Queer not straight. Dyke not lesbian. Femme albeit not high femme. Velvet over steel, welded steel if you please. Leadership over dominance.
I am looking for a boi (female identified, butch, stone butch, or FTM). Ze would need to enjoy pain, not just endure it for me.
If you were to judge me like a book, you’d find my cover a fourty-something redhead, neither homely nor handsome. My pages, in comparison to my bland and slightly-damaged cover, would be a delightful surprise.
The war between control and addictions has shaped my soul. Addiction to reading to sooth my soul and expand my horizons. Addiction to writing to prevent the ideas from devouring my mind. Addiction to adrenalin to feed my courage. Addiction to fear, nay terror, to push me farther, breathing energy into my very cells. Addiction to pain to awaken my spirit. Addiction to pleasure to make my spirit smile. Addiction to the mountain – the challenge, not for any hilltop view, simply for the joy of the climb. Addiction to fire to consume everything, distilling my thoughts to the most powerful – survival. Addiction to skipping to show the world I love life. Addiction to caffeine and chocolate, and rare steak and strawberries for the simple pleasure of them.
I live in a cave – dark, quiet, decorated in the colors of the earth – rust, coffee, chocolate, midnight, candlelight, mahogany, olive drab, and of course auburn with a splash of blue. My cave smells of vanilla, cloves and candles. Books insulate the walls, keeping the world at bay. I live in the night and tolerate the day. The only sunrises I enjoy are the ones I see just before going to sleep.
I am a creature of excesses, tempered only by my twisted code of ethics. I am a chameleon. My skin changes from one extreme to another without ever being anything but a reflection of my soul. What skins do I wear, you ask. What skins have I not worn, I reply. Top, bottom, dom, mother, daughter, sister, lover, tease, temptress, tormentor, tormented, aggressor, innocent victim, girl, woman, Marine, sadist, masochist, leader, flotsam, child, child-bride, parent, cross-dresser, hunter, prey. As to the skins I’ve tried to wear, only to find them sized for another’s soul: man, boy, boi, daddi and drag.
I crave… Travel to ease my itchy feet and sooth my ADD eyes. Pain and the way it changes one’s scent and taste, pain for the pure joy of it. Leather for the smell, the flip of my heart, and the slick feel of life and death rolled together. Someone to push past the limits of their mind to the limits of their body and soul. Someone to push me past all of my limits into the great beyond of my mind, into the stars. The kiss of a singletail. The searing fire of rawhide. The gripping sting of rubber. The punch of a butch. Single-mindedness. Black flag, red, light blue and houndstooth spiced with coral and a teddy bear.
Never half-stepping.
I am looking for a boi (female identified, butch, stone butch, or FTM). Ze would need to enjoy pain, not just endure it for me. Ze would need to be ok sharing me (sharing is not a lack of priority or security!) I would not share Ze lightly nor without consent. I have no plans or intensions of sharing Ze with my girlfriend. Sharing with Sir is strickly prohibited!
I would prefer a relationship based in Ds and service. I would prefer a relationship that could grow to living together.
