Blessed by Anonymous

I regard myself as blessed.

Childhood was bathed in warm family surroundings and regular attendance at Sacred Heart Catholic church. I think idyllic would describe it most accurately. Intelligent enough not to suffer academic trauma at school and a group of girlfriends that remain friends, for the most part, even twenty years later.


I became aware I wasn’t “singing from the same hymn sheet”  when friends started dating and I had no interest whatsoever. Boys left me cold and even when I accepted a one off date I felt myself shy away as he moved in for a goodnight kiss. I made believe I wasn’t ready for dating and became the teen agony aunt for friends and friends of friends and was always a part of a large group with my position secure and well defined.  By the time I was sixteen I declared that I would “save” myself until my wedding night, but the reality was I didn’t know what I was saving myself for.

The next two years saw me bury myself in books, study hard, achieve high grades, and eventually get accepted at a renowned red brick university to study English Literature. Did I ever think of sex? Of course I did and convinced myself that the heat I felt when looking at certain women was normal for any teenage girl.

 Virginity was a scarce commodity by the time I moved into the college hall and I clung to mine as if I was drowning.
I did indulge myself by masturbating  twice a week whether I needed to or not, it prevented too many unwanted images spilling into my brain. I submerged myself in University life, joined societies, debated, acted, sang, played in the orchestra. I filled every moment in an attempt to stop “those” thoughts.  Of course I failed as I am very human and I suspect I only allowed myself to fall in love as the person was not in a position to reciprocate my affections. Pure carnal lust  heated my blood and her mind was the perfect place to discharge the powerful urges that ripped and tore at my body. We all fall for our university professors, don’t we?
Professor C-M became my teacher, friend, icon and eventually, after a number of years, my Mistress. I am not, and cannot, go into the details of how it all transpired. It was so natural to sit at her feet on long winter nights discussing the finer points of an obscure novel. At first it was with a group of students, later the numbers dwindled until only I remained. The moments when we touched  as I passed her a glass of Chablis or she moved her body on the damask covered chaise filled  my every need. In my head I called her my Venus of Willendorf, I told her some years later of this nickname and it almost bought a tear to her eye.


After graduating we finally spoke of our love, what I thought was so complex was in practice  pure and simple. I needed to worship her, tend to her every whim, be hers for whatever purpose she had in mind.Then there was sex, the honour of pleasing her, the way she kept me naked at every opportunity. How with words and touch she could create the burgeoning blooming state that ended in sweat drenched ecstasy.

I will not divulge any more intimate details, you will need to imagine how every second on my life is filled with obedience and all the delicious things that entails.

                    Th End



Note:   Venus of Willendorf    is a buxom goddess figure estimated to be over 24 thousand years old

Anon