cards close to my chest
The millionaire sidles up next to me today at farmer's market, fresh from Asia, or Hong Kong or London, who can tell these days? He's pretty in a hidden agenda way that tells nothing but reveals much more than he'd like to think. I'd love to retire and marry him and cry myself to sleep when he's gone, but he'll always be gone. thing about millionaires, gotta love and leave. a simple task. not for the faint of heart. thing #2 about millionaires is how they can make you start thinking you, yourself, are a millionaire. i buy my own groceries. don't buy them for me. I'll buy them with food stamps if need be. yeah, let a millionaire see you buying your own groceries with government money. it's a real "fuck you." not so much. but I'd love to think so.
who'd i have to bitch about if i didn't have food stamps or something to remind me everyone else was somehow better than me? I'd be like that story about Antigua. when there is nothing noble left of fight for after liberation, then what? well, shit you're kinda just like everyone else, aren't you? Who wants to be like everyone else?
so it's either this or he wife of a boring corporate drone. I'm working on being more than this. i am starting by actually writing and focusing on being my own Goliath AND David. who's going to believe me when I say "my man is a submissive sissy fucker who speaks in a Queen accent and hangs out with famous people? yup. not really anyone, so it goes.
While I am intrigued, I also know that I like one of my pet submissives who is noble of heart and pure of body. I don't want to tarnish him, but it's so hard not to desire that first, forbidden deflowering kiss... sigh. How DROLL to think i am too old for touching the flesh of a virgin, even whilst he's my age? surely the rules have to be rebooted for some exceptions to these inane rules of society?
his cock throbs under the chastity spell I've put him under. He sends me money to buy nice things for myself. While it's not the normal Dominatrix rate I'd charge a paying customer, I feel a certain romance for him. He's going to accept me for who and what I am. imperfectly. I like that about him. i think of his touch a lot. the cold hand or maybe hot? maybe sweaty? he's very pale, very lanky... a switch of ab boy, really, with premature gray hair and a crooked smile, such as mine. I do not like to get too smitten with subs, but this one seems very creative and imaginative. well, I suppose that's to be expected with a virgin who is 35. He sends me dirty videos and I actually masturbate to them. which is quite something considering I am not one to even look at dick photos.
He is full of wanting. Needing. I love the feeling he shares so readily. He's hopelessly adorable and utterly adores his Mistress Kelly.
this was not how I imagined life to turn out. Dating wealthy men, doting on the less fortunate kinksters of the world... being blinded by sexuality and artistic vulnerability. i am constantly overlapping my art and my Dominance and my vulnerable submissive side, which I hide mostly. I was raped by a dominant boyfriend last year, before My surgery. not many, if anyone, knows this about me. it was aggressive and horrible and i had to live down the street from him for the better part of a year before i could afford to leave.
i have not been able to make art about it, about my surgery, about anything.
something about being a Domme though, makes me feel good about myself. I feel like my pets are all rooting for me. they might not know me inside and out, but i have become more transparent than usual. for example, I'll show a few this post. So besides the personal invasion of my body, I am more or les, ruined for romance. I have tried... but lately that's changing. I am more open to the idea of just figuring out my finances and making this Domme thing happen in a very real way, and in a professional way, too.
I am in therapy. We are working on cementing some things in my life that have been left to fray at the ends I'm afraid. Disrupted relationships, letting go of my feelings [the buried ones] being too many people at once- and my poor body image, which has, unfortunately, deteriorated despite my huge efforts to be healthy and happy. I'm not a fucking saint. I am just a human being with a crippled heart. not broken, but lame, like a school boy with the bad leg who has to wear the brace. everyone likes him well enough, but really? nobody wants to ask him to run the race to help out the team. ya know?
so all that. terrified of aging. growing older every day. thinking at 36, i want plastic surgery for my nose, my chin, my cheeks, new teeth, my saggy tits, my belly, the inner thighs. My girdles and corsets get smaller and tighter, but I am just the same. 100 pounds of me gone, but 100 pounds of my phantom fat girl still ghostly haunting me with her wide hips that get stuck in certain chairs... and has to attach expander lengths to her bra back. terrified of these things in my mind, in the mirror. i need a new mind, not a new mirror. i could probably use a scale that only reads "you're so pretty the way you are" instead of any fucking number. or maybe a scale that just shots upskirt photos as i stand on it.
i'm drinking coffee and ready to get started on some new art.
