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Finding and Fixing the Pieces: Feeling a Little Broken
Some time ago I posted a blog/poem/creative (which, I just realized, was not migrated to this site. I’ll fix it, I promise.) inspired by an xkcd.com comic related to LEGO bricks. The short version is that we are, all of us, built of a series of existential LEGOs and we add, change and remove pieces as needed to fit the game of our life in that moment.
The arrangement, as the comic says, goes away, but the pieces can be used to do something else, build more, build differently. Sometimes you need the swinging door on your house and sometimes you need a thicker, higher wall with a moat. I was always partial to windows and jet engines. And flowers. Lots of those primary colored little flower discs everywhere. The point is, whatever you need, you have the ability to modularly adapt and grow as a human being (sans the pop-off hair, unless that’s your style savvy).
A short time after that, I posted a lamentation and said that some of the pieces fell off. No body of text. Just a title. Some of the Pieces Broke Off.
For all the amazing parts of my life, I am there again.
Epiphany
“It’s not mine,” I said quietly.
My hand in his, I cried.
My head was suddenly in a fog.
My heart was pounding.
It seemed built up, almost ceremonious.
He said I deserved it.
He said I earned it.
I was beside myself.
I didn’t need it, not specifically.
This is an honor, a token of the gift we share.
I became confused. I didn’t understand.
Was it… temporary?
I walked around for three days, wondering, analyzing.
But it’s not mine.
It was placed, shared; a reminder.
It was a sign of my place, my submission.
It was touched, caressed, flipped, pulled.
It weighed me down and buoyed me up.
It defined me, it defined him, it defined us; it defied definition.
It meant everything and it meant nothing more.
It was clearly muddled in my head and a matte brilliance around my neck.
I needed to understand. I needed to know.
I shared my confusion, my pain.
It was a sign of my place, my submission.
It was placed, shared; a reminder.
But it’s not mine.
I walked around for three days, wondering, analyzing.
Was it… temporary?
I became confused. I didn’t understand.
This is an honor, a token of the gift we share.
I didn’t need it, not specifically.
I was beside myself.
He said I earned it.
He said I deserved it.
It seemed built up, almost ceremonious.
My heart was pounding.
My head was suddenly in a fog.
My hand in his, I cried.
“It’s not mine,” I said quietly.
“No,” he replied, softly, carefully,”… it’s *mine.*”
Boot Worship That Takes My Breath Away
A few hours before I was to see him, we were discussing our evening. “Blowjobs, clowns, knives, and a cameo by Miss USA?” I asked.
“Two of those I can accomodate.”
“You have a clown?!”
—
Deviant tossed the leather pillow on to the floor and pointed to it. “Kneel.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He placed onto me a set of heavy steel wrist cuffs, the type with a hinge that bind your wrists like handcuffs, wrapping each in thick, cold, metal, but still essentially being all one piece.
And then, he walked out of the room. Read the rest of this entry
Be Careful What You Wish For
“How’s Saturday?” Deviant asked me. I almost said I was busy but, my camping plans having been canceled due to business obligations, I was open. I said as much and we made a plan for the afternoon. I was under the impression his time would be limited, so I asked him to clarify; I didn’t want anyone to feel rushed and in a moment of pure selfishness (I admitted as much) I wanted my time with him to be our time without the need to rush off to something else.
“If another time is better…” I started to say.
“Oh, no, sweetie, not like that. It’s all good. Anyway. It won’t take long to make you quit.”
I waited a few moments before responding. I had to ponder this. Quit?
“Sir?”
“:)”
“Quit?”
“Color. Break.”
“O.o” I thought about it for about ten minutes and then sent, “Um, Sir?”
“Hi. :)”
“Bring it on. ;)”
“Good Girl.”
