Musing

Sofia describes, in her own words, how she went from blog reader to distant buddy — and what, exactly, she wanted from me all along.

Where shame comes from, and why I need it.

I don’t want to bend you to my will. I want your will to curl into mine like shrink-wrap — no distance, no submission, just utter harmony. Maybe that’s not dominance. Maybe it’s just infantile.

I tossed off a quick answer about loneliness, then spent the next few hours realizing I was wrong about myself — and tracing the line from rejection to shame to paying for the very rejection I was trying to escape.

Navigating the minefield of CraigsList couples, where clarifying your sexual preferences can earn you a lecture on hetero-normativity from a former burlesque dancer.

I’m dominant, sure — but I can’t write about it without also writing about my doubts, my moods, my humanness, and I know that’s not always what you came here for.

The blog’s been heavy on navel-gazing and light on fucking lately. There are reasons. I’m working on it.

The anatomy of craving a cigarette — mental, bodily, and the tricks my brain plays to get me to succumb.

I’m drawn to strong women who grant me submission, not to women whose submission I can take from them.

Most of us have secrets — some shameful, some embarrassing, some kept just for the pleasure of keeping them.