The thing about writing is that people will take what you have written and lend to it their own personal experiences and their own feelings at the time and may come up with something that wasn't what you intended to write. I love that. I love knowing what other people see in things I write and unlike the teachers I had in high school I don't believe there can be a wrong interpretation, just different ones.

In the comments on yesterday's post, danae said that "Having the caning fantasy happen to me in real life...well something very similar...you can be put back together if the person breaking you down...loves you. If not then you are just a thing and they don't care if they can put you back together."

Maybe danae is right, this could work for someone, it may satisfy a need in him or her and they could come out of it a better person. But for me this fantasy was written from a point of self-loathing. It was not an exercise in trust or in care, it was written from a desire within me to be punished. It was not carried out by someone I care about or someone who cares about me. It was because I hated me so much that I deserved to suffer and die.

I know in the fantasy I didn't die. I know that at the end of it there was an orgasm that many people would have seen as pleasure, or forgiveness or care, but when I wrote it the thought in my mind was that the French call an orgasm a 'petit mort' which translates as 'little death'. There is a point at which even in writing, I start to scare myself and there is a line I will not cross, so I chose a 'little death' as symbolic.

The fantasy was not meant to be a reflection on anyone else's life, or on anyone else's practices, it was not meant to be safe, or sane. It was not meant to be a reflection on BDSM. Neither Mac nor I define O/ourselves as BDSMers. When Mac read the fantasy He was concerned that people would think that this was a part of U/us and was something that He would do and was quick to point out in comments that it was not.

He understands where I was coming from and He understands that it would destroy me and that there would be no coming back. He understands that I can hate myself and allow myself to hurt that much. He knows that hurting me when I feel like this would go very very close to killing me. His instinct to protect me overpowers all else when I feel this way.

There are times when W/we will have rough sex, when He will use me for pleasure, when He will slap me and call me names and drag me around by my hair. But this is at times when my arousal is heightened and at times when I feel over stimulated by the pleasure of the world, it is at times when I am feeling good and it frees me to feel even better.

Last night He pulled me onto His lap and asked if I still wanted to be beaten. I grinned and told Him that I would probably burst into tears if He looked at me the wrong way. He laughed and told me some jokes that had me giggling and I snuggled up with Him while W/we watched a history program about a heap of guys called Norman who were running around conquesting all over the place, (at least that's what I think was going on, I wasn't really concentrating).

When W/we went to bed He stroked my back and tried to ease my ache. I loved Him for the laughter W/we had shared and the care He had taken. When I murmured thankyou through a haze of sleep, He answered me with 'My pleasure' and I believe that it did please Him to take care of me that way.

I know that it shouldn't, but sometimes it surprises me that He loves me too.

It really is too precious for me to forget.