Owned. The very word must make most women recoil in horror. No-one owns them. They are autonomous agents to do as they please.
It is not for them, a regular routine of corporal discipline; any sort of regime that demands that they let go, submit; accept their status as the one who requires direction.
My intellectual mind accepts that they are quite right. My inner world, that part of my brain that I allow to speak to me when I am being truthful with myself and acknowledge what I hunger for, tells me the exact opposite.
My authentic self craves ownership and all that that entails. Trying to explain the unexplainable is the hard task and an achievement that continues to elude me.
It is not for them, a regular routine of corporal discipline; any sort of regime that demands that they let go, submit; accept their status as the one who requires direction.
My intellectual mind accepts that they are quite right. My inner world, that part of my brain that I allow to speak to me when I am being truthful with myself and acknowledge what I hunger for, tells me the exact opposite.
My authentic self craves ownership and all that that entails. Trying to explain the unexplainable is the hard task and an achievement that continues to elude me.
Your last paragraph - absolutely dead on.
ReplyDeleteA trained and owned girl is a happy girl, not that she'll admit it to her mother! I think I am still seen as a wicked Svengali and her, my Trilby.
ReplyDeletegreengirl: I relate.
ReplyDeleteanon: Yes, the more I feel that, the happier I am. Definitely don't hold your breath waiting for her to admit it to her mother. Being wicked? I *love* wicked.