Gangster Dominant with woman's hands

Because it feels so damn good when you find your people.

Not so long ago, I deleted all my rambles as things that hardly get read. More recently, however, a little birdie told me that he misses my rambles, and that he still reads them.

Because of that little birdie, I decided to bring my rambles back.

This lunchtime, I’ve been flicking through my music at an almost alarming rate, trying to find the piece that resonated with me. I settled upon “The Black Pearl” by Klaus Badelt first of all, related to something that I mentioned in my last post and had become something of a soundtrack for me (though probably not enough to replace Danny Elfman’s “Texting” as my ringtone, an inside joke). I followed it with “Bliss” by Danny Elfman from Fifty Shades Of Grey, because that’s what this is for me, its’s bliss. My state of mindlessness, of peace, of calm and tranquillity. It is a beautiful gift that they give me.

I settled on Kehlani’s “Gangsta” in the end

I first heard the song in this scene from the Suicide Squad movie, a scene that resonated somewhere deep within, within the submissive part of me. Not to die for the ones that I love, but to live for them, regardless of what life throws at me.

I need a gangsta, to love me better,

Than all the others do.

To always forgive me, ride or die with me.

That’s just what gangstas do.

I supposed, in a way, then that was exactly what I loved about my boys. We fuck it up, we get it wrong sometimes, but we forgive and move on. We forgive because none of us are perfect and because all of us are human. We can fall back on one another, to know that we can be forgiven for our failures, regardless. That’s what made the connection so special.

I need someone with secrets that nobody, nobody, nobody knows.

All three of us have a fucked up, painful, dark and twisted past. Sometimes, I still see mine, like my mother’s doting on my brother and harsh criticism and rejection of me, or the fact that I have to reassure my mother instead of her reassuring me (I’ve since learned that it’s called parentification). I don’t share my boys’ secrets, that’s for them to share, if and when they ever want to. What matters to me is that they find strength in me, and I in them. That’s a connection, right there.

You got me hooked up on the feeling.

You got me hanging from the ceiling.

Got me up so high I‘m barely breathing.

The Captain particularly is an expert at this, and I put that down to his fascination of the scene as much as my own. We can have a perfectly civil conversation, and in the blink of an eye he puts me there, because he wants me there, because he enjoys me there, or perhaps because he thinks that I need it. My worries and fears fall away and his word becomes my existence. There I know that I am loved, I’m safe, cared for and protected. I am so with both of them really, I’m very lucky.

I allow myself to slip into it, like slipping into a warm, deep, indulgent bubble bath. Somewhere in the back of my mind I don’t know that two quick-witted, comic-loving sadists would so appreciate being compared to a nourishing and dreamy bubble bath, but a smirk plays across my lips and I shrug nonchalantly – it is what it is.

“Do you think I have a problem?” Matt asked. I cast my eyes lazily over him: Lounge pants, t-shirt, socks, coffee mug. it all looked fine to me.

“When you see it… ”

I looked again, and that was when I saw it – Avengers lounge pants, Avengers t-shirt, Marvel mug, Marvel socks.

“Oh! Oh dear… I prescribe 10 CC’s of DC therapy, stat!” I smiled.

Comics are as much a part of my life as what pirates are now, and calling comic-loving men nerds and not geeks is apparently an insult enough to render me a whore. Still, as the song’s words caress me while I allow their love, their control and their possession of me to take care of my tired alpha submissive mind and body, I know that I couldn’t want for anything more.

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