To the Lake


Nostalgia shows her mercy as long as we give credit to those faded friendships.

Now, with legs drawn up and books scattered about and glasses of red on hand, we find ourselves draped languidly on the porches of the modern cabins we fashion in the likeness of those we found during the laughter of those days at the lake.

Now, gracefully greeting our past and fusing it to present, with permission to be schooled, the conscience and the memories let us roam with perspective far into the past to see how history pointed us to our future.


The sun-filled past, she knew where we were meant to travel, even before we lived those summer days.

# For Reticent Mental Property, image from



D: Tell me about one of your most satisfying sexual encounters.

It is not a question. 

s: My most satisfying sexual encounters occur when I am in want, when I look him in the eye and have no need to look away. Time has stopped and I am in the moment, fierce and defiant and strong.  These timeless connections involve a lot of touch, some rough riding, trails of kisses from my mouth, down his body and back to his mouth, over and over.

All good times involve some flexibility, some complimentary whispers about hotness interlaced with gasps from him of “oh fuck” and “oh, like that, yesss” and always laughter, mostly mine,  and a trail of lacy clothing strewn from the doorway to the bed, draped over the back of the couch, a stocking on the stairs, my handbag on the table next to my rings.

Lasting a couple of hours at most, none involve physical restraints or blindfolds, though admittedly, the same effect is created by my hands pressing against his chest and my eyes, blind from my hair in such a mess it covers my face, all from moving over him while I am taking him in, by feel, just following the contours of his body and trusting that passion alone is more powerful than skill, at least early in the evening.

My hips show him my need. My body, shaking and trembling with the pure happiness in the act itself, truly takes over and I fucking love to be joined with someone, to take him inside me and deeply connect in this intimate way.

His response to me is largely reactionary because I so clearly find beauty in the way his hands interlace with mine and anyone can see this written on my face during, and after, if only he will take the time to brush my hair from my forehead, watch me getting lost in him.

Yes, I talk some, checking to see how close he is, weighing whether I want to let him take it to the point of no return or if I want to move to another position and interrupt him, always with plans to start again, in a different position and work my way to the same stride.

D: Perhaps you are not a sub at all, Mistress.


Once, after, while looking up at her, he reached his hand to touch her cheek, to trace the line of her jaw from ear to the point of her chin.  His thumb crossed her lips from corner to corner and in response she opened them to taste herself on his skin. He breathed deeply, sighed with laughing eyes and such contentment, exhaled, “You should patent your moves.” His was not a question.  




# For Reticent Mental Property, image credit to artist Peter O’Neil, website.

Mindful Gardens


Allow her to have a voice, to whisper truths, sometimes twisted, sometimes trembling truths from her fantasy, from her capable mind.

Allow her to fashion her longing into palatable perspective, then serve it to you on a plate of that day’s honesty.

Now savor the threads of the conversations, absorb them to your core, and wait, even longer, for the next days’ truth may not align or appeal…but they are still her truth.

Then, without seeking signs or conforming to roles we play, forge ahead, accept her strength, adore her words and her style, unlock the hidden self and fashion all into the architecture of your shared story…and only after reviewing and learning the floor plan she has drawn, pull her down next to you, to sit together at the drafting table of your feasting.

Hip to hip, sit and set the tone for the construction of your kingdom, the secret passageways, the unmarked doors, the staircases to heady heights.

Then, design the garden with winding pathways for running and wandering, a place to embrace, where echoes repeat her words, with graceful limbs, with winding curves set in soothing stone, a sanctuary void of regret, a refuge. And when your lover finds your worship to be her burden and she seeks an escape from her truth, this acoustic chamber will amplify her wants and provide a road back to her mind and body, when you recognize your need has drowned her voice, again.



Over and over, she warns him to resist the pedestal; no one balances long without the fatal fall.


# For Reticent Mental Property