A sweet pet said recently the he felt so lucky to have discovered that the world was lying when they told him goddesses weren’t real. That the thing he’d been longing for for decades was real. Was here. Was now.
It made me think about how we got here. Goddess and worshiper. Both thriving.
His service was always with quiet, unassuming devotion. Never demanding. Always listening. Doing what he knew I would ask before I said the words.
It was worship. Admiration. Quiet, steady, unwavering support.
This is what I crave.
I crave to see your joy in serving. I want your devotion. I want you to know me and to do things you think will please me before I ever ask you to.
I want your creativity.
Your care.
I want you to hear me say that supporting women matters to me and then to see you out in the world offering service to the divine feminine.
I want you to see me get excited about that leather harness or a bubble tea or a fancy coffee and to quietly send.
I want to smile and laugh when I tell you to count dogs in the park and you write back to me with a number. I want to laugh and revel in my power again when I tell you to tip me every time you think of touching yourself and I see the tips slip in every few hours.
I want that kind of connection. That string pulled taut between us. My approval, my desires, my commands, your purpose.
The same sweet pet said with me he’d found his purpose.
This is what I want for all of us. To make you better. To make you stronger. To make you more confident as you serve, worship, give.