It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are lost. Because when you are lost is when the adventure begins, that’s when you are free to explore because the outside world isn’t reachable, and if you can’t reach it, does it really exist?

Nothing else matters anymore. Only the present. Only this. Only the descent into the Elemental. Only the embrace of the primal.

Yes, on my time, your role is to feel. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll guide you deeper and deeper into yourself. Your task is to feel; I’ll do the thinking for both of us.

You owe her to be you.

She pines for your happiness. She holds her breath until the moment that you can finally let out your own. She is waiting for you to accept yourself. She is cheering you on inside of her heart, inside of your heart, from the sidelines, too. She is praying to the gods of man and the creatures of the organic. She is draped across your altar, across the Altar of Truth, waiting for you to possess the key to your own heart and never give it away again. She is there, patient, waiting, yours. She is yours for the taking. And in the taking of her is the reclamation of You.

You’ve shown me how to reclaim the key to my own heart, and you excite me, and my screams evaporate in the viscous nature of your blood and when you breathe, my heart beats, and when I purr, you can finally exhale.

And nothing has ever felt as right as this.

This is a world of magnitude previously unknown to me. It has caressed my dreams, waken me awake, caught me breathless and crying and mewing. I am watching you. And learning. And when the curtain of night descends, and blankets us, we can touch peace, together. This, I know. It has happened. And it will happen as often as you will it.Who cares what it looks like? Who cares about the label for this kink or the other? The only thing that matters is that we journey, hand-in-wing-in-hand, soaring toward the stars, bursting them open with our own flavor of bliss.

You write like this. You question me. You interrogate the layers that comprise my soul. You call forth my integrity. Yet, your little kitten isn’t distracted that easily. On your time, I feel; I don’t think. Sadist’s orders.

I may be afraid to allow someone to love me because my desires and urges may be too much for her to bear. It is a bit of a Catch-22; what gives me the right to inflict myself on someone who is worthy of my love?

There is this deep, primal urge in a male to protect his female, and I am caught in the predicament that I feel I need to protect her from myself.