This summer, my hometown has had an enormous quantity of thunder and lightning.  It’s been beautiful. It is the kind of weather that kicks and screams for major emotional work and thinking.  And not to get too spiritual (which is really not very sexy), it’s a good time for figuring out your shit.

Years ago, I had decided that I would be the thunder clouds that brought out the fire in people and help them temper their inner storms.  No, I don’t believe kink is a good replacement for a therapist, but it can direct your passions and channel emotions in the meantime.

Before all the rain and thunder, I found a decent crew of people through a Kik chatroom and it felt like home for the first time in a long while.  He started that group.  I’ll call him B.

B and I had a mutual fetish for boot worship (which brings other memories to mind, which I’ll probably discuss some other time).  I had been given a new pair of thigh high boots last year.  I was so sick that I couldn’t even try them on due to my illness, so the laces weren’t even applied yet.  I had him do this for me – since he liked boots so much.

I had all of my gear laid out to let it breath and refamiliarize myself with it for the first time in over a year.  As my eyes traced along the items – nothing spectacular – I had lightening flashes of memories.  The collar that my Toronto boy wore briefly.  The collar I wore briefly, even.  The nipple clamps that Nameless gave me.  He had decorated them with bells, and boa-like feathers.  I remembered myself and Shade laughing at him as he did jumping jacks for us.  A gag I bought from a gay dude that used to go to parties with me here in NL.  His rope work – exquisite.  The path to memory lane igniting with every item I looked at.

Finally,  the first was laced.  I put it on, sliding my finger over the R.  Remembering our first, and only scene so far.  Yet, he was in a fashion, one of my longest standing friends.  He saw submissive me at her heights.  He also saw the Dominant me in all her glory, and in fact, fashioned a part of her.

I walked – shakily – on the 8″ heels for the first few steps and the reality of it flooded down the edges of my soul.

“What will you do to get at my boots?” I asked.  I knew what I wanted from him – he would deal with the pain he didn’t have any interest in or desire for.  He agreed, and off I went.

And then his own drops fell – tears.  I won’t get into the personal details, however, I think it was a temporary reprieve in the cloudy skies for him.

“I hope you realize that I’m not done yet,” (Or some such thing) I advised him, and went back to it.  This time hitting him with more severe implements, and he was able to tolerate it.

And then I let him do what we had probably always fantasized about.  His wriggling around on the ground, my helpfulness run out and deciding not to move to make things easier for him.  He would struggle.  Every man who ever showed interest in me again would have to show me that they are capable and worthy of weathering my own kind of storm.

Within days after scening, the flooding along his banks gave way and he disappeared from the group and needed some time to relax.  I would blame myself, except I know that I didn’t do anything extreme, or wrong, with him.  I didn’t play him hard enough for him to drop.  I even had the expectation of playing with him again next week.  But I’ve had enough emotional weathering at this point in my life, and it’s time for me to simply dance in the rain.

Complete with my 8″ platform stilettos on.