…a World you Beheld in a Dream

“Her home is the filthy room in the basement; kept locked and shuttered from the rest of the sun-loving, fresh air breathing, masses of envious onlookers who are afraid of the decadence housed within” ~Taylor

I miss this man.
It hit me today that the vanilla world has intruded terribly upon our relationship. The past year – being broke, having so many frequent car troubles, my health issues, the cramped space we’re in, I could go on and on – these things have all encroached upon what should be the basis of our relationship, eroding it some.

We’re still very D/s but it’s become a more vanilla D/s. Ward and June with some good sex thrown in on occasion. All of the power based stuff focuses around our home life – my housewifely duties, childrearing, etc. We’ve stopped making time for the stuff that’s fun, for the stuff that turns our cranks, for lack of a better term. The basics are all there because we’re, basically, dominant and submissive people. We pretty naturally stay in our roles, live our life within the power imbalance we need and desire. But all the extras are missing…

And they are only extras. The stuff that makes your panties wet or your dick hard is not the stuff that life is made of. I have a good relationship with a man I adore at a godlike level. But, while they aren’t necessary, aren’t vital to life on a daily basis – the extras are still important, are still a fundamental part of the relationship.

It has been so long since I’ve felt small and helpless and weak, since I’ve felt used and battered and powerless by anything other than life. It manages to whoop my ass on a pretty regular basis.

It’s not just the beatings that are missed – though they are. I’ve grown fairly accustomed to our sporadic chances to play hard. The things I miss most are less definable than that.

The things I miss are…
Feelings.
Moods.
Emotions.

I miss the dark side of who we are. The darkness that can only be brought out by a kindred darkness in Taylor.
And I worry, sometimes, that he no longer feels that darkness in relation to me, to us.

I can’t remember the last time I felt a hand tangled in my hair.
A hand around my throat.
A savageness in our fucking.
I can’t remember the last time I was on my knees for anything other than to take off his boots or get something from under the bed.
Can’t remember the last time I tasted blood on my lip.
Felt my arms trapped behind me, straining.

I cannot remember the last time I looked up at him, fucking convinced he was God… The Devil… The source of all power in my life.

And I didn’t realize until right now, this minute, as I struggle not to cry because there is no way to explain why I’m crying to the rest of the people in the house, how empty a part of me is, how needy, how horribly I’ve MISSED these simple yet crucial… things, feelings. How much I’ve missed that absolute awareness of my place.

I’m afraid I’ve become, to him, just puss. And he’s forgotten all about little whip.

“You crawl across the floor on your hands and knees to seek revelation, little whip. I pull you up. I grab your hair. I give you hope, little whip. I give the black sun to sear off your tongue. I give you a life, little whip. I pull you up. I grab your hair. I give you hope, little whip. I give you a world you beheld in a dream. I give you a night cry, little whip. You lick your wounds and you come right back. I give you nothing, little whip. I send the black sun and eclipse your moon. I steal your hope, little whip.” ~Danzig

I miss that man.
I miss that girl.