Mostly home

I am back.
I am happy.
I am tired and scuzzy and happy.

(Hmm... what will one of those automatic translation programs make of "scuzzy"?)

It was very hard to leave. For a week every year, my friends and I live in a place outside of time and space. We live together in the same room, we eat together, we dance together, and - oh, ever so important - we make music together. What we have there is our only reality.

At least, it used to be that way.
Technology always gets the last word.
Meaning that now there are lots of words that weren't there before.
E-mails and texts.
Skype to friends abroad.
The New York Times on line.
Repertoire CDs downloaded to ubiquitous laptops.
Photos posted to Facebook the morning after.

And messages to my Master.

Saying what I'm doing.
Saying how I'm feeling.
Saying I'll obey him.
Saying that I love him.

So all that time, in that very special place, I swam in being his and glowed my secret smile.

And now, although sad that it is over, I am happy to be near to him again.

And so the next phase of my training commences.
He says it will be difficult.
His words frighten me.
And my panties are suddenly wet.