Yes, Virginia…

…the shoe pics ARE my feet…

I have had a few people asking lately “Are they your feet?”

I find that sweet and funny… It makes me wonder where they think the photos might have come from if they aren’t of me and taken by me. They cannot be mistaken for professional photos, they are, frankly, terrible shots done on a dinky little point-n-click… *chuckle*

So, yes Virginia, they ARE my feet…

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My sent emails XVII

Hello SmartButGenericEmailGuy,

You seem like a sincere, intelligent man, so let me give you some advice.

Read a woman’s profile, her posts, find out a bit about her before writing to her, then engage in some conversation, perhaps something light and interesting that includes some inkling of why you contacted *her* (not ‘a Domme’, but *her*)… you know, like a normal person, like you have been doing in social interactions all of your life.

Your email is obviously generic and you are somehow asking me to find you a woman? Maybe me, but you really don’t care? You must see how strange and unappealing that is going to be to the majority of women?

I hope my advice helps. Good luck in your search.

Ferns

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You are the poem in the trees…

You are the tunes in my head, the fire in my ribs
You are the voice in my heart that whispers compassion

You are the storm on the ocean, poem in the trees
The smell of the winter that haunts me each autumn…

Happy birthday, beautiful.

imyb

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Sometimes, I suck

I’ve never pretended that I was perfect, that would fool no-one, but mostly, I make smart and considered decisions, I am thoughtful, I think about consequences for me and mine, and I try to handle myself and situations ‘for the best’ for all concerned.

I generally have good judgement and exercise it well.

Recently, I failed miserably at this and caused a lot of unnecessary pain and anger for a boy I care for very much.

I looked at a situation and went against my better judgement to make an utterly selfish and thoughtless decision for no reason other than ‘because I wanted it’.

We like, in the fantasy worlds, to pretend that Dommes get what they want. Now you and I know that’s not true, that’s the fantasy and doesn’t reflect what happens in the real world.

In the real world, if I am trusted with making decisions, if I know he will follow me, I have to make good ones… even if those decisions don’t get me what I want.

Sometimes making the right decision makes me feel like a petulant child not getting the lollipop that I want and that I can see just *there*, that I can reach out and touch, that I can get if I just pretend that there are no consequences, just this once, surely, just this once, I can just grab it and and…

The worst of it in this case was that I *knew* it was a bad decision and I did it anyway. What is that?! Who does that?! I just wanted it, that’s all… *insert petulant pouting and sulky defiance here*

The fallout is my fault. Completely and utterly my fault.

Sometimes, I get it wrong, we all do, we make mistakes, we do dumb stuff. But I rarely get it wrong on purpose, I hardly ever make a decision that I know, really, is the wrong one, deliberately ignore the completely predictable consequences, because that’s kind of stupid and hugely selfish, and mostly, I am not stupid and not that selfish.

I am normally better than that, but yeah, sometimes, I just suck.

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The pretty

The thing I am beginning to like about rope is that it can make a pretty boy even prettier. It whispers of acquiescence and helplessness in a way that hastily clipped together cuffs does not. It is concentration and patience and acceptance.

And plus… a boy’s tiny arse in boxer briefs accentuated by design… ?! Well, the appeal of that is just obvious…

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Airport waiting

I’m at the airport, waiting with my father for a flight to come in.

There is a boy sitting across and a few seats to the right, facing me. I look at him, he looks back at me frankly. I have sunglasses on, I am not sure if my stare is obvious. There is no smile on either side.

He is kind of beautiful, lean, early 30s maybe, a clean attractive face, short hair, sideburns, casual business attire. He doesn’t read or amuse himself with a phone, he just sits there quietly.

My father is speaking to me, we talk quietly, I keep stealing glances at the boy, occasionally we seem to just look at each other, expressionless, like creatures feeling each other out, giving nothing away. It is odd and I am not sure if he is looking past me or at me, I prickle a little under it.

I take my business card out of my wallet, slip it into the back pocket of my jeans, I am thinking of passing it to him, I wonder if he is maybe younger than I guessed, I wonder if he is too young. My father is still speaking, irrelevancies, pleasantries.

The boy gets up, walks past me to the bin, he is tall, I watch him move, a saunter, a little self consciousness, sweet.

The plane we are waiting for arrives, finally. My father and I get up to go to the gate, he is still talking to me as we walk away, I excuse myself for a moment.

I go back to where the boy is still sitting, he looks up with a question mark on his face as I approach. I lean down to him, uncomfortable proximity for a stranger.

Very softly I whisper, “I just wanted to say out loud that you are beautiful…”

I don’t linger, I don’t give him my card, I step back and catch a very quick glimpse of the shock on his face, his mouth curled into a puzzled smile, lips parted as if he might say something… I turn and walk away from him.

I get back to the gate with a huge grin on my face, my father looks at me oddly but doesn’t ask, and we wait for the passengers to come down the walkway.

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Thing of beauty

Eight pelicans roosting on a disconnected section of the old jetty, sunlight reflecting on the water, a light breeze, feeling how the world is, feeling almost holy.

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