August 7, 2019 2:37pm

Berkeley, CA

Dear Macaulay,

It’s been a long while. It feels really nice to write your (chosen) name out and to be able to write to this side of you, again. Can I just say, I’m so very grateful that you said yes to my idea of connecting again in this way. The way that we began, almost a decade ago.


I don’t know why, but when I reflect back, I can only see how unready I was to fully appreciate everything that you brought into our relationship. And what you brought (I feel) was all of yourself. And I loved it, where we went in our sessions (it was unlike any other place I’ve ever been) and how we had this otherworldly connection in our letters. All of it was incredible and had this magical quality. It felt surreal.

When I think about why and how all of it ended, I attribute it to me.. I was young and didn’t know how to handle something so precious as your devotion. And at the time, I didn’t know myself too well, who I could be and what I could offer in return. I mostly went with what others wanted (or at least what I thought they wanted of me) so I got lost in the fantasies of others and never really knew what my own desires were.


I think you saw something in me. You offered me these glimpses of Her, this powerful woman..  when you gave yourself to me.


All of that that was to say

I miss you.

I’m sorry

And thank you


For saying yes.


I can see myself more clearly now.

And so I’m grateful for this opportunity to reconnect with you from a more mature place.


I just went digging and found my two copies of The Pierian Roses. I opened one up randomly to page 125 and started reading..

Olive Oil?

My goodness, this writing, that I’m reading and kinda enjoying, I could barely recognize that it’s my writing, I wrote like that?


I really like the writer that you brought out in me.

I missed her


This makes me think that when you miss someone, you miss them as much as you miss the part of yourself that came out when you were with them..



Now I turn to page 95, and I’m reading your thoughts on of Lust, Caution..

I love how diverse our writing was..

And I remember now, how I love your writing.


I’m so happy you collected our letters and writing in an actual bound hard cover book.

When I open it

It’s all coming back

Our relationship..


(to be continued..)




