Symbols and Sensuality, Part 2

Because I am new to this lifestyle -- or, rather, new to the desires and the immersion -- my meditations involve many "before and after" considerations.  Transformation is something I think about.  Who I am.  Where I have been.  Where I am going.  Whom I know.  Whom I admire.  Whom I (would theoretically want nothing more than to) obey.

The transformation from a vanilla mindset to a mindset surrendered to the idea of submission feels thrilling. And I enjoy the longevity of it.  I enjoy that it is not instantaneous.  I enjoy that there are rites of passage.  I enjoy that there are layers to peel from me in order to feel me emerge.  Many writers have explored the symbology of the moth and the bright light as the soul seeking knowledge, the body seeking experience.  I feel like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, stripped of all that kept me earthbound and sluggish, ready to spread my wings and obey the forces of nature that control me.  I want the forces of nature to control me.  I want to feel the power of something stronger remove from me the petty anxieties of a day; making me an outlaw to the normative and stifling rules of society because of how high I can fly, commanded by Him to do so.

It is a tremendous responsibility for a man to dominate a woman.  Sometimes I am in awe of this responsibility (I mean, the "ideal" version... not the pretend version that feels more and more commonplace).  When I imagine the Dominant's role, I imagine a man who strives towards self-Mastery and vast knowledge.  I imagine a man at the top of his game; someone who has invested time, effort, practice, and good conversation in the art of problem-solving and appetite-grooming (both very, very important characteristics in a man, to me).  I imagine that he understands the ways of the female and the male human body; how to heal and how to nourish.  I imagine he has figured out how to get what he wants in life without harming any.  I imagine he has his cool ambition well in hand, and that it balances perfectly with his warm artistic and inventive pursuits.  And, I imagine he is so self-aware that he knows what the merest look he gives can do to me -- wither me to nothing, or lift me to the heavens.

Who am I?  I barely recognize myself anymore.  I am surrounded by butterflies; a white mist in the distance cools the air that I breathe.  My path is straight, true, and yet I flit about like a butterfly to all the different flowers, drunk on possibility.  My eyes rest easily, and I am not afraid of the dark.  I have the power to wound; and I have the ability to feel horribly wounded.  I wish for, instead of the wound, being in the right place surrounded by the right people.  I wish for, instead of the wound, being on the other end of a powerful chain controlled by one who knows himself.  I wish for, instead of the wound, being united in abiding peace with the man who knows how to control the shadows of his appetite, the darkness of mine, and the sweet spring air in the daylight, after.  (This is not to say that I am in a hurry....................................  It is merely that my goal is clearer and clearer; and that the horizon is a beautiful vista, no matter how distant or near to me.)