I don't know why, but ever since I moved in with Daddy, I actually sleep. Okay, maybe I do know why. It's because my nervous system is, for the first time in my entire adult life, not on Red Alert - Category Five status. Matter of fact, He may or may not have witnessed, on multiple occasions, me... <gasp> snoring. I know that's obnoxious and embarrasses me to no end, but what it also tells me is that a physiological fucking change has taken place. Even just mere months ago, sleep was a scary thing. When I went to sleep, it took hours and frightening amounts of natural and synthetic chemicals introduced to my bloodstream for sleep to even be a possibility. Now, because of Him, it simply takes the lack of light from the sun going to bed, the fact that our bedroom is the quintessential Red Room, but moreover and most importantly -- because He insists that we are completely naked when we are in bed. There is something very magickal about the feeling of His skin against mine. So magickal, in fact, that the aforementioned magick produces something not unlike Schrodinger's dumb shit and I literally drool on Him when I fall asleep every night.
I dunno. I know that not all, but most of us that identify as the little s, and more specifically those of us that identify as a little l have something, far more often than not, in common: unresolved trauma. Maybe even partially resolved, largely resolved or in progress... (I'm not knocking your therapy status, just stating that most of us were led to our position on this chess board from a strikingly similar starting point.)
Fuck. I don't know where I'm going with this. I think this may be called, 'rambling' or 'soundboarding'. I don't think it matters. If you're reading this, it was your choice. As much as we, collectively, like to be forced to do things, the fact that you're reading this was very likely not something you were forced to do... So, maybe it's not rambling, for rambling's sake. Maybe it's somewhat cohesive thought spewed out onto the vast plains of the interwebs so that people that think like me (ie: you) and people who think like you, (ie: me) can corroborate, collaborate, (alright, stop, collaborate and listen) [sorry, I quite literally could not help myself there]... You won't believe this, surely, but my thought train has once again been lost. Let's regroup.
The point is, maybe, that I wasn't looking for Daddy when I found Him. In fact, I found Daddy and thought He was most likely the most vanilla motherfucker that ever lived. But one trip to the gym together, and one transparent and open conversation later, here we are planning the remainder of our existence together. (Yeah, not just life, but what comes after it, too. Chew on that for a minute.)
This isn't relevant WHATSOEVER, but it's happy as fuckall and I want to share it. The other day, Him and I were walking out of some retail establishment and we were holding hands. (Daddy has a rule that when we are out mingling with the public at large that I am to be touching Him in some way or another. Yeah. Shit for the Lady Spank Bank.) But He was holding my left hand with His right and you know what happened? He grabbed my hand, started groping it like a... groper... And laughed to Himself. I wanted to get in on the fun, so I asked Him what He found so funny. He told me, "I was feeling for your wedding ring and wondering why you weren't wearing it."
This resulted in a good chuckle and a moment that will forever be tattooed upon my entire existence. Daddy and I are not married. But do you want to know what that interaction told me? That we already are in His mind. His subconscious brain told Him, "Stop! Something is wrong here!"
If that isn't the very gatdang definition of tangible permanence, I dunno what is.
My day collar should be here any day. How exciting is that?
P.S. Hi Daddy. I love you.