Lost in thought

16 Jul

I woke up this morning to discover I was out of milk.  Another American tragedy.  Barely enough left  for a half cup of coffee, and then I had to throw on some clothes and go to the store.

Every day, I drive to work the same way.  In fact, the first part of just about any journey is the same for me, and this morning was no different.  As I drove, I was thinking about some conversation I’ve had lately. 

Even though I’ve had some experience in D/s now,  and have been reading, there are still about a zillion things that I don’t know anything about.   Knife play and fire play for starters.  Japanese rope bondage.  And I don’t think I can know whether or not i’m going to like something until I experience it.  

But it can make me tingle to talk about it anyhow.   Is it the content of the conversation that turns me on, or is it just talking to someone who shares an interest in certain pleasures?

Is there real chemistry involved that makes me tingle if we’re talking on the phone?  Or am I just projecting my own fantasy onto his voice.   And if he’s doing the same thing, projecting his fantasies onto me, then what does that mean about the conversation?

I look up to realize that I’ve taken a wrong turn – as if I were going to work, not to the store.  Giggling, I make a left turn, circle though the parking lot, and head in the right direction.

But talking to just anyone doesn’t turn me on.  So maybe there is some phone chemistry involved.  Of course there’s got to be.

And am I thinking about this because it makes me nervous to think about the possibilities of being with someone new?  If I thought about that instead?  O, my.

I picture dungeons and rope.  Knives and fire.  I picture hands on me, touching gently, touching firmly.  O, my.

But this is purely imagination.  This is just me getting myself worked up.

And I pass the turn going the other way for the store.  Now I’m headed back home.  I laugh out loud as I pull into another parking lot and circle back around.  Going to the store for real this time.  

So I can’t really tell if I’m going to like something til I’m there, right?  Just because I get myself a little aroused, a little wet, thinking about it may not mean anything.  Just because he has a nice voice and is easy to talk to doesn’t mean anything.  Right?

He will not look the way I imagine him, even with a picture, it’s never quite the same.  His hands won’t be what I envision.  That won’t matter.  Do I think there’s an immediate connection or non-connection?  I don’t even know.  Maybe.

I picture us at lunch, talking.  Will he say things that make me secretly squirm?  Already there are things he says that do that, that make me start to heat up.  Beyond that is this vast unknown.

Kind of scary.

Kind of exciting.

Maybe it won’t go beyond a lunch, maybe we’ll share a meal and realize that there’s no chemistry, no spark.

I look up and realize – yes, I know it’s hard to believe – I’ve overshot the turn to the store.  For the third time.   Good grief. 

This time, after I turn, I force myself to keep my mind on where I’m going, and actually make it to the store.  So it’s only now, safely back home with milk, sipping a second cup of coffee,  that I let myself finish that thought.

Maybe we’ll have lunch and that will be it.  Maybe we’ll agree that we’re nice people, and go our separate ways.  Smile and say hi if we run into each other at a munch.

Or maybe that will be just the beginning.   And that possibility makes me wet, makes me tingle, makes me smile.

Book cover - Shibari, the Art of Japanese Bondage


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