He knows everything.
He hears my thoughts
as if I put them on his mp3 player
to shout out in his car.
Last Tuesday, he was here.
Last Tuesday, but a few days after our shared Friday night.
Last Tuesday, when I wrote of my doubts:
Why do I keep believing that I'm not worthy
and that anyone who thinks that I am
must not be worth loving?
Why do I feel that it threatens the imbalance of power which works for us, which binds us, which exalts us, and which makes us happy?
I tempered that a little. I toned down the surges of power, the flashes of detachment, that came to me as I served him and made me want to shake my head and clear away the blasphemy.
I was scared.
I was worried.
I was suddenly seeing him differently.
And he knew.
Damn it, he knew!
I don't know how much comes from an innate awareness, and how much from decades of manipulating those who have served him, and how much from a knowledge of me acquired through two and a half years of pleasure and frustration. Whatever the source of his uncanny powers of perception, he sees it all.
And that explains Saturday's post, and his assertion that we had to pull back from the way we had been over the last few weeks. He didn't deny his affection for me. He was both sad and angry that he couldn't enjoy me that way any more. But he knew what it did to me. He...
It's all too personal, the things he said.
And all too correct.
What it comes down to, in the end, is my lousy self-image.
How I continue to doubt my own worth.
How I do always pull back from anyone who really wants me.
Oh, it was fine when he was being all sternly dominant, demanding I serve him and suck him, write for him and worship him. The pull of the chain, no matter how many miles separated us. I did think there was something more there but, as long as he never declared it, his affection was the big question mark that just made the chain even stronger, tightening it around my neck and jerking it deeper into my flowing cunt.
But once he admitted it, once we went into romantic mode - and you don't need to be in love to act romantic; admiring affection can trigger it quite nicely - there was a shift in the balance of power. There was a layer of mutuality. Most of the time it was beautiful, sweet, passionate, intense. But yes, every so often I could feel myself pulling away. I was viewing him as another of those men who wanted me when I had no interest in them.
And I was horrified.
in the midst of something so beautiful,
manifesting more sweetly
than any supposed love I'd known before...
It scared the shit out of me.
And I could only hope it would pass.
But he felt it.
He knew it.
And in his wisdom, he knew he had to stop it.
Or we would lose everything.
So no more romantic song exchanges.
I'm starting to cry again.
At least he granted my wish to return to calling him "my Lord." Sticking with only "Sir" was too hard. And we continue to share and fan an obsession with the miniseries The Borgias. He has ordered me to watch naked, with the chain clipped around my left ankle. We watch together, even at a distance. He feels me there with him. It fires our desire and imagination and there I can feel the sweetness still.
I know it will slip out of its bonds, his affection for me. Just as the beast breaks loose from its cage. And I am assured that the affection is still there, in all its warmth. But he can't risk our being together like that.
Because he knows the danger.
He knows what it does to me.
And after days of his insisting that this was how it must be,
he finally found a way to make me see.
It was devastating.
But I saw.
It's hard to recover from a lifetime of self-doubt.
Even with someone who works so hard to make me believe in myself.
I wish he could truly heal me.
Only then would he be able to enjoy me in the beautiful, special way we were with each other for those glorious couple of weeks.
I'll just have to try harder.
He deserves that at least.
I'll just keep trying harder and harder.
Because I am his.
And he deserves all of me.