Changing of the Guard

Just about two years ago I picked up the phone and booked my first session with Miss Mitsu at Rapture. That was just the first step on a long, amazing journey. So much has changed since then.

Rapture certainly has changed. It was just over a year ago that that wonderful place at the top of the long, long stairs had to close its doors. I still love checking in on the latest videos, but it makes me sad to think that the space that meant so much to me is gone forever. I will always be grateful to Mitsu and the whole Rapture clan for the amazing times I had there.

I was super lucky to connect with Miss Susie at Pandora’s Box a couple months after the Rapture unpleasantness. It was a big thing to play with a new person in a new space, but it made me appreciate just how far I had come acknowledging and getting to know my own kinks. My only regret is that we didn’t get to play together more before I left New York.

Leaving the city after more than a decade was a huge change. It’s hard to believe it hasn’t even been a year yet; some days it feels like that was all a lifetime ago. As big as that change was — the new job in a new town — the biggest change of all was leaving my girlfriend. Since this is a blog about my kink, I’m not going to go into all the other reasons why that relationship had to end. For a while there, I had convinced myself that I had found some sustainable compromise: I could get away with sneaking off to Rapture to get my kink satisfied while maintaining this other, vaguely unsatisfying relationship.

That was complete bullshit.

Although I had made efforts to introduce that side of myself into that relationship, it never went anywhere. As time went on and I learned to love my kink, I felt like I had to pretend to be someone else to keep that relationship alive. Once I moved away it became clear that I couldn’t tolerate that kind of compromise anymore. And it wasn’t only my kink I was compromising, that pattern colored the whole relationship.

Which leads us to the biggest change of all: the discovery of my Minx.

I had been good friends with an exceptional woman for several years. Somehow we had managed to deny and conceal the feelings we had for each other. In spite of countless opportunities for bad behavior, we managed to keep our hands to ourselves and build a wonderful friendship. As my long-term relationship crumbled, I was finally able to acknowledge that I felt something more than friendship for this person. In a great burst of clarity and purpose, I confessed my feelings. In retrospect it seems so obvious that she felt the same way, but at the time I was truly terrified.

But this is still a blog about my kink, so I’ll skip over all the other stuff and cut to the good stuff. I fell in love with someone who was a great friend. Someone I could always joke with and talk serious with and could truly be myself with. When our conversations turned to sex (she lives 1,200 miles away and we spend hours on the phone) I was determined to continue to be myself. It turns out, she is at least as kinky as I am.

When she asked me what dirty sexy thing I wanted her to do to me, I told the truth: “I want you to fuck me in the ass.” It didn’t all come out at once — I didn’t want to tell her about my dungeon adventures over the phone, for instance. But when I did tell her it felt so unbelievably great I can hardly describe it. She wasn’t just tolerant, she knew exactly what I was talking about. She knows exactly what it’s like to have deep dark desires that scare people away. She knows exactly how it feels to know what you want but have no hope of getting it within the context of a romantic relationship.

All that has changed.

In the last four months I have gotten in touch with my dominant side. My Minx is a spirited and playful partner and she has tied me down and beaten and fucked my ass, but she wants her turn on the bottom too. It turns out, I am more than happy to indulge her desire for submission and service. Our toy box is now full of ropes and nipple clamps and a lovely collar and cuffs and a ball gag and a cute cat-eye blindfold and clothespins and more. I’m using everything I learned at the feet of Mitsu and Miss Susie to give my Minx the time of her life.

We still have a long way to go, but for the first time ever I can be completely open and honest about every aspect of who I am; and so can she. To mark this enormous change in my life, this will be my last post on Suspend the Rules. My Minx and I will be recording our journey together on a new blog: Patience and Fortitude

One last thank you to Mitsu and Miss Susie and all the other Rapture folks I encountered in the first phase of my journey. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.

Inventing situations

I received an e-mail announcement about the return of The Baroness’ Fetish Retinue at a new location on the Lower East Side on the first Thursday of each month. I have long been a fan of The Baroness’ site with all its lovely latex and I have always wanted to attend one of her events. I was contemplating sneaking out of the house to attend, but was on the fence about it until Miss Susie posted on her blog that she would be attending. My mind was instantly made up.

