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Category Archive: hope
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The True Aristocracy
Last night I dreamed I was stabbed.
I walked out of my house and a woman ran up to me screaming. She pushed a knife into my abdomen and forced it all the way up, a jagged line that reached my throat, a deep cut that brought blood out like a slaughter house floor. Her face was up to mine, as close as she could be.
I watched her as she did it to me. I was silent, my mouth open in horror and sadness but I did not utter a word.
And she stood back and I started to fall. I bent, jagged like my cut, and reached out, my hands covered in blood.
People stepped back. I understood. They were fearful of the blood, of the knife and of the woman. They raised their hands to her, flat and forward to show they meant her no harm. They stayed silent, smiled in fear at her and watched me.
I lay on the floor and my blood pooled around me. It was all I could see. I knew I was dying.
I woke up this morning. I felt my stomach and I reached over to Dexter. He took me into his arms and let me listen to his heart. There was a tiny bird on the bare tree outside; both bathed in early morning light, gold against the blue sky.
I was afraid still and confused, some dreams cling to you like syrup, don’t they? All day bits of them cloy around and will not release you.
But then you ask for help and some people do come forward. You open your mouth in horror and they call out in pain for you. Oddly, I wrote about this last Sunday (published on Wednesday) and it has taken a week for the words to be more real to me than is comfortable.
I stand by what I say about love but I realise it is not just lovers. It is for the best of us, the real aristocrats, and I am lucky enough to know some of them.
EM Forster said it best,
“I believe in aristocracy. . . — if that is the right word, and if a democrat may use it. Not an aristocracy of power, based upon rank and influence, but an aristocracy of the sensitive, the considerate and the plucky. Its members are to be found in all nations and classes, and all through the ages, and there is a secret understanding between them when they meet. They represent the true human tradition, the one permanent victory of our queer race over cruelty and chaos. They are sensitive for others as well as for themselves, they are considerate without being fussy, their pluck is not swankiness but the power to endure, and they can take a joke. I give no examples — it is risky to do that — but the reader may as well consider whether this is the type of person he would like to meet and to be.”
There is more of the quote and it is worth reading. But every word he says I am saying. And to those wonderful, rare souls, I say thank you.
Dexter did not cane me yesterday. He took me lunch and tucked me into his shoulder on the tube. He lit candles and made love to me. He loved me because sometimes love is all we need.
Thank you to many of you. You know who you are.
I raise a glass to you and smile.
Would you like another?
Tagged love
The Door
If u’re interested in the door to the heavens opening, start with the door to ur own secret self.” -E. Lesser
I searched and searched for a picture to put here but at this moment, reaching as I am for the door handle, I have no idea what is on the other side. I bet I come back to this post in a month or so. Adventures are terrifying, aren’t they? Good job there are only brave little bunnies here. Here is a pretty spanking picture because we like those.

Would you like another?
Happy Birthday To Me!

What do I want to be when I grow up?
I know how I want to earn money. I want to do the job I am doing right now. Of course, I would love it if someone walked in and doubled my pay and there are days when I want to come home early or go in late o
r both. But in general, I like the way that I earn my keep.
But what about the rest of it?
It is my birthday today and the time to think about such things.
Do I want to be little me with my wide eyes and can I let myself be pink and fluffy?
I spend my life being so practical and hard sometimes.
Do I want to write stories?
Do I want to use the words that I have dreamt of for so long? Are they allowed?

