Identity and intimacy

I want to get under your skin, and for you to be under mine. I don't want a one night stand with a no-name man, all hard blankness and no contrast: let me know your name but not use it and I'll whisper it under my breath with each "thank you" for every lash. I won't fuck someone I don't know, let alone allow a stranger to tie me up. I want to know that it's you doing it, you who knows me and how far I want to go, when and where I'll come down. That the hand bearing the whip will also gently ease off the cuffs, all power discharged for both sides. Not merely for the sake of safety but for the sake of intimacy.

There are those who think that a tabula rasa is the idealised submissive and that the hooded figure a Dom perfected, and whilst these might be our fantasies we know it's just a look, an idea, a role to put on, not to inhabit permanently. I am the one who is putting on this identity, it is me that you are touching.

Whatever dream we play inside we always wake up in the end once again, wearing these bodies, these faces, these minds and hearts. Our connections are real, and with each other.