I write because there is so much that yearns to spill forth from me. Earlier I was in the sauciest mood, and my mind was a waterfall of things like edible body paint, rope, sex toys and whatnot.
My oral fixation was completely out of control and I couldn’t stop yearning for something delicious to occupy my mouth and tongue. I took a few seconds to stop and laugh at myself; I’m just about to ovulate and my sex-drive always goes ridiculously through the roof at this point in my cycle.
It was nice to feel that part of myself again, though. It’s almost as if my inner tigress has been dormant because I haven’t had the extra energy to feed (or fan) her flames.
And so today, I’ve felt not only this extra burst of sexual energy, but also a heightened sensitivity to my submissive side. These are the times that I would give anything to be tumbling around with you, and wrestling, if only as an appetizer to the moment that you would inevitably pin me and claim your prize.
It’s in moments like this one that my hunger for the edge grows strong and pulses intensely inside of me, my heart and cunt aligned in their appetites. I get so curious about things like pain and pleasure and limits and surpassing such limits.
I think of the incredible poem by Christopher Logue:
“Come to the edge,” he said. They said, “We are afraid.” “Come to the edge,” he said. They came. He pushed them… And they flew.