Connections

I've been thinking recently about how you can have an incredibly strong connection with someone - an intense, tangible feeling. And then, all of sudden, it's gone. Pouf. Vanished. In one of those rare moments of synchronicity the main character in the book I am reading, Skin Tight, a black comedy/thriller by Carl Hiaasen, says exactly the same thing. Married five times, each of them cocktail waitresses, he bemoans the moment when he turns to them in bed and feels nothing and knows it's over.

I had a weird connection moment last week. Sir had been away for a week and we'd only managed one quick call. I was genuinely excited that he was coming back, but when the day came I felt like my cat who deliberately turns her back on me when I come back from a holiday. It was odd. I felt angry with him. Not that I said anything. I know better than that. But it was a very unfamiliar feeling and not one I particularly welcome. The next day everything was fine again, but it did make me feel a bit wobbly.

In truth, I needn't have worried as actually feeling angry is as much a connection as ever. It's feeling numb that's the killer.

And the thing is I know that vanished connection feeling so well. It's happened to me twice now and both times it's spelt the end of a deep relationship. I'm kinda getting cynical about the whole thing now. Am I doomed to always come across this, or is it just that they are not the right "one"?

The strange thing is that this doesn't happen with friends. I do have incredibly strong connections with my friends. I go for quality more than quantity and have friends that go right back to school and our connection has never wavered. I stay in touch with past boyfriends and, again, the connection is just as strong as it's ever been, despite disapproving wives or jobs that take them half way around the world.

I watched Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind recently. I put it off for years, mainly because Jim Carey annoys me, but it finally made it's way to the top of the Love Film list and arrived. I was impressed. It's not a film I'd want to sit through twice, but what caught me were the two main characters at the end. Having had their past relationship removed from their memories, they decide to do it all over again, even though they know they will eventually irritate the hell out of each other and decide to split up.

Hmmm. I am not quite sure what I am trying to say here. I liked the fact that it wasn't a happy forever after Hollywood ending. It was realistic. It was true life. I suppose we just have to enjoy those connections while we have them.

The Only Place

I have a weakness. Well, I have many. But I have one particular weakness for notebooks. Pretty, expensive notebooks. Day to day I can't pass a Paperchase without going inside and buying one. One of my favourite places in London is Liberties stationery section . I avoid going anywhere posher than that as I literally cannot resist temptation.

I love the texture of beautifully bound notebooks, the smell of fresh pages, the excitement of starting a clean book.

I use them for my poetry, for my notes, for my to-do lists, for my novel, for presents. I don't really need an excuse to buy another. My desk is crammed with notebooks filled with handwriting that in many cases I can no longer read, but the very act of getting something out and down in writing was so necessary, so cathartic at that time.

But, interestingly, I have never used them to write about my submission and the adventures I talk about in this blog. I am not sure if it's the concern that it might be read and traced back to me, or that I just need the cyberspace reality to get the juices flowing.

No, despite my lovely notebooks, this is the only place I have for these thoughts.

Collared

He has collared her: thrown away her play collar and replaced it with one that is thicker, wider, one that binds her throat as tightly as his bare hand. A collar that awakens the senses as intensely as he has awakened her.

They have uncovered her submission. She pours it into him, for him, and yet in her very submission she has found herself. She has found her unsubmission.

He has lied to her, hurt her, fed her dark untruths that made her doubt her very instincts. He has laid a delicate trap that in the end only caught them both. A trap that was impossible to refuse, and yet that very trap has given her the power to break free from another.

She hands him her submission, her dignity, her lust, her time, her love and her damp knickers. She hands it all over for him to take what he desires, when he chooses. She kneels for him, lies at his feet and tells him he can do anything he desires with her. There are moments when she feels she might do anything for him.

They feed each other beautiful expresso shots of distraction. In a coffee shop, they drink cappuccino and he has a smudge of chocolate on his lip. Her cunt aches as she longs to lick it away. On a park bench, they talk, her head nestled against his warm shoulder, her eyes fixed on a slither of bare chest she can see through the gap between his shirt buttons.

She recognises this isn't real life for either of them. And yet their time together is in such disconcerting, such dramatic technicolour that she can hardly believe it all comes wrapped up in one leather collar.

A Tale of Two Cities

We travelled to Paris
the birth place of romance
where I was punished
mercilessly

The city that tantalises the senses
where I was gagged and blindfolded
bound to the bed
and driven senseless

The home of gastronomy
where I dined on his spunk
that he fed my throat
repeatedly

The place where de Beauvoir, Degas and Satre
worshipped art, literature and logic
And I sat at his feet
and worshipped him.

Lies

They collect around the arteries
cholesterol of the soul
slowly building into
Fatty deposits,
seemingly dormant
and yet full of danger.

First, they block the blood-flow of communication.
they hide as something else
pretending not to hear
failing to understand
needing to talk about something else
Urgently.

Eventually they make their way closer to the heart...

Danger-Zone.

After that
it's only a matter of time.