It burns inside.
A hot star nailed in my chest.
She’s at my feet. Looking up – her eyes are twin vortices of unflinching submission. She has made her choice – and that choice is to let go…
It burns…
It’s never just sex. Leave that for the norms. It’s never perfunctory. She has let go and I am there to catch her.
She knows that there is a place along the very edges of experience where she wants to travel. A place that’s part dark gloomy jungle, part breath-catch Alpine cold and part unknowable internal landscape. She knows that’s where she needs to be. She knows she can’t go there alone and that she needs me to hold her safe…but not too safe…she wants that space-fly-head-fuck-screaming-groundrush-exhilaration that comes only with uncompromising release…she knows I can take her there. She knows that with me – she can feel…
Burning…
She needs that control, she’s wayward, feisty, a challenge – she’s tired of the men who just say yes and let her have her head…the men who say “well what do you think darling?” – she’s tired of them, they don’t make her heart beat, they have no tinge of darkness about them, no sliver of unpredictability – they bore her. She’s tired of Menchildren – she needs someone to take her and make her…
Here..hot…here inside…
She has fantasies – they are wild – sometimes shocking – she’s never told anyone, or if she has told a partner then they’ve laughed at her, or worse become distant. …she imagines a man whom she can tell anything to – a man who will take the shot vein of gold that the fantasy shivers through her life - who will mine it, and form it into the shapes and ingots that will give true weight to her life.
Can you feel it? Put your hand on my chest…
She imagines a man who will make her skin his own. Her skin will become a map on which he will scribe cities of sensation, rivers of pleasure, topographies of pain and landscapes of holding – embraced all night in the circumference of his arms – hearing his heartbeat – hearing it beat for her as her skin cools and the maps recede into her memory. Until the skin is clear for the next journey… she wants him to leave his mark on her this way…she needs to know he has been there…it makes it real…
There…yes.
I am tired of women without passion. I am tired of women who say they know their own minds and then prove that they have no idea. I am tired of women who don’t want to be romanced, who don’t want to dress to please, who don’t connect with what is really going on in my heart or my head. I want a woman who knows herself enough to know she wants that exchange of power – I want a woman who knows I will protect, cherish, love and punish her with consistency and scrupulous fairness. I want a woman who knows she has to let go… because her life feels incomplete without it.
She wants a Dominant partner who is part Master, part Lover, part Friend, part Poet.
Right there. It’s burning for you.
