It has been a time of mental discomfort, a feeling of not quite fitting, not quite satisfied, doubt, and fear.  Nebulous, undefined, but the littlest of things do not seem so sure, not quite right.  Instead of celebrating the 90% that is good, I am analyzing the 10% that is FUCKING WRONG, wrong about me, wrong with the world… wrong about him.

A very needy, weak part of me is all caught up in wondering if this is real.  There are no huge tests, nothing so hard that I have to force myself to do it.  He is too nice, too caught up in saying “I love you” over and over.  I know he says it because he wants to hear me say it back.  And the slave part of me wonders why he is so insecure.  Why it should matter that I love him.  He should NOT CARE.  If he wants love, he should force me to do the most impossible of things and the very fact that I would do them, would show him my devotion, my love.  But I know that this journey scares him a little, too.  The fear that it isn’t real and he will push too hard and I will implode and leave, or worse, stop loving him. 

And along with the sense that things aren’t quite right, come the “if it was this way… it would be better”, “If he did it different”  “I want more” feelings, and this always makes me frightened.  Master is not one to be steered, controlled.  And the very fact that I could even ask takes the heart out of it.  If I said, “Please, beat me longer, I need the beatings to last longer,” when he did it, if he did it, would it be him beating me?  Who would ultimately be in control?  And would it even feel the same?  And once again I would be weighed down by this pervasive sense of not getting what I need. 

The slave part of me loathes, absolutely loathes, the idea of even wanting/needing anything.  She sniffs that I do not get to have wants, that this is not about me.  It is about him, serving him.  If he wants to do it, and only IF he wants to do it, he gets to do exactly what he wants. 

But he wants so little.  Lately I wonder about my obedience, my submission.  What is it that I am submitting to?  …being a princess?  He expects so little of me.  It is like being bound by ropes, but they are not tight.  They are looped so loosely around me that not only does it feel like I could easily escape, but I also have to be very careful how I move or they could just fall off into a tangled heap at my feet.  There is nothing to strain against.  I don’t feel safe, contained, limited.  I don’t feel limited.  It’s the flip side of no limits.  If I don’t have my own limits, I need them from him.

I crave more limits, more outward tangible limits, chains, shackles, and a cage.  Freedom weighs on me, gentleness rubs the wrong way, chafes, abrades at my spirit.  He reaches for me and I pull away, wanting nothing more than to be snatched back, captured and subdued.

He appreciates what I do, what I give, but does not demand, does not take, does not force. And I yearn to feel his strength.

I find myself tentatively tracing at the boundaries, feeling for the edges, the limits.  Like a blind person, fingering the bars of my gilded cage, surreptitiously pushing, and gauging their strength.  Yet I am afraid to truly try my strength against them, matching wills, determination, contending strength for strength.  My greatest fear is bending and breaking down the walls he has built around me.

Yet I have this urge, this wild compulsion to throw my whole being against them, to batter and thrash against them in a wild mindless frenzy.  Not in an attempt to destroy them, but to finally know their measure, know if they could truly hold me when the need arises, when I need them most.