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Before I even get started, I should tell you that I am not in any way interested in connecting with people who are any distance away from me. Also, any message that is not respectful and does not show an interest in me beyond my cunt and what it can do for you will result in a scathing reply, after which the message will be deleted and you will be blocked. I'm looking for a real Dominant person in my life, not a disrespectful idiot who can't express anything other than the need to fill my holes.
Also, I am not a slave. I am a submissive. If you want a slave, look elsewhere.
That said, let me introduce myself.
sub·lime/səˈblīm/
Adjective:
Of such excellence, grandeur, or beauty as to inspire great admiration or awe.
I believe that what can happen between two people in a D/s dynamic can be a sacred thing. Can create a sacred space. And I aspire to do that. To move with the person(s) I am playing with into something that is outside of the time and the space around us. To create something beautiful and terrible. Something lasting. To break and re-mould those involved into something better and bolder than they were before.
For me, the beauty of BDSM can rarely be found without a sexual connection. Getting deep into my mind inevitably precipitates my need to have you buried deep in other places. Ideally, the giving over that is the sexual act begins with conversation and continues into sensation almost without either party being aware that they have been ensnared.
I am neither gay nor straight nor queer. I am purely sapiosexial. The one unifying factor for all of my lovers has been the absolute beauty of their minds. Their ability to understand me and for us to amplify and enhance each other's capacities for understanding and achievement. Your body doesn't matter to me. What matters is my urge to crawl inside your mind and make a cozy little home for myself. The surest way to my heart is through a library!
We fuck with our minds, our bodies are just avatars.
Moving past the things behind me is an ongoing process. It is impossible to fully let go the past. Impossible to look at oneself as anything other than the sum of one's experiences. The sum of one's bruises and breaks and scuff marks. The sum of the love and affections poured into and upon a body. I am coming to BDSM and this community with my scars and scuffs all bare for you to see. Take my honesty for what it is: a note of trust and a love letter to the world around me. A promise. What you see is what you get.
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed
Though I have seen my head brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
About me... I'm a recently-escaped master's student. I got the bright shiny degree and now I sling coffee for a living. Huzzah! I know way too much about too many things, although I can now say that I am a "master" of the history of art, which is fun. It's the only time I'll ever be a "master" of anything, I expect. I am stubborn and feisty. My favorite comment from someone in the scene lately was when a young woman turned to me at an event and said "you're feisty for a sub." I guess I am. But I see no reason to be any other way. And isn't the feisty, intelligent woman so much more appealing on her knees before you than the pliant damsel?
Since coming into this community I have received so much love and support. I'm still at the point where the fact that this is my life is a surprise to me when I wake up in the morning. I have such an amazing group of people around me, from my sisters to my packmate and the myriad others who enrich me every day. It's amazing. And I meet new people all the time, so many of whom are sweet and accepting in a way that I never thought I would experience. It's fabulous. I am blessed.
And I have known the eyes all ready, known them all-
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
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