Antici….. pation

I see him today.

The time between meetings seems to drag and fly by alternately — depending on my mood, the quantity of work I have to do, and how the world immediately around me is spinning at any particular moment.

I try to update here with the sparkles of joy that emanate from me after we meet, but I am sometimes somewhat tardy. Know, however, that I leave his embrace only to walk on air. Sub-space has nothing on how I feel. There are not enough words of a sufficient calibre to describe it — and I speak as one to whom words are bread and meat, blood and air, sustenance and breath.

The excitement of the build-up begins to increase exponentially around noon. Four hours until… three hours until… Idly i flip through the pages on the site looking for something to catch my attention and refocus myself. I work listlessly, or on occasion frantically — determined to leave the rest of my life nehind me so that my whole being is focused on him, on he and I… on us.

From the moment the door closes, and it is just us in the room, I’m in a different place altogether. Despite my external, bouncy and excited demeanour, I am solemn and focused on the inside. It’s time for that thing, that ritual ceremony to happen.

I take this ritual very seriously. It heralds the start of every session, and for me, it’s like passing through a mental gateway. I remove my clothing, and then kneel before him, naked and shyly smiling. He fastens my collar around my neck, and holds me close to him, breathing in my smell as I breathe in his. When we are apart, he misses me too, a lot. I am constantly gratified and touched by how he never fails to demonstrate this to me, physically, vocally and mentally. He enquires how I am, and I know that he means now, this second, with my every sense engulfed in the very essence of him, knowing how different it is from the day-to-day, and delighting in my enjoyment of my submission.

And this is how it starts, and how this piece ends.

I quote the late great Jim Morrison:

“Ladies and gentlemen, the ceremony is about to begin.”

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How do I feel?

I have written before of the opening ceremony that begins our time together.  He always asks me how I’m feeling, and I usually say “I’m fine,” or “Very happy to be here,” but it always assails me how mediocre my answer is, at best, and inadequate in the extreme, at worst.

Yesterday, in a burst of combined pre-session inspiration, emotion and an unexpected pocket of free time, I wrote a letter to Purrrrvert, and printed it out. At that crucial moment, when he asked me that customary question, I reached behind me for the folded piece of paper, and handed it to him.

He has told me that he fell in love with me initially because of my words. He calls me his Cunning Linguist (among other creative and adorable terms of endearment), and he loves when I write for him. But nothing prepared me for the clear and honest reaction that streamed between us as our eyes met, once he raised them from reading.

The eyes are the windows to the soul. I saw straight into his, and he into mine.

And I cried, for sheer joy.

When I am with you, you always ask me how I feel.

How I feel to be with you?

How do I find the words to cage the butterflies of feeling that well up inside me at the thought of being with you?

How much more so their siblings, glitter-coating me when no longer is it a matter of thought, but a warm and soft reality?

An accurate description is never something I can accomplish as I stand before you – naked both in body and soul. This is the time when I am focused only on being. The words come later.

Now is later. Now I describe.

I feel transported from the daily grind to an island of oblivion. Population: 2.

1. Purrrrvert

2. Pink Tabby.

No one else lives here; in fact none but us exist. This is our world.

So how do I feel?

There is no one emotion to encompasses the bubble of joy that encases me. It’s so much more than “happy”. I feel:

Loved.

Cherished.

Controlled.

Respected.

Esteemed

Dear.

Treasured.

Valued.

Wanted.

Owned.

Yours.

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