This post started off as talking about my rights when it comes to play. As in I have the right to interview as many men as I’d like before I allow any one of them to spank my ass. It’s my body and the act of erotic spanking is so intimate that I have the right to go about the selection process in a way that makes me feel safe. My physical self is at the mercy of someone stronger than me by far and because I’m so vulnerable I need to be sure. If I don’t trust you, you are not spanking my ass. In my search for a regular spanker, I’ve had a few guys turn bitch over my decision to speak with anyone other than them. I was prepared to write the mother effer of all rants!
But My thoughts derailed when I received an email from a previous lover.
Some of my recent posts have had him at the center until his life took a dive and he just didn’t have time for me. Not the first email he’s sent me in the last few days, but the most obvious in his attempts to see me again.
I’m in a weird place after his email. His cry for help, be my distraction email. I’ve never been the type to want to “fix” a guy. If your shit is “fucked” so to speak, I’m not the girl to work to change you. I can do bad all by myself so adding your troubles isn’t an option.
Damn me, I care about him though. I don’t want to see him wallowing in his fetid pool of sorrow. The urge to throw him a life line (in this case some form of kinky naughtiness) is hard to resist.
Part of me knows I’m being naive. I’m his coping mechanism, or the sex is at least. The other part of me can’t help wanting the excitement he promises even in the midst of his obvious chaos. With him I have the opportunity to explore.
Let’s not ignore the very real possibility that he’ll hurt me. Emotionally in this case.
I’m not saying I’m just going to fall back into something with him, but he’s tugging at the nurturer that lives in me. That and my vagina is eager to take what he seems to want to give. She’s a slippery bitch who can’t control herself though.
So this jumbled post ends the same way it started, with an expletive because I have no idea what I’m talking about. This post, much like my creativity, is a mess.