Head Sir.
Sigh… I think I love my Sirs. I use I think because it feels like I imagine it should be. But this all may just be a crush. Its tough to think that. But I know me. I slept on a cot this past visit. Next to my Sirs bed, its part of re-enforcing the boy mentality (and my place). I didn’t think I would sleep as well as I did. It also worked. Not that I woke up each day with the desire to do nothing but submit. But when you wake up to two hot men looking down at you (over you?) you get the picture. This past week I screwed up a bunch, forgot to turn in some assignments (barely got in a couple others on time) for my Sirs. I was online past my bedtime. I forgot to call when I fooled around with Hoss (it was fun, not worth upsetting my Sirs, but fun, definitely good to meet his flesh though). And I forgot to wear boots when I visited them. Sigh… No kisses from Sir this weekend. But! Daddybear kissed me a couple of times!!! Still, I’m a want it all kind of guy, even if I didn’t deserve them. It was all pretty similar to my other visits with my Sirs. But I can feel this new presence in my thoughts. I’m calling him the headSir. It’s the weird presence in my head reminding me not to ask a certain question (like: “can cum despite you telling me no 5 minutes ago?”), or reminding me to breath during a scene, sometimes he tells me to concentrate, other times he reminds where to stand. I think all submissives build a mental Sir. He may be situational, or possibly placed when you need it. Tonight I did homework with the television off (gasp). It’s not that HeadSir really tells me to do anything, Sir and Daddybear have those rules. HeadSir just exists to list them. I’m beginning to feel more comfortable in my submission to Sir and Daddybear though. (I am past my bed time. Need to finish this and sleep) I confessed my love feeling. It was not returned in word form. Which…I am ambivalent to at the moment. Not that I don’t want to hear it, but I don’t need it. Just saying my feelings aloud felt freeing. Though I am upset with myself for feeling that way so quickly. I would like to think I have stronger defenses than that. All and all the weekend was great. We went out (Boston is lacking in the nightlife department), we played (I took a flogging pretty well), I got fucked while wearing my tennis shoes (now lets start and Abercrombie fetish). Plus! I discovered my inner fetish. It’s skin. I need it. People have often described their fetishes (leather, rubber, latex) as being a second skin to them. Well…I like the first one. All skin is different, texture, taste, look, scent. Daddybear has this musk to it, this roughness that lasts on my tongue. While licking Sir is like laping at salt water, smooth, solid. Their skin also tells a story, the stretch marks, the scars, the blemishes, the minor imperfections that make it theirs. I think it’s why I generally don’t care what a man wears when he flogs me. Or why I find those full body suits so strange, I don’t like the presence of leather pressed against my flesh when I am held post scene. I like being able to run my hands over the body parts that my tongue has been, be able to feel it with fingers. It’s just so erotic for me. Not that presentation doesn’t do anything for me, don’t answer the door in an oversized “Garfield” shirt (bad vanilla online hookup). But if the outfits suits you, and you look good in it, I’ll bite, just let me see a little skin. Of course, a taste of the neck helps, especially if it tastes right. Not that there weren’t some off parts to the weekend. The cot was nice, I miss the bed though. I like laying next to Daddybear when I sleep, able to reach over and grab Sir I missed that. I’m also still not as open as I want to be with them. You know? Like I want to just lay all the cards on the table, spill my guts, pry open my mind and just let it bleed out. I can’t. Sometimes I can’t find the words, other times I find the wrong ones. It’s so frustrating. But all that is fine, just a matter of waiting it out slowing down, trusting (I’m trying, that’s taking time too). But there is one image that sticks in my head. Sir and Daddybear moving their bed over to make way for the cot in their bedroom. It speaks of the over way that this works. And a reminder of how new it all is, for them and me. And yet there is this part of me I can’t squash. This voice in my head that tells me to keep my guard up, it’s at odds with HeadSir. HeadSir wants them close, the voice reminds me “not too close.” Sir asked me this weekend “your not used to people having patience, are you?” at first I thought he meant in general. But he explained (at least my understanding was) that he meant in terms of getting to know me, get close to me. I guess I don’t, but I also didn’t have patience with other people. And maybe I still don’t. My mind keeps drifting back to MAL, to how bad I felt. Not angry, not upset, just bad, in pain. I don’t feel that way now, and don’t see it happening again anytime soon…but I remember it. And yet, this weekend reminds me that they do care for me, and they do take care of me. Even in the short time I have known them. So why is that knowledge the scariest of all? And why can’t I just enjoy the ride with out wondering how it will end? If life’s a scene, I need to work on my breathing. But thinking about the end (far future date in my mind at this point), I always think about the things I would miss. Like when I think about going to DePaul, or Bentley, I think about what I would miss about Pace and what I would miss about Manhattan. I think the thing I would miss most ( and please forgive the sap) is having a safe place to explore it all. You see when you go tricking in S/m, you wind up with very few treats. If a scene goes bad, if you can’t take a lot, if you want to try something new…there is no net. Just a new man, with a new pain implement, new rope, and a new theory as to what you are. All of them close, none of them right. But I will be back, because I want to go back. And I will submit, because I want to submit. And I will obey, because I want to obey. And I will be good, because I want them to tell my I am good, their good boy. I am a boy, I like to be held, and told I helped, told that I did good (or at least okay), so long as it’s honest. I did a good job cooking chicken too…so there is that. And it’s weird how much pleasure I get out of it. But it was nice to think “wow, I did that.” Even though I got some help for Sir and Daddybear, I did most of it. Hmmm…I didn’t think about any of that when I was with Sir and Daddybear…well some of it I did and brought up with Sirs. Sleep beckons. Oh…and while I was away…Conc had un-protected anal-sex. I want to hurt him, but I think he doesn’t need that. 2 weeks and we get the test. It should be negative. I am not worried, not about this time. But…it won’t be the last time he has sex…so the possibilities are endless. Worry, pray, and try to prevent them. I have dinner with him on Wednesday. I need to sleep. Jeez it’s 2:19. I got on a roll here. Time to shut off the lights and dream a bit “We think about you more than you realize”
- posted by G @ 2:21 AM