Can I sometimes be all sophisticated ? I don’t think I can. It would be lovely to be the kind of girl that glides down stairs and graces rooms with her presence. Alas, I think I am winning if I manage not to fall over when I walk into a room, and I can no more dance or even hear a rhythm than I can pick stars from the sky.
Can I be loved just as I am? Falling over and blushing when I say something silly and I clasp my hand to my mouth to check if he heard me. Dreaming of silly things and writing stories of what I dream about.
And curling up in his arms and telling him about my day.
I don’t know what I will be when I grow up but I never imagined I would be this lucky and this loved.
I swear I think I am younger today than I have ever been.
My bed time is earlier than it has been for over twenty years. I can swear less than I did twenty years ago. I believe in things I had forgotten how to believe in.
I believe in love, romance and hope. I am in love with life, with a man, and with the day that stretches out before me. My life feels ripe with possibility.
Happy Birthday to me.
I hope you have a wonderful day.
You want me to have a what? But I have not done anything wrong!
Would you like another?
Romance

I am the daughter of a woman who does not believe in romance.
I have been brought up to not believe in romance and to spit out little tacks of bile when somoene mentions the word.
If romance were to exist it would not be for a girl like me. I have always known this to be true.
Except now, now things seem to be changing. I don’t really know what romance is. I really don’t.
I don’t think it is roses or silk bedsheets. I am certain it is not tired old lines or over booked restaurants on Valentine’s Day.
But I don’t think it is wrong either. I do not think it is something to hate or to be angry with.
But somehow I feel everything is more beautiful than it was before. I feel meaning in films and hope in starlight.

I don’t understand how meeting the man who spanks me and how being told off and packed off to bed and how not being able to swear and how not being able to lie about things teaches me anything about romance.
(I know that was a terrible sentence but I feel such a sense of confusion about this issue that I want to keep that fragmented messy collection of words just as it is.)
Do other women feel just as confused about romance?
How can I feel as confused as a child and at the same time feel the first blossom of romance I have ever known?
I am utterly bewildered.
I am fantastically happy.
I hope that you are happy too.
Would you like another?
I remember

I remember how excited and scared and thrilled I was when you replied to me on your site.
I remember how you knew what I needed you to say from the first time we spoke.
I remember how I smiled at you, looking at you sideways, too scared to see your face and you knew what I wanted to say and you said it for me.
I remember walking across the airport in Las Vegas and seeing you in a blue shirt. I remember how clean and crisp you smelled
and how within moments I found a way to hide in you and feel safe because I was shy of the rest of you.
I remember kissing you in a lift and blushing when other people got in. I stood and held you hand and looked at the floor and tried not to be too English and obvious.
I remember when you left me for two minutes at a bar and a man sat next to me and tried to chat me and how suddenly I missed you so much that I could not bear another man talking to me. I hopped off the stool and waited for you.
I remember laughing so much that I almost fell off the bed and how you caught me.
I remember kissing you in a way I have not kissed for years and years. I remember rediscovering what kisses were for.
I remember holding your hand as though I were returning to you, as though the moment we met it was just five minutes since I had left you.
I remember realising how freely I had breathed since I met you. I remember how I realised that my secrets were secrets no longer. I did not need to tuck them in and keep them quiet. I could whisper them into your shoulder.
I remember crying in the airport. I remember asking you to go quickly. I remember standing and sobbing for all the world to see as you walked away.
I remember walking through your Floridian house and being so thrilled that we would so much time together.
I remember unpacking and realising I had almost a whole suitcase of knickers.
I remember making mojitos and carrying them out to the pool. The joy of you and time and a cool evening making me so smile so much that it turned into a laugh.
I remember filling your freezer with industrial amounts of chili.
I remember how I made you smile in a way that would make me blush. I remember wanting you every moment.
I remember how you laughed when you caught me and tipped me over your knee and how annoyed I was that I loved to hear that laugh.
I remember lying in your arms watching th
e storm.
I remember how quickly you built a fire when it was cold.
I remember showing you the sightes of my life and seeing them reflected in your eyes.
I remember how you made me feel when you turned me over.
I remember how you warmed my face and my hands when it was snowy and cold.
I remember a thousand stories you have told me.
I remember how you have made my stomach drop when you started to speak to me in that strict, low tone.
I remember how you made words flow freely that once I dare not even think.
I remember your smile when I was naughty.
I remember how it was before I knew you, when I did not know if I could love anymore.
I remember when I thought that no one could ever know me and love me.
I remember your blue eyes.
I remember your smile.
I remember you.
I remember every day how much I love you.















