It’s time for a change of identity. Some housekeeping and housecleaning is in order. I have been incredibly but gratifyingly busy lately, but I do want to tidy things up here a bit. Blow off the dust, change the curtains…throw away the old junk.
I’ll be around…
Winter is a severe season for me. It is as harsh and unforgiving of weakness as it is starkly beautiful. I am blessed with a room and window facing the fullness of what sun there is during the day, and that makes all the difference. But, still, I feel the heaviness of the seasonal depression that sets in with the shortened days and sharp coldness. My instinct is to hide where it is warm and dark, and pass away the winter curled in a ball.
I’ve been fighting off some heavy memories, too, of previous winters, a previous life. Winter holds such powers of introspection and reflection; it’s hard not to give in completely. I can feel the familiar acidic bile rising inside me in remembering his face.
When does it stop? I have a better life now, or I’m fighting for one. I wish I could slice away the memories, amputate them like a diseased limb. Is it better to resolve what has happened within oneself, and accept these memories as a part of my mental footprint now, or to try to wipe the slate clean and start anew?
Either way, I have work to do.
Most days the handcuffs are on me, in my fantasies. The sweet clink of metal, gears clicking in place, locking my hands together, send pleasurable shivers down my spine. I remember their weight. Their coldness. And the delicious helplessness of being restrained.
But, in between those days, I sometimes feel a flash of some demon or animal within me. My nails curl instinctively, thirsty for flesh to dig into. For a brief instant, I see the handcuffs in my hands – under my control. When they click into place, they are not around my wrists, but around his. The idea of another, helpless, at my feet (and hands, and mouth, and tongue) is breathtaking.
My nails trailing lines down his chest, waist, legs, thighs. Arm muscles bunching and straining above his head. And one hard, pulsing, oozing cock at my mercy…
To become the huntress, rather than the prey…
I can’t tell if I like the idea completely or not. But it is…intriguing.