As a child, one dreams.

I have written before about dreams but this time there is a stronger reality which has surfaced and which has changed me in a subtle way.

I wrote no entry yesterday. I was out at a rather special event. I have been out all day today too, visiting Mistress and helping with various organisational things. I also had the most wonderful opportunity to experience that which Mistress offers, which is her most special skills and abilities with floggers and whips and all manner of other things I can barely even describe.

So, the last couple of days have indeed been a bit mind-blowing.

But I have realised a supremely important thing. This new world I dipped my toes into in the middle of last year has become something really really special. It has brought me alive in a way I had given up on.

I have written about dreams before. I have mentioned those fantasists who crawl the internet looking for titillation. I hope to goodness I am not counted one of them.

I have also written about fantasy in general, and whether in particular male chastity was ever one of my long standing fantasies.

I shall tell a little story.

As a child, I had dreams and hopes for the world. I do not mean the youngest years of childhood but those more considered years that can happen a little later, as one is trying to work out one’s life direction.

As so many are, I was thwarted in my educational ambitions, partly through indolence but partly through incompetent educationalists (I shall not call them teachers, I have the greatest respect for teachers) who advised me either noncommittally or not at all.

And what were those early dreams? What did I decide so young that I wished to do with my life?

I wanted to be a writer. I sought to write of dungeons and dragons, swords and sorcery, magic and mayhem. I sought fantastical worlds and feats of the imagination. I sought to draw readers into an amazing and wonderful world they could never even have imagined.

As I grew older and experimented with these ideas, things sort of faltered and life got in the way. I did write a few things, without being published except for a few small snippets of poetry. But I simply gave up. I decided I was too young to be a writer and that perhaps, if I was lucky, I would improve with age.

How naive.

Everything fell by the wayside, as it so often does. And many years passed in seclusion and isolation and denial and the day to day ritual of work, eat, sleep, and just waiting for everything to be over.

But then something happened, something utterly unforeseen, something which blew my entire previous world to smithereens.

I met Mistress.

I will not give any particular further details. I have written about them elsewhere, I am sure. But she has been a firm and undeniable turning point in my life.

And so where is the fantasy? Where are the dungeons and dragons? The dungeon has become real. The dragon is the dragon’s tail whip.

And what I am doing with my life? What am I doing right now? Well now, what do you know. I am writing. Very nearly every day, I describe a world which is amazing and wonderful and which I could never ever have imagined.

My childhood dreams and hopes and ambitions have actually become real. Who could have foreseen that? I wanted to be a writer. I am. I wanted to show people an amazing and wonderful new world. And I am.

I just never ever thought in my wildest dreams I would be living in it.


2 thoughts on “No more fantasy

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