I have a new friend.
Actually, he's an old friend.
Well, he wasn't actually a full-scale friend, but we were headed there, through the magic of blogs. And then somehow we lost track of each other. Until I stumbled on him again.
He calls himself Dreamwalker.
He's a good writer.
A very good writer.
And a sadist.
Surprised?
He is a good writer and a sadist and he has written an amazing poem that says something about the need, the love, the pain that drives the sadist.
Obviously, not every sadist feels exactly the same. But...
I recognize this.
I know it...
[she shakes her head to clear the memories]
Go read the poem.
And the comments.
I had more to say.
And if you like his words, tell him.
All writers need encouragement.
Even sadists.
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5 comments:
Sometimes I think especially sadists, my beautiful friend.
It is hard, sometimes, to pry open your chest to expose the darkness of the heart beating within. Few realize how vulnerable you must become, as a sadist, to follow her on her journey inside, to trail her as she narrates her experience of your touch through her breathing, her heartbeat, the very ripples of her skin. As vulnerable as she is to you, you must be as well; you must match her step-for-step, you must hold on to her hand as she descends deeper and deeper into the fog or you will lose her.
I cannot imagine how hard it is for a submissive or a masochist to open up and share her desires and longings. Still, when she opens her chest to let the world see her beating heart, she is beauty personified; receptive, graceful, acquiescent.
But every time I pry open my chest with a crowbar I need to fight through the sense of impending doom that this is the time when everybody will finally see how truly ugly I am inside. That this is the time when they will realize that what I speak of is real and not an attempt to weave dirty, titillating fantasies. That this is the time when they will finally see me for what I truly am; a monster.
So thank you for encouraging me and seeing me. You have no idea what it means to me.
OG, I am not so eloquent as your friend.
Thank you so much for the introduction, I've bookmarked him.
Love and warm hugs,
Paul.
I find it encouraging that my first reaction to your comment, 'even sadists', was reiterated exactly by Dreamwalker. Despite my bumps along the way, I know I really do get it ;) And I am always delighted to hear the thoughts of those that may open their chests to me.....Thanks for the link.....on my way there now!
I do know what it means, Dreamwalker. Every so often, with a word here, a gesture there, things are revealed...
I wrote a post called "A sadist's vulnerability" back on February 3, 2010. You can find it under the label "vulnerability." There I wrote:
But doms and sadists have their own secrets. And merely by enacting with us their long nurtured fantasies of pain and degradation, they give us a glimpse inside the souls they try so hard to hide.
Dreamwalker, your poem was a gift to all of us who try so hard to understand, and to all of us who try to breach the borders and merge with the half that balances our own struggles. Thank you for bleeding for us who so often bleed for you.
Paul - not everyone can be so eloquent. But some people - like you - manage to say a lot anyway, and with very few words. You have a warm heart, and that matters most of all.
worm - thank you. There are always bumps along the way, and I know if has taken me quite while to understand. I will never ever claim to know everything - and am exceedingly grateful to all my teachers.
Oatmeal Girl, you just reminded me about something that I’m ashamed to admit not keeping in the forefront of my mind. I am so busy trying to unlock the secrets of the beauty that wants to give herself to me. To understand what she is, who she is, and why she is so that I can use her the best for both ours fulfillment.
It’s been a long time since I even considered that her need to understand me may be just as keen as my need to understand her. I always feel like the backdrop to her beauty, the platform on which she stands, the one lurking in the shadows, better not seen.
On this day you reminded me that it’s okay to step out in the light, that the mirror in which I see my face may be the one with the stains, not my face.
Thank you, dear girl.
Thank you.
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