I have a confession to make. I suspect the more perceptive amongst you have noticed already. But I thought I would come clean.
I am one of those bloggers who thinks before she thinks before she has a cup of tea, before she writes (often in…gasp!… Longhand) before she types before she drafts before she posts before she edits before she finally publishes her work.
This, on the whole, I believe is beneficial in terms of the quality of my smut and the clarity of my arguments.
But sometimes, just sometimes, I feel like sitting down in front of the computer with a glass of wine and… letting rip. Writing about how I feel. Now. In this moment. I want to describe the strange, familiar yet not-often felt feeling of butterflies in my stomach. I want to tell you how I think I sometimes deny myself certain pleasures for the sake of being ‘strong’ or ‘principled’. I want to describe a fantasy I had earlier today, that was as far away from kinky debauchery as you could get. That involved me, lying on the grass in the sun, my lover lying next to me with his hand on my belly. The rush of warmth and excitement that flowed through me, my body pressing down into the earth…
I guess I want to use this blog as an outlet, like all those other ones I read, sometimes in horror, sometimes in utter utter boredom, but occasionally with great admiration and respect. For opening up about personal feelings and insecurities in a public arena, I think is a very brave act. Whether or not you identify yourself in the URL.
But, as the more perceptive among you will be well aware. I’m not going to.
Partly because I am thinking of you. I want you to continue to enjoy the more thought-out prose I post on these pages. I don’t want to turn this into a confession booth. But I feel like it. Just this once I feel like it.
Dear Father, please forgive me for I have sinned.