Love Letters from the Dark

It is late and I've just arrived home from a party. One of the Kinky parties that I love so much and hold so dear. I took the long way home on purpose. It gives me time to think. Think, I do.

I began reminiscing on my first experience in a Kink community house here in Salt Lake City. How I wrestled a boy in a green Starbucks apron. He wore nothing else. How that gift affects me still to this day. I still find it difficult to find boys who will wrestle me in the fashion I desire.

I thought of dressing up as a Baphomet and witnessing a fisting scene where a Bear bled from their genitals so profusely that the top placed a deep red handprint of their own blood upon their face Braveheart style and the Bear exhaled in utter delight.

I think of being below a blond Russian Domme in Austria who promised me that I would never be far from love. She allowed me to gaze up her plaid skirt and worship her feet and I was smiling like an idiot. Naked from head to toe and remembering how we played like school girls earlier in the day and teased the boy who coudn't and would never do enough to earn our attention.

I thought of my first flog top and how he would beat me for so long his entire body would be dripping with sweat and he still wouldn't allow me to beg for anything. Yes, there are still times I bottom or submit for those whom I trust or who have a skill I want to either learn or indulge in.

I think of pink ribbons in black boots that were gifted to me at my friend's birthday. Not my own. I was dressed as a Valentine's clown all in the trans flag colors...blue, pink, white and the birthday creature gifted me my first official pair of Leather Doc Martens. Then I was further gifted with a boot blacking from a naked boy with their tongue. I haven't been able to polish them since because the memory is just too dear. One day...soon...they will need another literal spit shine.

Oh, and this one too. My slave and I were experimenting with ovipositors. l ensured that I got the ph levels on the gelatin just right so as to be safe for my vulva. He 'impregnated me' with the tool and I oozed out melted eggs the entrie weekend. This includes oozing out an egg while being paid nearly one thousand dollars on stage while dressed like a flamingo and using giant pink fans to the song, "Stand" by REM. It also includes having the last suprise egg fall into my thong while doing a Salt Flats photoshoot as a Twi'lek Dominatrix the following day. My life is...interesting.

There are other memories that float in...the couple who met with me only to cancel on me because the husband died suddenly. The wife then gifted me a beautiful custom steel cage in his honor saying, "You really saw us and because of that...I'll never be able to thank you enough. He would want this furniture to go to you and be put to use." If you read this...you will see the cage and you will recognize that it now belongs to a ghost. A sweet dear ghost. Thank you.

I think of the Veteran who pummelled me wondrously as the Queen from Brigerton at a local Dominatrix/Goddess party. He wore a cross while he did it and that made it so much hotter. The truth is even Queens like to be punished sometimes...especially when the hands are so used to brutality and those same hands can share it with me. My colors were lavender, white and mint that night and my hair was much too large. Needless to say...I was overjoyed and mummified him later that week as a thank you.

The thought of the puppy from Florida who flew to Utah to build me a porch, spoil me rotten, pay for our photoshoot and then who...I had to send home because all he wanted was to move in with me after meeting me once at a BDSM conference in Miami. If you wrestle a puppy with kindess, they may just fall in love with you. I don't make the rules. And to this day, he is still an Ace in my pocket.

There is also the slave who taught me about Dr. Pepper, Moontrance cigars and how to allow someone to smoke from between my thighs. I watched him turn into a monkey for his Mistress and I still think of him and he thinks of me. Next time I'm in Canada...I'll make sure to phone.

I wonder if they'll ever see these memories. These love letters from the dark.

I am not indebted...nor are they. We are in-gratitude.

I share these brief stories and snippets of memory here to have them safe and sound. Not subject to ridicule, erasure or subjugation from the vultures of social media. My blog is the place where I can speak the most freely.

So if you're reading this...maybe you've realized...I am indeed a romantic of sorts.

You see we only hurt, ridicule and torture the ones we love the absolute most.

There isn't any room for any favors.

Just love letters

from the Dark.

XOXO,

Mx. Novatrix