the temptation of cain

I’ve noticed there are some independent professional submissives here and there. None seem to be escorts/companions as well. And they all have lists of dos and don’ts, likes, dislikes and activities.

Not an interest of mine. I refuse to break my sexuality into bullet points. Besides, every patron will be different. My responses to each will be different. This is a chance to explore new dimensions; not restrict myself to where I’ve already been.

As I’ve said before, I don’t consider myself a professional submissive. I’m not sure what proper category I fit into. Categories seem important when describing one’s self to prospective patrons, not so important when face-to-face and time stops.

My nature encompasses many, many things. Some fall under the banner of submissive or masochist, many do not. All of me responds to masculine power. This blurs the lines between the more intense assignations and those of mere companionship. The line has been blurred my whole life. It’s certainly there to exploit should a patron wish.

And when he does, it won’t follow a list.

Dreams are often said to explain things we don’t consciously acknowledge. I’m not sure if this explains the dream I referred to here, but maybe it does. Maybe even at a young age I was forced into self-honesty.

I discovered my fundamental difference in second grade. After that dream, I understood my other classmates did not feel the world the same as I did. They did not hunger for the same type of interaction with others.

It was simple and devastating. I accepted it because it was true. Because I awoke tingling and alive, ashamed to meet the eyes of the boy I dreamed of, wondering if he shared the same dream. Crushed he most likely did not.

the dream

I was standing in a department store near the top of the escalators. It was a familiar store, one my family had been in several times. I don’t know why I picked it, something about it fascinated me (probably the coin-operated horse around the other side of the escalator).

There were people going by because the store was open. I can’t remember if I was naked; probably.

A boy from school whom I liked (and still do) was with me. He bade me be still and went down in front of me, his mouth where my legs joined. He looked up at me and his face looked like a skull.

I was scared repulsed fascinated excited. The people passing by and looking at me were humiliating; the skull grinning up at me was terrifying; malice and decay behind his black eyes. I did not want to miss whatever it was he would do to me. I was in love.

(Continued)