the knotted ropes that keep love bound with pain. That’s a part of me I could never abandon, regardless of the steady atrophy that seems to come with loneliness. But the fields are in drought, the ground dry and cracked with neglect. I’m low on supplies and short on time, so I’m shoring up my strength for another day. I’m biding my time, and waiting for someone to wake me up again. |
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