Dear Colette,

Thank you for your letter. It’s good to hear from you and be writing to you once again.Your words reminded me of a small moment that happened when we were talking some years ago as, I recall, I was massaging your feet. We were discussing the topic of writing, and I mentioned in passing that I thought you were a natural writer. It was a studied gesture on my part, in that I’d had the thought many times and kept it to myself, because I believed that if I said it too directly it would sound like empty flattery rather than something I had come to believe. So I just dropped it like a seed and let the subsequent conversation wash right over it. If the seed took, well, then it would take.I thought this about you not because of how you wrote then (although that college paper you wrote for a lit class impressed me with a kind of raw genius that felt true and original. I remember your professor used the word splendid to describe it. And as overused as that word is, she was right). I sensed how much effort went into the emails you crafted (and yet the commitment to those carefully composed emails also spoke to the stoic spirit essential to a writer), but because of the raw materials I’ve noticed in a lot of the writers I enjoy and respect. The radical, almost mystic-like openness to the world, seen and unseen. The paradoxical urges to perceive the world for all while remaining as hard to know as the world itself. The relentless appetite to seek out the unorthodox and the unknown in film, music, even your own instincts. Any insecurity you ever felt about about your own writing abilities – because you so deeply cared about good writing – was itself a kind of early credential for becoming a writer.Anyway, the moment passed just as I thought it would. I doubt that particular seed took root, but I think I did anticipate in some instinctual way the journey you’ve taken between the day I uttered those words to you and the words in your own letter to me. Writing is not the easiest way to spend your time, more ready to yield grief than reward, but if it calls you, and you hear the call, there’s not a lot you can do. This is why affected ideas of writerliness or what a writer is supposed to be are nonsense. A carpenter builds. A baker bakes. A writer obsesses over words, first those of other writers, then her own. Writing is like playing Go, or practicing meditation: The instructions are so simple. The execution can take a lifetime to master.With respect, and while I hear your apology as the sincere gesture it is, II want to suggest it’s unnecessary. One of the hardest things about being a sub or slave is remaining vigilant about your fantasies taking over, essentially willing the Dominant into a factotum. Submission becomes a fraud when it’s dictated to someone whose role is to pretend to be in control. I understood that you entered our scenes willing to, as you said, get lost in my fantasies. But there were also your instincts. There were also the moments when this dark, beautiful presence would emerge, and when it did, my own actions and responses to it were directed entirely toward calling it out into the dungeon, befriending it, even at the cost of it devouring me. I have never seen anything like that energy.In hindsight, what I was looking for was true pain and powerlessness in order to save myself – not a safe simulacrum of pain and powerlessness. I didn’t want the amusement-park ride, but the feral, dark landscape that stood just on the other side of the chain-link fence surrounding it. If you look at the last chapter of the book you mentioned, it describes the healing that you gave me, a healing that I came to believe couldn’t ever happen when I met you, but which your instincts led to you make real for me. It’s still not clear to me how much of what I saw in you was my own projection, despite my best efforts to not project onto you, and what was actually emerging inside yourself in front of me.It’s interesting that one of the titles you’ve taken on is “shamanatrix,” and another “educatrix.” Both were evident in our time together. Looking back, our scenes of years ago feel to me more like therapy than anything else. A kind of extreme therapy that can step in where conventional psychotherapy falls short. You healed ancient pains and helped me live a better life today. As I’ve said before, I will always remain grateful for that.
Monday, August 19, 2019 10:11am
Dear Macaulay,
I decided to devote my writing hour this morning to you. I have an hour glass that i just turned over, and so as the sand falls, here I go..
I just came out of a 3 day fast. For 82 hours, I went without food (well, other than a few pinches of bee pollen and some royal jelly). I feel incredibly clear and time has slowed down. And it’s in this state that I wanted to write to you. So if you ever feel like my replies take a while, it’s because of that, I want to give these words the space it needs to flow through..
Thank you so much for your letter. I remember now how wonderful it feels to receive your words. It has this special quality that feels nourishing. As I think it’s speaking directly to my soul. And I didn’t realize it until you wrote to me, that that’s what I really need right now as I embark on what feels like my soul work.
I really appreciate you reminding me what you said almost a decade ago, how I’m a natural writer (and btw I really miss your foot massages, no one has ever been able to go as deep as you have, and I love deep). I love the word “natural” as a way to describe what I’m trying to do. I prefer it over “good” or “talented.” Because it inherently makes what I’m “trying” to do feel effortless.  It  helps me chip away at any lingering self-doubt that I still might have, which has been most of the work I’ve been doing these past 5 years. Working on all the fears and doubts that come up with working on Pervette. Half the time I feel crazy for having such an out there vision of what I want to create, and the other half the time I just give permission to go crazy. And see what happens if I give all of myself to it.
And so it’s been, as they say, “a journey”
Inward finding myself and my original voice.
And as I’m coming out of my cocoon, with a lot more awareness and clarity, I thought of you. And our connection.
I know that I may have sound overly apologetic in my last letter. But that’s how I felt and that’s where my focus was at the time. I thought about this wonderful thing we had, and thought, how did it end? Oh right, it’s my fault (I know it’s not a whose-fault-is-it thing, but that’s where my mind went) When I look back, I can see my younger more naive and distracted self so much more clearly. And I can see the part I played in fading out.
(And to be clear, when I spoke of getting lost in other’s fantasies, I was actually thinking  more of my other slaves’ and their fantasies at the time that I went along with. With (y)ours,  I didn’t feel like I was going along, I felt like we were more both actively co-creating it.)
And so what I was trying to say was that you were always ahead of me in seeing what I couldn’t see in myself and now I’m beginning to see what you saw, and so I just want to thank you for being that mirror that allowed for me to reflect on, even now, more than ever.
So maybe the I’m Sorry is really my other way of saying
Thank You
For seeing me, and holding me in this light. It means so much to me.
And also I’m so grateful for this thread that’s still keeping us connected..
I’m so happy that I asked you if we can write to each other again (and that you said yes!), because this medium is as powerful as the intesnsity of our sessions.
Our words seem to capture the ethos or pathos ( I can’t seem to remember which is which) while our scenes capture the eros between us.
I had this feeling if we had met again after so long and went for a walk somewhere, it wouldn’t be quite right.
It seems as though there were 3 sides of ourselves that came out in our interactions:
The writing side, which is how we began to connect, with our minds
The playing side, which was the second act, enacted with our bodies
And I actually don’t know how best to describe the third side,
The Everyday side(?), the side that we present to the world and each other when we saw each other outside of the dungeon, which, come to think of it, felt like the most stilted and least expressive side of ourselves (or at least for me).
Which is interesting, it seems as though
If it wern’t for the art of the letter and bdsm, this deep, intense, beautiful level of our relationship would’ve never existed…
This leads me to think…
(I think I’m going on a tangent..)
How would the world be different if we knew about these powerful ways of connecting?
What percentage of our time do we play our Everyday self?
Do we make space to write (something more than a text or tweet) to know what we truly think?
Do we actually ever find time to play, to remember what this body and heart was for, to explore the innumerable feelings and sensations that come from going somewhere you haven’t been before, that you actually can’t go to alone.
I love how your words can spawn a flurry of thoughts when I read them..
To be honest I haven’t fully let myself go back
and read our book. I only opened it up to a page or two and got a glimpse of what was there and had to quickly close it. There’s so much there.
I feel like I need to prepare myself for it.
But since you prompted me, I think I will go back this week and read the last chapter..
Maybe as we continue to write, we can go back togtether…
It always feels like there’s more to write and this letter is just a draft. But I have to remember to let it go..
So, it’s your turn now..
P.S.  Even though I talk about letting go, I feel compelled to go back to my first letter and edit it. It can’t be helped. Maybe this just part of the natural process…