Longing: A Freeform Something

She felt a longing.

She felt a longing she couldn’t describe.

Could anyone understand her?

Could anyone standing It?

Whenever she’d open her mouth,

To speak about what it meant

To her

To be free

To be wild

To feel the grass weaving on the inside of her thigh and realise it would itch her later and to not care, no not at all.

How do you communicate that to someone?

How do you speak?

How do you write?

What words do you use?

A house isn’t a home until you make it a home but what if a home isn’t her home?

What if the forest is her home?

What if the long blades of grass nestled her at back, and the long blades reaching out to glide across every inch of her body, what if that was her home?

There, surrounded by the grass, cared for by the Earth.

How do you even tell someone that?

How can you show someone that?

Is she the only one out there to be caressed by the Earth, to feel the grass across her bare body?

How can she talk of nudity, wide eyed manic pixie girl that she seems, without catching a label or too?

Would anyone ever understand that stab of frustration, pulsating, slithering through her body, at the sheer thought of wearing clothes?

Do people think, when they shop, of how they’d like to tear off every piece of clothing because it burns?

Do they look at the faceless crowd and see something in there, maybe wonder, if there is another like them?

She thought of all this and more,

Lying in the field,

nude body protected by grass,

An organic force field just for her

And felt that longing.

Reflections And Other Musings

Back in 2015, when I first started this blog, I wrote a post – an admittedly not-very-well-thought-out post – about punishments.

In it I rambled, as I tend to do, about discoveries, feelings and things I were exploring. One of them being that I experimented with taking my kitten’s collar away if the punishment was bad enough. I know, I know. I cringe too. I don’t know why I overlooked it. I was green. Naive. Young.

When I saw how damaging it was, how it affected her mindset, well I apologised profusely. I spiralled, as I tend to do, into a funk. A depression. I can’t help it, depression goes hand in hand with my anxiety and at the end of the day, I fucked up. Worse of all, I fucked up with such a beautiful and genuine and sweet soul.

It was an eye opener for me for many reasons. I learned what was wrong. I learned that I was being harmful, selfish even.

It’s my fault. Though I’ve been fine tuning my Dominance since I was 17-18, living with my lady and being in a 24/7 environment – a fully fledged 24/7 interaction was something I wasn’t used to. And though books and interactions helped, This was D/s on an adult level you know?

It taught me to be more mindful. To communicate. I could feel myself grow in a way, like a fog was lifting.

I’ve always been slow on the uptake but this was like someone shining a light on the topic, A Clockwork Orange-style.

We communicate openly now. Thoroughly. And though communication can sometimes be lost on a tired mind or just lost in translation, it’s that communication that irons out the wrinkle. All because I fucked up.

It’s beautiful to feel like this in a way. I mean, I still veer towards self hatred for being such a dumbass. But at the same time, coming to reason and understanding is calming.

I’m reminded of an old science fiction film, in which an extraterrestrial race looks down on humanity and comments how, even in whatever year it is, no matter how old, they’re still so young. It’s my way of trying to not feel so bad, I guess.

I still apologise for it sometimes, when anxiety holds a mirror to everything I think is negative. And she always responds kindly, which makes me feel worse. And around and around we go.

Take it from me. If you make a mistake, don’t dwell on it as I have, even in this lifestyle. Be better than that. Learn from it, understand it.

And guys? Thanks for reading and being so supportive. It means more then you know!