Posted by Matou on Wed 14 Jan 04, 10:27 PM to Matou's blog.
This weblog is written publicly in the spirit of the following quotation, taken from “Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai” by Yamamoto Tsunetomo, 1631-1700, translated by W. Scott Wilson.
'Once when Lord Mitsushige was a little boy and was supposed to recite from a copybook for the priest Kaion, he called the other children and acolytes and said, “Please come here and listen. It's difficult to read if there are hardly any people listening.” The priest was impressed and said to the acolytes, “That's the spirit in which to do everything.”'
Cerrynn. My friend, my lover and my beloved submissive. Whilst I have many things for you when you are back in your adopted home for good there is little that I can give you by way of birthday present through a mere communications medium … except to remind you of some memories.
I give you the memory of the now infamously hilarious rape scene. I give you the memory of the Cato-style attack from behind the door, the rapist who had to stand on the bed because otherwise he wouldn't have been able to reach, the flexisex that wouldn't stick, the clothes that refused point-blank to cut or tear, the rapist who stopped his 'activity' to take care of a cut – and despite all this, the memory of the orgasm so strong that a split ring straightened under the tension.
I give you the memory of the scene we played to turn bad associations into good ones. I give you the memory of the fun and games we had trying to find the prop that would work in that scene for two people of such wildly disparate heights. I give you the memory of the joy of our success.
I give you the memory of the sensation play workshop at Velvet Eden where I made the mistake of playing with you beforehand. I give you the memory of my chagrin and near-panic when I suddenly realised that the usual wit and repartee wasn't happening because you were still happily in subspace and I was on my own!
I give you the memory of the image you never saw, tied naked, blindfolded and spreadeagled on my bed. I give you the image of me convulsed with laughter as Liz forced her way into the bedroom and curled up next to you with a “How dare you try to keep me out! I'm here now and I'm not moving!” look on her canine visage. I give you “The Night the Dogs called Red!”
I give you the memories of the many times we have sat, me on my chair and you on your cushion at my feet, as you have related the flights of your alter-ego, the goshawk. I give you the secret of my fears at the efforts of “The Woman in White” to tempt you away from the falconer's captivity with promises of freedom. You never knew of that, did you my pet? But what falconer is without some doubt that his wild creature might reject her jesses and hood in favour of warm, living prey?
I give you the memory of another image you never saw. You slept in the passenger seat as I drove back to Coventry in the very early hours of a particular Sunday morning. I give you the image of the very brave (and very stupid) brown rabbit trying to out-Dom three- quarters of a ton of motor vehicle – a rabbit who finally realised he was out-classed and scuttled off to take out his embarrassment on some creature more his size. (Did I ever tell you how much I love to watch you as you sleep?)
I give you a memory of yourself as only I could see you. In the chill out basement of the B-Hive, your head silhouetted by lights on the far side of the room, the golden halo around your dark hair counterbalanced by the warm candlelight on your face, your eyes closed in pleasure as I stroked your bare shoulders. God, you looked beautiful.
Most of all, I give you my memory of your arrival at New Street Station, a tall figure with one of those little suitcases on wheels in tow, a slightly worried expression on your face as you looked around, eyes searching for a diminutive, bearded, balding man. The relief and delight on your face as I walked up to you. We must have made a most unlikely looking couple as we hugged. This was the first of your many journeys - or perhaps I should say the first step on one journey, one that continues now. One that will continue always, even when we are in our dotage, when I am too feeble to wield a flogger and you too delicate to take it. Even then, my voice and my imagination will take your heart and your mind to places only we know.
You address me oft times as 'sensei' but as we both know, a good teacher also learns from his pupils. In humility at the gift you have made me, the most precious thing you possess, yourself, body and soul…
Otanjobi omedeto, cerrynn-sensei. Ai shiteru, itsumo.
Matou
Edited Wed 14 Jan 04, 10:30 PM by Matou
