It’s easy to feel somehow tricked by the passage of time, of early morning aches and a rush to stretch over the early morning blow jobs of our younger years. How did it all go so fast? This decade and a half? More years now as Master and slave than any other way? And to do so in the blink of an eye.
Where once flew butterflies over, “What does he *really* think of me?” now lives a solid confidence of self, of a woman secure, of a slave that’s been molded into his perfect ideal. And still some ways and some days… butterflies.
Remember the late nights? So many late nights. Dancing. Drinking. Playing. Fucking. Now our play is scheduled for an easier time, in the late morning when we’re sober and focused and awake. But the beautiful thing is *I can see you more clearly in the early light*, I can see the color of your eyes shade over as you release your sadist desires, I can see the warmth of your skin, trace my hands over the body I know by heart but still want to *see* and see often.
And of course, once in awhile, a late night to keep us young (and remind us the next morning of the true passage of time.)
We’ve gone from dominating to mastering a whole other. We’ve marched onward from submitting to complete surrender. The tick of the clock moves us onward, one seemingly average day still teaching us about love, sustainability, service. I learned yesterday your favorite color of sport drink. Seems small, but after all the time of carefully observing you and your preferences it’s nice to be surprised once in awhile. I’d be willing to bet that you’ve got more things for me to learn.
Our path is placed with a steady pace of one day at a time. One ritual fulfilled after another. One lesson learned. And as we grow old together, as we grow up together, I want to stop on this morning and instead of mourning the youth of our days before recognize the glory of the mistakes behind us and the great fortune that is *growing together.* To today and the future. Cheers.