GraphicIt has occurred to me that the writing I do here is not very graphic, not particularly smut-filled– certainly compared to the hornifying (I know that is not an adjective) cock-and-cunt descriptions of many other (satisfying) blogs I read.

I keep meaning to get to the sex, I really do.

Partly I am busy and a post about something really hot I did recently, or, maybe, ever in my life, or, maybe, want to do, seems too time-consuming.

But like most of the world, I am not too busy to procrastinate, and this is where I do much (though not all) of my procrastination.

And so partly I think I am still shy, still feel a bit exposed.

It’s MY bear.

(It’s my bear, it says, for non-Francophones, or for those who don’t speak Picture.)

Maybe I want his permission; maybe I want it to be a requirement to write the kind of steamy things I used to write just for his eyes. Perhaps I feel they should be reserved for his eyes, unless he decides otherwise.

But I have asked him not to censor or control what I write here, so that it will be mine, mine, all mine. Although it’s hotter if we fold it into our game, at the same time, it’s much more dangerous.

He might say that I want it both ways, that I don’t know what I want, that I want to submit when I want to, that I chafe against his restraints. He might be right . . . I don’t know.

But anyway, smut to come–that’s my plan.

Sketches by the fantastical bengal, thanks to the ever-fantastic Sex in Art.