but i've been saying that for about 9 months.
why don't i write about my daughter? because ALL o me is constantly devoted to her.
this is one of the FEW times i have to just write for myself. so i am going to.
but yes, not mentioning her leaves me feeling guilt so even in closing, sh has to make her dramatic appearance. heavy stuff, motherhood.
it's a lot more than a scrapbook.
who'd i have to bitch about if i didn't have food stamps or something to remind me everyone else was somehow better than me? I'd be like that story about Antigua. when there is nothing noble left of fight for after liberation, then what? well, shit you're kinda just like everyone else, aren't you? Who wants to be like everyone else?
so it's either this or he wife of a boring corporate drone. I'm working on being more than this. i am starting by actually writing and focusing on being my own Goliath AND David. who's going to believe me when I say "my man is a submissive sissy fucker who speaks in a Queen accent and hangs out with famous people? yup. not really anyone, so it goes.
While I am intrigued, I also know that I like one of my pet submissives who is noble of heart and pure of body. I don't want to tarnish him, but it's so hard not to desire that first, forbidden deflowering kiss... sigh. How DROLL to think i am too old for touching the flesh of a virgin, even whilst he's my age? surely the rules have to be rebooted for some exceptions to these inane rules of society?
his cock throbs under the chastity spell I've put him under. He sends me money to buy nice things for myself. While it's not the normal Dominatrix rate I'd charge a paying customer, I feel a certain romance for him. He's going to accept me for who and what I am. imperfectly. I like that about him. i think of his touch a lot. the cold hand or maybe hot? maybe sweaty? he's very pale, very lanky... a switch of ab boy, really, with premature gray hair and a crooked smile, such as mine. I do not like to get too smitten with subs, but this one seems very creative and imaginative. well, I suppose that's to be expected with a virgin who is 35. He sends me dirty videos and I actually masturbate to them. which is quite something considering I am not one to even look at dick photos.
He is full of wanting. Needing. I love the feeling he shares so readily. He's hopelessly adorable and utterly adores his Mistress Kelly.
this was not how I imagined life to turn out. Dating wealthy men, doting on the less fortunate kinksters of the world... being blinded by sexuality and artistic vulnerability. i am constantly overlapping my art and my Dominance and my vulnerable submissive side, which I hide mostly. I was raped by a dominant boyfriend last year, before My surgery. not many, if anyone, knows this about me. it was aggressive and horrible and i had to live down the street from him for the better part of a year before i could afford to leave.
i have not been able to make art about it, about my surgery, about anything.
something about being a Domme though, makes me feel good about myself. I feel like my pets are all rooting for me. they might not know me inside and out, but i have become more transparent than usual. for example, I'll show a few this post. So besides the personal invasion of my body, I am more or les, ruined for romance. I have tried... but lately that's changing. I am more open to the idea of just figuring out my finances and making this Domme thing happen in a very real way, and in a professional way, too.
I am in therapy. We are working on cementing some things in my life that have been left to fray at the ends I'm afraid. Disrupted relationships, letting go of my feelings [the buried ones] being too many people at once- and my poor body image, which has, unfortunately, deteriorated despite my huge efforts to be healthy and happy. I'm not a fucking saint. I am just a human being with a crippled heart. not broken, but lame, like a school boy with the bad leg who has to wear the brace. everyone likes him well enough, but really? nobody wants to ask him to run the race to help out the team. ya know?
so all that. terrified of aging. growing older every day. thinking at 36, i want plastic surgery for my nose, my chin, my cheeks, new teeth, my saggy tits, my belly, the inner thighs. My girdles and corsets get smaller and tighter, but I am just the same. 100 pounds of me gone, but 100 pounds of my phantom fat girl still ghostly haunting me with her wide hips that get stuck in certain chairs... and has to attach expander lengths to her bra back. terrified of these things in my mind, in the mirror. i need a new mind, not a new mirror. i could probably use a scale that only reads "you're so pretty the way you are" instead of any fucking number. or maybe a scale that just shots upskirt photos as i stand on it.
i'm drinking coffee and ready to get started on some new art.
but i've been saying that for about 9 months.
why don't i write about my daughter? because ALL o me is constantly devoted to her.
this is one of the FEW times i have to just write for myself. so i am going to.
but yes, not mentioning her leaves me feeling guilt so even in closing, sh has to make her dramatic appearance. heavy stuff, motherhood.
it's a lot more than a scrapbook.