I pulled out my latex shirt and underpants and picked up a pair of green tights from American Apparel to wear out. I put on my finery, then threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater then headed out into the night. When I arrived at the club I removed my sweater and checked it at the coat check, but I kept my pants on. As excited as I was about attending, as soon as I got there I felt shy and a little withdrawn. Miss Susie hadn’t arrived yet, so I got a beer and took a seat and delighted in the fact that I was even in such a place.

The crowd slowly trickled in — folks of all shapes and sizes and degrees of fabulousness arrived. Some walked in the door with their full costume already on under their coats, others went straight to the bathroom to transform, some just stood at the coat check and did a quick change from street to fetish wear.

Eventually Miss Susie arrived. She looked amazing in her brand new pink latex with stockings and heels. I said “hello” and she declared that my latex needed shining. That was a pretty nice start to the evening. Madame Cherry generously allowed Susie to borrow some lube to get my shirt nice and shiny.

And then we sat and talked and watched the room fill up with more and more latex fanciers. I was a little disappointed that I didn’t see more people I know. Eventually Puppydog John showed up and it’s always good chatting with him. Miss Susie made her way around the crowd and I parked myself near the DJ booth and stage. 

There were several performances that started around midnight. Miss Susie and John and I found a good spot away from the crowd with a clear view of the stage where we could continue our conversation in between acts.

At one point I told John that I had something more interesting on under my jeans and Susie graciously pulled my pants down for all to see. Then we just resumed our conversation and our enjoyment of the performances. I really loved that — it was a nice show of dominance by Susie that tickled my exhibitionist side, but it was also pretty casual and fun. 

Miss Susie also decided that I need to get a new shirt that has openings for my nipples. She tried giving me some nipple tweaks but was having a hard time finding them through my shirt. I certainly did not mind her efforts to find them, and I truly enjoyed the moments when she did manage to find them and get a good grip. 

So it wasn’t some crazy over-the-top public playtime, but it was a very good night. Just some low-key fun with a couple of comrades within a setting of free spirited freakiness. Just hanging out and talking with Susie has resulted in whole new waves of fantasies about future sessions together. That click just keeps on clicking.

Another girl, another planet

Where to begin, even.

I have been through a whole lot of ups and downs lately. I started to believe I was being intentionally mindfucked over a job offer — it was “Yes!” “No!” “Yes!” “No!” “Maybe!”

and finally, definitively “Yes!” yesterday.

In the meantime, in between time, ain’t we got fun?

There had been very little fun in my life since all that rotten business back in September. But there comes a time in a boy’s life when he must pick himself up, dust himself off, and get on with the masochism. Which is exactly what I did last week.

Actually, it started a couple weeks before last week. It started with Miss Susie setting up her blog just before Christmas. I wrote to her; she wrote to me and things started to click. That “click” is the most important thing, and I realize that I have been extremely lucky in my pursuit of S&M happiness of late.

Back when I wasn’t sure what I really wanted out of this whole thing, I was lucky enough to find Miss Mitsu who introduced me to a whole new world of rope and electricity and needles and clips and on and on. Now that I have a much better sense of what I like, there’s a very different feeling about looking for a new playmate.

As fate would have it, I got lucky again. There’s so much more involved than a simple coordination of kinks. It’s not math, people. It’s not simply a matter of “do you like rope bondage? I like rope bondage!” but a more complex chemistry. I have read on the so-called internet about “McSessions” and other horror stories, and I can imagine what that experience must be like. Again, I feel very very lucky.

So last week I arrived at Pandora’s Box for my first session in months with a brand new Mistress in a brand new setting. Let’s back up to the moment when I was on the phone booking that session: it all came flooding back. I have fetishized the entire process of calling to book a session; extracting the cash from the ATM; and walking to the dungeon. I felt it in my stomach as the receptionist from Pandora’s told me to call back to confirm an hour before my session. That felt good.

Honestly, the trip from my house to Pandora’s is not nearly as erotic as my old walk through SoHo to Rapture. There just aren’t as many lingerie shops in the neighborhood. Nor is there a daunting staircase. How am I going to keep my buttocks firm and tight without three flights of stairs? But these are minor details; let’s get to the action.

I’m not much for protocol. Some people love it and need it, but I’m not one of them. I did as I was told, of course, and stripped and kneeled and waited.

