I know I didn’t make a mistake

I sent Mistress Lea a dozen red roses and now this site gets no traffic. Maybe she’s worried about things snowballing, and I know I want that encouragement. I’m afraid and I don’t know why except . . . Christ, I feel her inside me, right behind my eyeballs, telling me it’s new and that I am wrong for understanding she can’t take understanding that I can’t help feeling wounded and terrified that she’s disappeared. I just want to retreat somewhere to a place I know she liked the flowers and a place it doesn’t matter because I love her and I have her with me and I shouldn’t dare take a chance right when I know what to do, when I know she’d come back to encourage me or as a reward. I feel the knowledge that I am hers, painful but shining warmth all through me — Mistress, I can feel when I belong to someone as a rope, endlessly coiling and tightening behind my beltline. It scares me because I have no idea what’s important to you. And it hurts because it feels like you cut into it a bit to watch it bleed. I heard the “mmmm” on two of the calls. If that was you, you sounded pleased. The stress of thinking it was you was making me crazy and I had to stop answering. And this panic. I don’t know how it sounds, how comes across, to be light grazed by what I want most in life and for it to disappear, possibly forever? There’s a reason, there’s a reason, there’s a reason. My head throbs those words but I can’t see it. How could you have left me alone with this horrible torrent of need so that I can muse that you wounded my knowledge of my possession by you so that, in bleeding, I would notice it as true. I hate to have to tell you that I want to be with you because of how afraid and angry I become when I use such simple words. My fingers feel mangled. My fear comes in waves, making my chest and head buzz. While I imagine you, reaching toward the light to commune with the divine.

Oh, you’re getting more flowers next week. I hope you were planning on it.