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photography, Kitti, art, me, kink

Kitti, the Unstoppable Hex Machine

...and a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries...

photography, Kitti, art, me, kink
It's becoming somewhat of an obsession now.

On Saturday, I had my first taste of play for over a year. that's all it was though - a taste. It was beautiful, sound, and fleeting, as these things usually are. A moment is all we can expect from perfection.

Now, though, I find myself hungry for more of the same, and my star candidate is nowhere to be found. I wonder if he's found some other messy goth girl to take over. I felt like we had a huge amount in common, an actual connection, but I'm not stupid enough to think that means anything to him. No contact generally means something a lot more interesting than me is going on. I know I should just forget him and carry on, meet people... but something in me feels like I need to stay loyal to this one man. A man I've never met in the flesh, just a photograph and a voice, and somehow I feel like I should stay true. I know that this is an incredibly tragic and dumb thing to be thinking, but I can't seem to help it. I am infatuated with a voice that exists now only in my memory, and that I may never even hear again, let alone get to associate it with a body; or touch; or anything.

I've not been a romantic for years. What on earth is happening in my brain?

The crazy thing is, that despite all this, I have this rising longing to be pushed again. Whipped, especially. I know that this is something I need, but without a suitable mentor, I've no idea how I can learn to withstand pain, or to submit properly. I feel like I'm 13 again, it's so biazrre. I'm this little girl, alone in my room with my mood-altering substances, wishing for someone to rescue me. My memories and my music haunt me, I remember the first man that difiled me... and the first that I gave myself to, willingly. I remember the first time I truly loved, like it would break me if she wasn't near, and very nearly did. I remember knowing that I would die willingly on my Master's sword, if he ordered it. I remember my reckless heart and instict controlling my decisions and my entire life. I remember living below the breadline, and not caring because I was with my Master. I remember selling myself just so that we could survive, and how it was ultimately our undoing.

Perhaps someone will find me, soon.