It is not my intent to sound dramatic, but I always seem to find myself in a hostage situation. Not literally. But different things consume my life. They hold me there with their demands. Their ransom disguised as responsibility. I can see freedom, but I can’t seem to get there. And just when I resign myself to Stockholm Syndrome, I am rescued.
Despite the titles I wear and roles I assume, I cannot deny who I am.
Always, I am his.
He is the only one who can rescue me from my captors.
He tears down the walls and pulls the doors off of the hinges. He scoops me up with his strong arms and takes me away from my holding cell.
He rescues me. He releases me. He reveals me.
He reminds me of who he is when he tilts my face to his. When his eyes meet mine. When his fingers touch my skin, the invisible rope that has me bound in knots slides effortlessly to the floor.
When his lips touch mine I am transported to a beautiful place. A sanctuary where I am always safe.
He slowly leads me back to me. Because at my core, I am a flawed and needy magical beast. I crave nothing more than my Master’s touch.
I am transformed by our depth of intimacy. I am changed by our absolute love and devotion to each other.
It is beyond a kinky scene. It goes beyond lovemaking. It is a metamorphosis, really.
And maybe I am rambling on about this man of mine. Maybe I am just pensive from the amazing time we spent together. I cannot do it justice with words. It transcends language, as it was on a different plane.
But I do feel different today. Closer to who I am. Closer to him.
(More to come)