Stay A While The things I do to you are not supposed to be fleeting. Each one is meant to stay with

Stay A While

The things I do to you are not supposed to be fleeting. Each one is meant to stay with you, a little burden to be carried a little ways, before you grow strong enough that you don’t need it. Each one held in a different way, thought about through a different lens, your perspective shifting with distance, as you get further way from it. You need to look over your shoulder for a mile or two, until it’s out of sight, just a dot on the horizon. 

This is never about impermanence. The compulsion towards D/s is driven by a desire to be changed, at the very least a desire to change, if only for a little while. If the change was reverted instantly, slipping back into your old self as if putting your clothes back on, this would be pointless. It would be a trip to the movies, popcorn littering your lap as the only evidence that you even did anything with the past couple of hours.

But like the best films, you take this one with you when you step past that door, filter yourself out with the crowd. The marks take a while to fade, and even when they’re gone the memory remains. Filed away and saved for later, when you’re left with an idle moment, and an idle mind wanders comfortably back to what happened, where. When the there’s a little distance between the now, and the then, and you don’t have to feel it quite so fiercely. 

Yes, you’re here for the experience. You’re here for the sharpness of it, the vivid discomfort of every blow, each thrust. Of hearing those words that feel so exquisitely abusive on first listen, until they burrow down into the core of you, and do weird chemistry there that even you don’t understand, catalysing all that feels good. 

But you’re here to have it, too. To take it with you, beyond the moment, and enjoy it over and over, the thought of it, the thrill. Until something better comes along, and you can savour that one, instead.