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What anyone who is reading this needs to know is that you are FAR more likely to get a response if you make me laugh.
I'm not particularly demanding but I do like to be entertained. Intelligence is a must also. I detest txtspeak. I love the English language, don't debase it please.
I enjoy stretching myself to my limits - physically, sexually, emotionally and spiritually and I'm looking for the right person to explore this with me. I'm very much a pain slut and I love to serve. I've been out of practice for a while now so I do need to build up my tolerance levels again. Not that that won't be a pleasurable activity in itself.
Submission is something that's deeply embedded within me. I cannot comprehend not being submissive, nor can I imagine a relationship with someone who isn't going to dominate me. It's who I am. It's what fulfils me and it's bloody wonderful.
I enjoy the tangents of life and rarely think in a straight line. Humanity at its oddest.
I love beauty in whatever fashion it appears - the songs of Leonard Cohen, watching the rain, reading words that move me, seeing raw emotion, sitting in an ancient cathedral, hearing the sea.
I like words. 'Spurtle.' I've never been beaten with a spurtle. But it would remind me of my roots. If anyone doesn't know what a spurtle is - may I recommend the power of the google. I like spurtle so much it's staying up for a bit longer. In fact spurtle looks like a permanent addition so I will make the word of today obfuscate.
Gregorian chanting, Latin flowing round my head as I relax feeling the binds that tie me to the altar rail. The utter darkness engulfing the church apart from the stabbing lights from the candles surrounding me. The paleness of my naked body piercingly white against the pervasive blackness.
The hooded monks come forward, slowly, the chanting continuing. I am the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat, the one who takes responsibility for their sins. The pain exquisite bearing down as they beat me, beating their sin, their anger, their frustration. Then the calmness as they fuck me. This repeating over and over as my cries mingle with the chants and the darkness.
Then the quiet descends. My whimpering the only sound. Then 'Placeat tibi, sancta Trinitas, obsequium servitutis meae: et praesta, ut sacrificium quod oculis tuae majestatis indignus obtuli, tibi sit acceptabile, mihique, et omnibus, proquibus illud obtuli, sit te miserante propitiabile.'*
Then the silent shuffling as they leave the building leaving me to bear the pain and suffering and the pleasure.
[* May the tribute of my worship be pleasing to Thee, most Holy Trinity, and grant that the sacrifice which I, all unworthy, have offered up in the presence of Thy Majesty, may be acceptable to Thee, and through Thy mercy obtain forgiveness for me and all for whom I have offered it.]
I am a practising Catholic so I'm not interested in anyone who wishes to break their marriage vows. Sorry, I'm old fashioned like that.
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Yes, I know, I spelt apparently wrong. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I shall confess it at the next appropriate occasion.
Life is still odd.
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Apparantly if you add a picture of a slice of toast to your profile you suddenly get a huge number of memos. Who knew.
If only people read profiles before they sent those memos then they would realise what I'm about and that I'm certainly not going to respond to a kneel bitch moment.
Life's too complicated to play games with odd people. Unless I'm the odd person. Which may well be the case.
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| Age: 58 |
| Central Pa,
Pennsylvania |
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