Merry Christmas

It must be the darkness. The darkest day of the year has just passed and the good thing with that is that we head towards spring and light. I am looking forward to it. But first there is Christmas and ours will be a relaxed and nice one, not too much of visitors and other duties.

I really haven't much to say now. I don't like winters and they are not good for my inspiration. But there will be better times. I just want to wish you a brilliant Christmas (even if you don't celebrate it) and a Happy New Year. You are a patient lot and I do appreciate that. Take care and be nice to yourselves and others.

Just an Ordinary Day

It is a very ordinary day. It is 29 years since John Lennon was killed. It is winter and the darkness descends on us who live in the northern hemisphere...well, at least here. I am tired of having to come up with something for the blog. Maybe it is the winter, maybe it is me but I have been doing this for three years and sometimes I am not so very creative. It goes up and down and now I am fed up with trying to be clever.

No, I am not scrapping the blog, that's not what I am saying. I am trying to say that today I don't feel like blogging or writing about fantasies or anything. So I will tell you how boring I am.

Have been working a little from home today, I shouldn't complain, it is not too bothersome. This means I take my lunch at home, alone, take a walk in the park (to get out of the flat at least once a day). I have been emptying the dish washer and generally uncreating the mess that I always seem to leave behind. Staring at the almanac at the wall. It has pictures of ballet dancer and was a gift from my beloved husband. This month it is a male dancer and I realise that I don't fancy male dancers as much as the ballerinas. He looks kind of silly in a silly costume (ballet dancer, not husband), some kind of fancy bolero thing that would look strange on a woman but silly on a man. You see, I am not very free in my mind.

I am thinking of my latest blogpost, the one before this one. I thought people would be a little offended or hurt by it but instead they find it erotic or that sort of thing. And I am not the narrator, I never am. It is just that I like seeing things from the inside.

Never mind, this is becoming a rant and that was not my intention. Take care out there and be kind to yourselves and others.

Who Am I?

If you write, you know, perhaps, what I am talking about, if you don't, it may be hard to explain. Sometimes when you sit down to write you start out with something, often something you don't even know what it is, it may be a sentence, a word, an idea. Then you start writing, a word follow another, you begin to reason, think, associate, try different things. You get carried away and the text itself seems to decide where to go. It is very immersing, very confusing, wonderful in a way, sometimes frightening. Then, when you are ready, you read it and wonder where all that came from. Sometimes you know, sometimes you understand, sometimes you have to realise that you really had that in you but just didn't know it.

I didn't write this for the blog, it just happened but now I decided to put it here anyway.

I am sweet. I am sweet in all senses of the word. My body is small, my limbs slender and delicate. My skin is smooth, my belly is soft and smooth and flat. It curves from my midriff down over my lower belly to the valley between my thighs and in its centre there is my belly button, a sweet but shallow hole.

My hips are narrow but my body still possess the right curves, the roundness that makes it sweet and touchable, not square and hard. My breasts are small and sweet, proud and round. They are like perky animals peeking out, sweet round mounds, crowned with my rosy nipples, small but lovely, sometimes soft as my skin but sometimes hard as small pearls.

My legs are soft and round, my thighs are slender but still with the softness, that roundness that is unmistakably female. Me feet are rosy and untouched and unconfined. They are vulnerable and helpless, still they are what I walk on, what makes me move in the world.

My shoulders are narrow but soft and my arms slender and delicate, my hands are the sweetest things you have seen, with those fingers that can touch with curiosity and gentleness.

My neck is slender and my face is pretty. I have that kind of face that makes you want to protect me, vulnerable and innocent but also curious and alive. My eyes are big and my nose is small. I may even have some freckles, just a hint of them on the back of my nose. My hair is not long not short, auburn or perhaps red, maybe reddish.

I am that kind of person you want to protect, the kind that would seem to break in contact with the harsh world. I am the girl you want to hold and comfort, to keep and protect, because I am so vulnerable.

But those eyes, my eyes, tells you of something else too. They are not just vulnerable and sweet, they are curious and hungry too. They speak of something else, they speak of a kind of desire that is not just innocent and gentle.

I am that kind of girl you don't just want to protect but the kind you want to have, as well. My body is the kind of body you want to touch. I am the kind of person whose clothes you want to rip away and whose body you want to expose and look at, ogle and stare at.

