I speak often about the hunger that drives my dominance. Really, when I am in it, that’s all I write about, in different ways, with different contexts: I am essentially just saying the same thing over and over.
I have a passionate crazy hunger that I ache to let loose, that I look to escalate and satiate, a feeling that makes me want to strip the very skin off my boy’s bones so I can shove myself inside him.
When I’m single, and it’s dormant, though, I wonder if it ever existed at all. I remember it, of course, but it seems out of reach, and I worry that I’ve lost it, used it all up somehow, that maybe, just maybe, there is none left.
I often wish that I could raise that feeling in myself, tap into it, just to test it out, experience it rising in my chest, making everything quicksilver and lightning. To remind myself. But that happens rarely, that the feeling of it comes unprompted, undirected. There was one time when I went trawling CollarMe for someone to let loose on, but even that desire was triggered by a boy who was too far away to get my grasping, greedy hands on.
It is frustrating when I talk to some fabulous, smart, funny, interesting man, and I try to find that spark: I dig around for it, *willing* it to be there, because I really like him and I want him to bring it, but if it just isn’t happening, there is fuck-all I can do about it. When I have to finally admit that it isn’t there, I have a little knot of unfair blame that sits in my chest because he didn’t, or couldn’t, inspire those feelings in me even though I know full well that it’s not his fault.
For me domination is not the default, it’s the exception.
I’m always looking for the exception.