Eventually the door opened and I heard Her enter the room. I did not lift my head but I saw a sweep of legs pass by out of the corner of my eye. I heard a cabinet open, music started, then a fingernail scratched me on the top of my head: “You can get up now.”

Go look up some pictures of Miss Susie to see how tall and lovely she is. Now bear in mind that she is MORE beautiful in person.

And so it began. We talked; she unpacked her rope and started working it around my body. The whole time I was simply reeling with delight at being back in that space. A different physical space than before, but the same mental space. A different guide than before, but she was taking me to familiar, but new, places.

As always, I am holding back some details. There was a hat, but I won’t say what kind of hat. That’s just between us.

I was restrained and then Miss Susie brought out her brand new electronic gadgetry — the Eros Tek ET-232. Oh that is a fine device! I was happy to serve as Miss Susie’s test dummy as we ran the ET-232 through it’s various settings. It had been so long since I felt anything like it that I just couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

One of the problems of being a masochist is that the more it hurts, the happier I get. More than once Miss Susie said “You’re having too much fun. I’ll have to turn it down.” But the real thrill of a session isn’t necessarily the voltage running from her device through my body; the real thrill is the connection between her eyes and mine. 

I think I’ll stop now.

Repeats from Rapture

Now that the Rapturevision site is up and running again, I’m going to cut and paste a couple of my old posts from there to here. These are things I wrote last summer around the time of the big piercing session I had with Mitsu and I’m glad they reappeared.

[Originally posted 7/21/08]

I read my copy [of The Forked Tongue] over the weekend. It was perfect timing because I finished it on Sunday afternoon, just before a session with Mitsu. I’ll write more about that over in the reviews soon.

I spent my morning drinking coffee and eating toast and reading the last section of Flagg’s book. This passage caught my eye:

I've said that for me, BDSM is about making my demons pull the wagon, instead of chasing me -- or worse, dragging me along behind them. Making these things that make me different, maybe bad, a positive part of who I am and what I do. Making these things, somehow, work for me after all this time. What it took to get here, to reverse this burden was acceptance. That was much harder than it sounds. Not the acceptance  of "the community" -- I sought that first, and receiving it left me hollow and troubled. I could play the reindeer games, but they meant nothing to me; they were a mockery of whatever it was that was restlessly moving around inside me. Acceptance by those few found peers was and is integral to the process, but that in itself was not near enough, it just meant that I was not alone in being alone. During this time I was lucky enough to find two close peers to talk to, and that's where the real work began: acceptance of my own desires. (97)

Wow. That is a really encouraging thing to read. And here’s where my post turns into a love note to Rapture.

On the page before that passage, Flagg talks about gradually finding his Pack — sniffing out those few kindred spirits in search of “recognition.” Nine months ago, when I decided I was going to take charge of my demons and try to make them pull the wagon, I stumbled into my Pack. The phrase “Kink is about experimentation.” at the top of Mitsu’s profile was my first clue that I was on the right track.

Using Flagg’s terms, I would say that the feeling of elation I had at my first  session was partly a feeling of recognition. Thinking “I really liked that, and she seems to really like doing it to me” was exciting and comforting and frightening. Every experience I have had with the Fine People of Rapture has only strengthened that feeling.

I think Flagg’s passage is also useful for thinking about Dominant as a Profession. Talk about getting your demons to pull the wagon — how about pull the wagon and pay the rent too.

I’m still in the process of sorting out my demons to see which ones are real and which ones are phantoms. Total Acceptance is still a ways off, but I’m getting there thanks to the guidance of Mitsu and the support of the whole Rapture Pack.

This one is a different version of the review of that session I posted here:

[Originally posted 7/21/08]

I spent the weekend reading Flagg’s new book – The Forked Tongue – and trying to contain my excitement over my Sunday night appointment with Mitsu. I had already written to tell her my limit on marks was suspended and I’m up for piercing and/or bloodshed when I read this passage:

I stood in Hellfire, my girl Tink perched on a padded bench, gone wherever it is masochists go. I looked at my hands, my shirt, my boots... they were spattered with blood. A pool of blood was forming on the floor where I stood. In realistic terms, it was nothing, but at the moment, it looked like a hemorrhage. Deep inside me, something shifted, and spoke.

It said "Yes." (98)

I was shown into the Silver Room to wait. This time the room seemed a little bare. There were no electronical gadgets in sight. No heaps of rope. No giant dildos. The room was just clean and tidy. Mitsu arrived, I gave her presents, then I got undressed.