I am like a sweet, wrapped in paper. My clothes are like the paper around the sweet and you can't wait to unwrap it. I am not desirable because I dress in a certain way, it is not the paper that makes you want to eat the sweet, it is what you know is underneath it, what you see peeking through.

I am not beautiful, not perfect in any sense of the word. I am desirable for my sweetness and my youth, for my smooth skin and my soft body, for my sparkling life and for my delicate limbs and my perky breasts.

When you see me, your mind is struck by my innocence, my youth and my sweetness but in the next moment your desire strikes. You start to undress me with you eyes, you start to study my movements, how I swing my hips, how I stand and move my arms. You see my uncertainty and you see my confidence. You see me move, maybe dance. My movements are desirable to you and you think that by touching me you will be touched by that magic I have. The magic you want.

But you don't just want to touch and caress and embrace. No, you want to have. You want to have me and take me. You want to undress me, rip the clothes from my body. You imagine I would protest, say no and despise you but that only makes you want to do it more.

You invent some kind of excuse for doing it. Maybe I deserve it, maybe I need it. Maybe it is your right. But it all comes down to you touching me, having me, taking me.

In your mind I am already in my knickers and you can see for your inner eye how the fabric clings to my bottom. You can imagine my breasts under my top and your hand is already moving towards them and you think how lovely it will be when your fingers touch those mounds.

But you don't just want sweetness for me. You want more. You want to have me and take me despite what I want. You feel helpless and angry with me for being so youthful and sweet. You want to punish me for it.

In your mind you don't just have me, you don't just want to put what you have into me. That would, after all, be too sweet. I may enjoy it. No, you want me to suffer. You want pain for me.

My knickerclad bottom makes you want to spank me. You want to pull those knickers down and smack my bottom. You want to let your hand land on my sweet and innocent bottom – hard. You want to feel your hand smack into the soft skin of my bottom and you want to feel how hard it is for me, how much I suffer. You want to hear me cry and plead. You want to feel the power over me. You want to rule me and you want me to feel your power on my body.

You know a smile from me is a blessing for you, a gift you should cherish. Still you want to punish me for my power over you, the power I have to smile to you or not smile to you. The power I have to just walk you by and be gone. The power I have to make you feel old and lonely.

Those are crimes that are unforgivable. Those are powers someone like me should not be allowed to have. I must be punished for it. I must be whipped and suffer for my youth and my sweetness and my power over you.

You are free. You control your life and you can and should get what you want. You cannot get me. I am free and you cannot get me unless I want to give me to you. That is a crime worthy of punishment, that is a wrong that should be set right.

You want to take possession of me. You want to be the one to decide, how and when I shall take my clothes off, how and when I shall please you with my body. You want to have that power over me and in your mind you want to have that power.

In your mind you capture me, you tie me up and put your collar on me. Someone as sweet as me should not be allowed to go free, should not be allowed to choose for herself. Your power should be asserted. You should take possession of me.

In your mind I am your slave. I kneel naked before you, my body at your disposal. My knees are open, the path to my sex is clear. I am naked and everything is open and exposed and touchable and there for you. I have no say, I have no power and that is how you want it. I am a sweet, lovely body that is there for you, that is yours to do whatever you want with it.

But in your mind, when I am already your captive, your slave, your possession, I am not just a body. I am your willing body. I am your happy slave because I want to be your slave. And if I don't want to be your willing slave you want to persuade me that I am. You want to hold the whip in your hand and I would be just like the horse at the circus, the animal you tell what to do, the animal you whip to submission, the animal that is rewarded if she does what she is told.

But you want more. You want my enthusiasm and my desire. You want me not just to dance for you, wait on you and touch you and satisfy you on command. You want me to want it too, you want me to desire it too, to long for it and be satisfied by it too. In your mind you want to know that you possess that magic, that kind of power that not only overpowers me but also makes me desire it, desire you, the power that makes me happy and satisfied by being your slave.

You want me to resist you so you can defeat me and conquer me. You want to have to whip me to submission. But you also want me to see what a desirable creature you are and you want me to accept your power over me, to love your power over me. You want me to love and desire you to whip me into submission.

What do I want? Do I want that? Perhaps I want a little bit of that, perhaps I want some of that, a fraction of it, a hint of it.

But only if I decide I want it.