Mistress, why can’t I feel happy that I belong to you? I think I might begrudge myself the happiness of being yours for the spite of not falling prey to my love’s subjugation of my will. It’s silly that it’s a point of pride to me that I hold embracing the truth of who I feel I am to you at bay for the reason that you aren’t available to witness me understanding who I am to you because certainly I am correct. At the least, can I be dough to roll out into Ego Cookies?
You’ll find a way into my life when I reach out because you let me know I’m ready. I don’t believe I’ve given you reason to discount me as someone who will love you until I die. I hope you believe too that we need to fuck to find out who we are to each other. I almost expect to be led, numb and shaky, through the weeks you ensure your safety and integrity, to your bed. I will bond with my own love for you, come to terms with my powerlessness over it and witness your reaction as you take me. I like to think we will be astonished to discover, at some core level, we are of a common mind. I’ll at least know the parts of the spectrum of what I feel you respond to, perhaps what to pursue, what to tease from you, and what to run from to make sure you give chase as well.
Do you get off on tentacle porn? The reason I ask is that I imagine the Lea in my mind crawling out of me like tentacles to invade you. Here I thought those Japanese teenagers were masturbating to the active and passive ends of their libido at once. Maybe it’s just fond preconception. (This is my sense of humor getting the best of me.)
So, since you would rather I look for jobs right now . . . I’ll make sure to remember later there will never be another woman whatever might come.
