Chapter Eight
Journal: I think of Ginny and Tom, the club, the men, the search, all that I’ve done. What taboo s****l acts I’ve enjoyed! I could go on with this forever, pushing myself beyond conventions and barriers; there seems to be an endless supply of indecent acts to tease me, and yet, where in this is can if find a sense of calm? Where is the middle ground?
I’m someone else’s slut. But whose? Sam’s? Perhaps. Though he seems to be more of a counselor, lover, friend and playmate than a real Dominant. To what man do I belong? He’s in the pages of my books, everywhere written in Technicolor strokes. He’s in the middle of my mind twenty-four hours a day, even if I don’t acknowledge him every minute.
Sometimes, I wonder if it’s really another man or woman that I’m seeking at all. But
