Monday, November 15, 2004
Something about fantasies. They evolve.
For many years (too many to state in a public forum) my greatest fantasy was that I would answer the phone on Christmas Eve, and it would be you. Simple, and to the point.
Then it was finding you. How many days did I spend on the beach, daydreaming of what we would have to say to one another? Of how you would look at me, how we would say hello. Where we would meet.
So I sent you a letter. Finally. I just couldn't wait another day. And the fantasy evolved again. It became more about having you in my life in any capacity, about being there for one another. About getting my best friend back.
About all the things I have been so bad at for so long.
And then, wonder of wonders... you responded. You were cool, and polite, and slightly distant. And I took a chance. And I will be thankful every day for the remainder of my life that I did.
And then, somehow, things changed. You wanted, demanded control. And I (who have been accused of being a control freak on more than one occasion) was delighted to give it to you. And I still am. I relish every order, each request. I die a little every day I don't hear from you. And you know it. I'm not telling you anything new. You read me so well... and you have brought me places I didn't even know I wanted to go. You made me feel alive.
But nothing lasts forever, and change is the only constant. We did meet, you and I. And if I wasn't in love with you before we met, I certainly was within minutes of seeing you. You are the man I met and fell in love with all those years ago, kind, and loving, and strong, and willing to be weak. And everything changed again.
I have to stop here, and tell you that those may well have been the best eighteen and a quarter hours of my life. (and yes, to the minute I know how long we were together. But you knew I would.)
You're the best friend I could ever hope to have. You are a kind, thoughtful and generous lover (with an absolutely delightful sadistic streak), and you are a good man.
And the fantasy evolves again. It became my dream that somehow, someday, you would want me again. Not terribly realistic, I know, but it is fantasy after all. And in the interim, we were (and are) friends, which is really more than I could ever have honestly hoped for in the first place. But the desire remained.
Change happens. And it happened again just a few weeks (seemed like a lifetime) later. But this time it was different. You were not very communicative, and I still don't know what you're thinking. I would love to understand, and I'd really like to find out what your fantasies are... no matter who or what they involve. Goodness knows you've heard and seen enough from me to know I can't afford to think anyone else is strange. And I would love to know you better. So there's another fantasy of mine... to share yours.
I thank you for allowing me to call you my Master. I simply don't have the words to express the thrill I feel when I get a message from you in which you call me your little slut. It isn't just an emotional reaction, it is a physical one as well. The acknowlegment that I am yours, it means everything to me.
And the fantasy of the hour... that you continue to want me. That owning me is important to you. That I am important to you. For whatever reason, and in whatever way. Your continued presence in my life is what makes me hot. It makes me feel. And all the rest... wonderful additions to the mix. I love it when you want me to do things for you. I love it when you ask me to dress for you, when you remind me that I'm doing the things I do for you.
I masturbate every morning for you, and every night thinking of you. You, and ropes, and clamps, and plugs... and you. It all revolves around you. What you might do, or have me do. Even if we are never in the same state again, you do things that make me cum every time I think of you. And I don't ever want that to change.
Oh, and when the time comes, and you need somebody to hold your hand... I'm hoping you'll allow your slut to be there for you.
For many years (too many to state in a public forum) my greatest fantasy was that I would answer the phone on Christmas Eve, and it would be you. Simple, and to the point.
Then it was finding you. How many days did I spend on the beach, daydreaming of what we would have to say to one another? Of how you would look at me, how we would say hello. Where we would meet.
So I sent you a letter. Finally. I just couldn't wait another day. And the fantasy evolved again. It became more about having you in my life in any capacity, about being there for one another. About getting my best friend back.
About all the things I have been so bad at for so long.
And then, wonder of wonders... you responded. You were cool, and polite, and slightly distant. And I took a chance. And I will be thankful every day for the remainder of my life that I did.
And then, somehow, things changed. You wanted, demanded control. And I (who have been accused of being a control freak on more than one occasion) was delighted to give it to you. And I still am. I relish every order, each request. I die a little every day I don't hear from you. And you know it. I'm not telling you anything new. You read me so well... and you have brought me places I didn't even know I wanted to go. You made me feel alive.
But nothing lasts forever, and change is the only constant. We did meet, you and I. And if I wasn't in love with you before we met, I certainly was within minutes of seeing you. You are the man I met and fell in love with all those years ago, kind, and loving, and strong, and willing to be weak. And everything changed again.
I have to stop here, and tell you that those may well have been the best eighteen and a quarter hours of my life. (and yes, to the minute I know how long we were together. But you knew I would.)
You're the best friend I could ever hope to have. You are a kind, thoughtful and generous lover (with an absolutely delightful sadistic streak), and you are a good man.
And the fantasy evolves again. It became my dream that somehow, someday, you would want me again. Not terribly realistic, I know, but it is fantasy after all. And in the interim, we were (and are) friends, which is really more than I could ever have honestly hoped for in the first place. But the desire remained.
Change happens. And it happened again just a few weeks (seemed like a lifetime) later. But this time it was different. You were not very communicative, and I still don't know what you're thinking. I would love to understand, and I'd really like to find out what your fantasies are... no matter who or what they involve. Goodness knows you've heard and seen enough from me to know I can't afford to think anyone else is strange. And I would love to know you better. So there's another fantasy of mine... to share yours.
I thank you for allowing me to call you my Master. I simply don't have the words to express the thrill I feel when I get a message from you in which you call me your little slut. It isn't just an emotional reaction, it is a physical one as well. The acknowlegment that I am yours, it means everything to me.
And the fantasy of the hour... that you continue to want me. That owning me is important to you. That I am important to you. For whatever reason, and in whatever way. Your continued presence in my life is what makes me hot. It makes me feel. And all the rest... wonderful additions to the mix. I love it when you want me to do things for you. I love it when you ask me to dress for you, when you remind me that I'm doing the things I do for you.
I masturbate every morning for you, and every night thinking of you. You, and ropes, and clamps, and plugs... and you. It all revolves around you. What you might do, or have me do. Even if we are never in the same state again, you do things that make me cum every time I think of you. And I don't ever want that to change.
Oh, and when the time comes, and you need somebody to hold your hand... I'm hoping you'll allow your slut to be there for you.
