The friend and the fiend

yes, i’m still here.

i know i’ve been quiet for a couple of days, but i’m ok. it felt like a very long week – vacation recovery will do that. and then there was the democratic convention every night…

the philosopher called me twice this week. the first time was Monday evening. i was not surprised. i was down in the dungeon – oops, i mean the family room – watching the convention, and i had taken the cell phone down with me. i’m not like most Americans, i don’t keep it with me all the time – well, i did when the philosopher owned me, he would be quite irate if he called and i didn’t answer.

however, in this case i took it down with me because i KNEW he would call.

i knew.

it has been a week of telepathy.

so he called to hear from my own lips about my adventure with Motorcycle Man. and i told him, though not all the little details of how MM did this or that to me. i told him the important parts – that he was in the room with me the whole time, and that i couldn’t cum without hearing him say “Cum, kitten. NOW!” and i explained what i had said here and here, that our friendship was the most important thing. which it is.

i’ve been thinking about that, now that we are spending time together again. phone time, and not daily, but still time together. because of how our relationship started, the erotic component, and then the D/s dynamic which developed and took hold, were the biggest parts. we did talk about other things, but we’re both into ritual, and the rituals took hold.

it was when we were together that we had the full beauty of the friendship, the perfect calm and comfort of each other’s presence. we talked all the time, but i think that if we could have shut up we could have been happily, silently together for hours and hours, because it felt like the most natural thing in the world to have him here, to curl up on the couch, to cook, to shop, to walk down the street hand-in-hand.

so yes, i am happy having a focus on the friendship, and even without being able to say that i am owned, i am back to feeling safe and calm.

which means i am off the market for now. i’m happy. i’m not looking for a boyfriend. i’m not looking for a dom. i’m not looking for a master.

but during our Monday conversation, the philosopher asked a very valid question.

what about the blog?
will i keep it going?
will it no longer be a sex blog?

of course i’ll keep it going!

i feel more complete reconnecting with my writer self... the stuff just bubbles up out of me, especially the poems. it’s embarrassing, really, how they just flow, i tend to discount them because of that – they’re not real, they’re not art, if i don’t have to slave over them.

so i certainly don’t want to give up the blog. but i was starting to feel a bit… dry. i can’t see writing every day about how happy i am that the philosopher and i are friends. and at the moment i feel uncomfortable about posting old conversations from my slave kitten days.

maybe a new picture of Marko each day?

naah… i don’t think so.

now, i’ve mentioned before that i’ve been hanging out at that electronic cocktail party called FetLife. and i’ve been both bemused and somewhat embarrassed at the little following i’ve collected there of horny 30-year old men. i do love it that they are undeterred by my clearly stated advanced age – very reassuring should i ever want to pursue anything further. but just because someone says he’d happily spank me doesn’t mean i’ll be offering my ass any time soon. i’m clearer about that now.

still, i keep feeling restless, and deprived of inspiration.

and then a few days ago a very odd and evil man contacted me. he is of course smitten with my writing (hey – i can be snotty occasionally, can’t i? – that’s what happens when a slave kitten is unchained…) and he understands the power of the mind in bdsm. so we’ve been corresponding for a few days and he has become my demon muse. the things in his fiendish mind trigger the dark side of my creativity and poems and vignettes have been springing forth. i’m feeling more vibrant now that i’m being creative again, because i really did miss it.

Sacrificial lamb in the alcove was the first creative product of this… what? i’m not sure what to call it. perhaps “collaboration” is as appropriate as anything. in a way i feel like he’s not only my evil muse but my patron. in his fantasies i think i am his poetic nightingale in a gilded cage (or at least that’s my image). he doesn’t want my body; he already has a slave as an outlet for his considerable sadism. he wants the products of my mind. he is a patron who pays with praise and inspiration, and i respond with pieces that reflect his mind as filtered through mine.

so watch for weird pieces, perhaps bizarre poems and vignettes that demonstrate how my imagination works in his service. i’m still hoping my creativity can become broader, i’d still like to be able to write things i can show my mother. but for now i will continue to produce these oddities.

and cultivate the garden that is my friendship with the philosopher.