I have crossed bridges
with my hands still smelling of skin,
my mouth tasting of confessions
never meant for daylight.
I’ve walked away from flames
I lit with a whisper,
and sometimes with a growl.
There were years I led with heat —
not just warmth,
but wildfire.
My touch was a declaration,
my gaze, a command.
I wanted to be wanted,
and I often was.
More than I deserved but
every single one a feast
And some conquests.
But I mistook surrender for weakness,
and passion for permission.
I didn’t comprehend
the meaning of victory or
the sanctity of conquest.
Even then,
I knew
the hunger wasn’t just for flesh —
it was the search for meaning of
Dominance.
It was the quest to understand
the truth in those elusive connections.
Now, I carry my fire differently.
Still smoldering,
still strong,
but with intention.
With awareness.
With aches.
Love is complex, I know.
Lust is fleeting, everyone knows.
Desire doesn’t own me anymore —
it answers to me.
I have learned to slow my hands,
to read the meaning beyond words
to discern the signals from the noise
to reflect than react.
To protect than dispense.
I have discovered
that the most erotic moments
live in the pause,
the breath before the storm,
the ache before the claiming.
Yes, I still burn —
but now I choose when to be consumed.
And I crave to simply watch
the beautiful ones
unfold in front of me,
unravel in their time,
revel in their truth.
I want to teach this —
not just the act,
but the art.
To show younger men
that dominance without presence
is just theater.
That a woman’s submission,
when freely offered,
is a sacred thing —
not a trophy,
but a trust.
And to the women who doubt themselves
because the world taught them
to dim their desire —
I want to say:
you are not too much.
Your longing is a map,
not a mistake.
Every breathless kiss,
every misstep,
every trembling encounter
is part of your becoming
is part of your awakening
your blooming.
We are meant to learn from touch —
to fail with grace,
to try again without shame.
Passion is not perfection.
It is a pulse,
a rhythm learned over time.
So no, I am not done.
Not yet sated.
But I am no longer chasing completion —
I am offering depth.
Depth that listens.
Depth that devours,
yes —
but with reverence.
These are the bridges I’ve burned.
And the fire I’ve become.
Not to scorch,
but to light the way
for those still afraid
of the darkness,
of their own heat.
