Tremors in the Deep There are moments when none of this seems real. I was going to liken them to whe
Tremors in the Deep There are moments when none of this seems real. I was going to liken them to when you surface between waves before the next pulls you down, one moment of salient breath before being dragged under the heady ocean of kink and D/s. I was going to liken it to waking up from a wonderful dream. But even then, even when I’m framing it as a fantasy rather than some psychotic body of water, it’s still wrong. Because those moments, where you question what you’re doing, whether it’s right, whether you’re just a little too fucked up and a little too far gone, they’re not the lucid moments. They’re not when you’ve finally emerged from madness to the person you used to be, the person that your family members recognise you as, rather than the weird deviant they never knew. Those moments are when the self-doubt has gnawed through your usually impervious armour of self-affirmation. Because that’s all those moments are; they’re a shadow of the life before you were courageous, before you took that step that has you happier than any other step you’ve ever made, before or since. That’s the shade of your former self petulantly kicking at the back of your mind, and finally finding a nerve. It rattles you for a moment, maybe even forces you to question your motives, and it shouldn’t take long to muffle it all over again, shove its panties in its mouth and hog tie it before shoving it right back into the dark recesses of your memory. It probably likes all that, because it’d be far too tragic to think that it took that much of a beating without liking it at least a little. -- source link
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