Thirty Days of Kink - This Thing We Do (That I've Never Done)

(by aubergene on flickr)

Day 6: Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.

I confess, I peeked ahead, and I've been thinking about this post, and the corresponding fantasy all week. I'd planned to write about a scene that exploits my appetite for fear -- a scene about ripped stockings, and a growling voice in the dark, about a glittering blade that flashes in the low light and makes me shiver when it touches my bare skin...

And I might write about that fantasy soon, but not today.

Today, I happened across a couple of blog posts on my Blackberry, via Social Feeds. I found Poppy St. Vincent a few months back, completely by accident and I read her religiously now.  Though I don't consider myself part of the TTWD community of kinksters, there's a certain way that Poppy has of looking at life, and at the relationship between herself and Devlin, her Top, that I am drawn to. I don't think of myself primarily as a little girl, or a brat, though both live inside of me, and I don't know that I could give up THAT much control, and give a man who loved me the right to take me over his knee like a child. 


Yes, I am a masochist... and yet I'm not sure I could deal with the physical AND emotional pain of being scolded THEN spanked... soundly.  Still the more of her I read, the more I wonder what it would be like to be loved by that sort of man. This morning I read another of her insightful posts, and it brought tears to my eyes. On Poppy's blog, or perhaps on Devlin's, I can't remember which now, I came across a link to Erica Scott's blog, and the post I read there today also made me teary-eyed. 

I'm still not convinced that I need the sort of relationship where I'm disciplined by a man, but the more I read and identify with Poppy, and others, the more I'm not convinced I don't want one, too.

And so, for today, the fantasy that's running around in my head involves a slightly older, distinguished looking man, with dark eyes, and a growly voice, who will draw me into his lap for a cuddle. He will also look at me and know that I need to be drawn "strictly into his boundaries where I feel safe and relaxed." He will know that I need to weep away my stress, safe and under his firm hand. He will sort me out... telling me calmly to pull down my panties, and bend over... warming up my backside slowly at first, then with harder and harder lashes of his hand, a hair brush, a spoon, and maybe even a belt.

He will not let me get away with bratty comments, or boundary pushing, but will be strict and firm... not stopping until I am sobbing and warm, and feel as though the world has righted itself. Then he will draw me back into his arms, onto his lap, where I will kiss his neck and dry my tears in the collar of his shirt. He will soothe me, and cuddle me, and I will float.

I don't think this man exists in my life right now. I find myself wondering whether he ever will. I am not complaining, because my life is full of joy and darkness and love and the good sort of pain that feeds me. And though I have a wonderful place to explore things like torn stockings and smeared lipstick and the cold steel of a blade against my skin... I can't seem to stop thinking about a very different sort of path to that adrenaline release and endorphin rush I get when my Sadist feeds my masochistic side.

I suppose that's what fantasies are all about... and this is only one... only today's.


Funny how that works out.

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