I want to feel… small.
Small and slight and delicate and fragile.
Perhaps sometimes I am very much those things, though the only word among those I really identify with is fragile. I grew tall too quick, thus I like big men, men with presence and command to them. I crave feeling like something to be protected.. perhaps because I want to be protected. Because for so long I wasn’t.
I want to feel feminine.
In all the ‘old fashion’ uses of the word. A lady upon whom to have courtly love focused, a maiden to be laughing and carefree, a romantic to be wooed. I want to be a delicate creature, something beautiful and ephemeral and… wanted. For I am strong, I know this, I’ve had to face it over and over; sometimes I can be fragile but I know if it comes down to it I can get myself through anything. I am tall and curvy and stubborn, I am a perfectionist, demanding of myself.
Yet that’s why I want a man who is demanding in his own ways, ones that are protective and cherishing and nurturing, ones that force me to set aside my own thoughts of self lack and failure and focus on him. That’s the crux of it. To focus on him, rather then myself, to feel enthralled, intoxicated upon another’s presence and desires, to know that my own will be met because he learned my mind and heart before placing his boundaries. And rise to them I will.
I want to be His “good girl”, to earn praise and feel at peace in myself because I’ve done that.. and then to curl up on his lap and be held and be small and slight and fragile. It is a sort of magic he weaves, perhaps a dark one, certainly one that is laden with sexuality in all the best ways… Its his gift to me, just as my gift in reply is trust and surrender.
Perfectly said… I feel the same, just too damn big