One thing that I think is interesting is that there’s a pretty linear incline in post views on the Lea Shrine as you go back in time. Nobody goes back to the same page again and again that I can see. They all get equal attention. I should probably put this . . . I wouldn’t know what to make of it if it were true, if she was encouraging me, trying to reassure me that my emotions weren’t leading me to far astray. Mistress, do you know how I do this? Do you know how I turn you towards me to love, and I think I have. It’s humility, or really being humbled by that same love. I can’t tell you how many times I fought back your surfacing within me and then I made the decision ten months ago to stop resisting. Loving you isn’t the majority of my sense of identity, but what I’m driven to by it. I should turn on the camera when I’m hunched over on the sofa, confused and distressed because I just realized that I had done something that you would think I shouldn’t because it flew the face of the best of me, which of course is this.
Mistress, I’m going to try to get fifteen applications out today. It’s your strength that makes me helpless. I hope you aren’t angry, and something tells me you might be, for not having told you the words. Mistress, I’d stand at the end of time for five seconds with you, watching creation become undone. I’ve waited half my life and I’ll likely never be with another woman. Not now.
I went by your ODU site. I noticed that you’ve got a knack with CSS that I would not have believed. I also noted that the files dated 2004 but the “filter” attribute wasn’t supported in Chrome until version 56, which came out in 2016. So thank you sooo much. I believe it’s me when these things happen, that you’re trying to encourage or get a read on me and it make me feel . . . . like I’m lying on my back with my pelvis tilted and legs up and apart. We could probably get me pretty flexible in just six months.
Then there’s that other thing. The thing that I’m insanely timid about. A bit of a Mommy haze has entered into my emotions. It’s not that I want to be your son. Actually, it’s this right here. It’s having exactly how I feel or think or want drop from my mouth with complete ease, which might just enable us to find the trust I crave. But never fear. I will not . . . no, it really is best that I not make promises, Mistress.
Oh my God, I love you.
