I Struggle With Body Issues, But…

then he says things like:

“My cock is hard because of how beautiful you are, baby. Every inch of you is beauty to me. Every inch of you is gorgeous. I love your body, Fatal. You are what brings me pleasure. You’re everything that makes me so fucking hard. I want you to know how much I need your body. I want you to love that knowledge.”

And I can feel it all chipping away slowly, like it was never there to begin with.

It’s not gone, not by half. But he worries at it like a dog at a bone. Never letting me feel like I am less than, like I am not beautiful and worthy and anything short of a goddess.

And though his words do not negate the years of inner torment that I have faced at my own hands, they make me feel… for moments, in those moments, that I am those things that he says: beautiful, gorgeous, desirable.

That I am worth… being wanted, pursued, loved.

Like Playing Two Truths and a Lie

I get them so rarely–comparatively, given the life of the blog, but my favorite emails are ones in which readers think they have spotted Sir and I out and about in public. If they don’t provide descriptions, I always email back and ask, because I find these both interesting and telling.

Some recent favorites:

Short redhead and tall, well-built man at a grocery store in (my city). She was wearing this retro pin-up dress and heels and a collar and the man kept patting her ass affectionately and tugging on her D-ring. Pretty sure it was you two out shopping for dinner!

Two hipster looking youths–early to mid twenties, both covered in tattoos, the man with an air of something hyper masculine about him. The girl, short and coquettish with glasses with no lenses.

Two professional looking types, early thirties, at an airport. The woman is a short redhead in high heels, and the man a brassy blonde in a well-cut suit. They are leaving on different planes and both carry suitcases. They are unafraid of PDA and share a passionate kiss before they part ways.

I swear I saw you at (name of local fetish/sex club). You look just the way you describe in your blog, and I’d know those full, pouted lips anywhere. He was spanking you in a crowd of people and you were wearing a bustier. There was a pseudo gang bang that you found yourselves in the middle of. I respect a man who can pull off leather pants.

 

I’ve been very lax in mentioning the city I live in on the blog, because it’s a huge city and giant tourist destination, so I’ve felt comfortable and anonymous even though everyone knows the name. Consequently, these don’t make me uncomfortable, but I marvel at the little things that people have right, and the large things that they have wrong. I like to peek over your shoulder and know what you think of Sir and I… the kinds of people you think we are, the every day bodies we inhabit outside of Fatal and Sir.

Kinky people are among us… and truly, you might find us in any of these scenarios, because we are normal people. I’ve never been approached by someone who reads my blog in person–I imagine this is because I don’t put many pictures up and the ones I do put up are not very revealing, but I wonder how I’d react. Probably deny, deny, deny, to be honest, but the tiny exhibitionist in me might say: “well… perhaps,” and blush, coquettishly, as one person described me. And maybe the arm of the man beside me would wrap protectively around my waist and he’d pat my ass affectionately, and smirk.

I don’t know about the leather pants though. *snort*

Milestones and Misconceptions

WordPress tells me that yesterday (8/16) is the five-year anniversary of my blog. It’s only actively been in this incarnation since around… January of 2012, but I have been writing here since 2009. WordPress is also telling me that I’m nearing my 500th post on this blog (that includes private posts). I’m thinking of some way to mark the passing of the blogiversary and the 500 posts, but I’m not sure how yet? This is part of my rather intense need to mark every milestone in some way–I can’t let birthdays, anniversaries, holidays pass without some fanfare. Being my friend or lover is dangerous business around your birthday! Ask Sir. =P
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I Feel Haunted

Iktsuarpok (Inuit): The frustration of waiting for someone to turn up.

Mamihlapinatapei (Yagan): A wordless yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start.

Aware (Japanese): The bittersweetness of a brief and fading moment of transcendent beauty.

Won (Korean): The reluctance on a person’s part to let go of an illusion.

By ghosts of past and present.

This is my 400th post on this blog.
A nice round number.

A Moment

Hello, Lover, Best Friend, Sir, Daddy, Darlink. It’s officially your birthday and I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge (publically[even if it is my super secret sex blog]) my deep and abiding love, respect, adoration and desire for/of you.

You’re brilliant, my love. Please don’t ever stop being you. Happy Birthday.

Xoxo