She began by tying my arms around my back then made me kneel down, forehead to the floor, for a thrashing. We don’t do much corporal, because of my usual limits on marks, but those limits are temporarily suspended, so Mitsu took advantage of my ass. Actually, it was the spot where the ass turns into the thighs, which is turning a lovely shade of purple/pink this morning.

That certainly cleared my head. Then she had me lie down on the bed and she restrained me with ropes. That’s when she went to the cupboard and pulled out the needles.

Mitsu spent the next 90 minutes sticking needles through my flesh. She started on my chest, giving the nipples three needles each with lovely symmetrical rows of pink and green needles down the sides.

She pierced her way down my torso, getting into a nice rhythm removing the caps and lubing the needle.

Then she got to my cock. She started in on a crown of thorns, which was pretty much at the top of my list of Scary Shit I Want to Try, so that was nice. She stuck sixteen needles into the head of my cock, which hurts just about as much as you imagine it would. I think there was a little blood that trickled out at this point.

Mitsu sat back to admire her work and counted the needles. We were up to 57, which struck me as rather a lot. Mistu pointed out that she still had needles left, and would keep going.

She pierced her way down the shaft of my cock and beyond. When she counted again and we were up to 80, she decided we’d go all the way to 100. She added ten more to each of my thighs to make a perfectly symmetrical round number of needles in her specimen.

I was released so I could stand at the mirror and have a look. I liked what I saw, but there was still hardly any blood visible.

I got back on the bed and Mitsu began removing the needles. That part wasn’t so painful, but then I realized the needles were holding in the blood. When the needles COME OUT is when the show really begins.

Bear in mind the mechanics of the male member. An erection happens when chambers in the penis SWELL WITH BLOOD. Basically, Miss Mitsu turned  the head of my cock into a blood sprinkler. Then she told me to masturbate with my own blood.

While I was doing that, she smothered me and choked me and tried out some head and neck pressure points. When I finally came, my torso was a horrific smear of blood and come.

Deep inside me, something shifted, and spoke.

It said “Yes.”

Thank You Mistu.

Although it’s delightful to stroll down memory lane as a very eventful year draws to a close, I keep wondering what’s coming next. There are I days I miss Mitsu and the dungeon so much it hurts, then there are days when it seems like just a pleasant fading memory. I do still have some faint scars on my belly from her needles, and she certainly left a bootprint on my mind.

What’s coming up for Suspend the Rules in 2009 is anybody’s guess.

Stay tuned.

Get the Balance Right

I can’t believe it has almost been a whole year since I had my first session with Miss Mitsu. Then again, it sometimes feels like that happened a decade ago. Time distorts when you’re having twisted fun, I guess.

It has certainly been an eventful year. I went from eager but ignorant newbie to blood-soaked pinchusion in less than twelve months. I went from lonely nights of agnst, porn and booze to S&M video star and public performer. Ok, I only made three videos and only played in public once, but it sure did tickle my exhibitionist side.

The point being, I spent a huge part of my life with these urges swirling around inside me until I finally took control and let them all out. Once again I will declare how lucky I feel to have found the perfect guide in Miss Mitsu. One of the moments that stands out in my brain is the time we played at the Cat o’Nine party at Lit in NY last February. We had sessioned a few times and shot one video, so we had a nice foundation. I don’t remember talking much about the scene she had in mind for that night. What I do remember is her telling me to watch her stuff while she went to talk to someone. She came back to where I was sitting, picked up her bag, then looked at me and said “Ready?” I don’t think I spoke. Maybe I mumbled “Yes.” Then I stood up and followed her to the stage.

That night was a great high for me. There I was, wearing my latex t-shirt in a club full of kinksters, and the most beautiful domme in the place was leading me onto the stage for hell knows what. I remember “Israel” by Siouxsie & the Banshees was playing during our scene. There was rope, there was a whip, there was a little choking, then she sat on me. A great night all around.

And from there, we moved on to hit many more highs. Scenes I had dreamed of for years as well as scenes I never even imagined before Mitsu guided me along this path. Hypnosis? Buddhist meditation? I really didn’t expect those to be part of my S&M journey, but here we are.

Things have been kind of crazy in the NY scene for the last few weeks. No one knows what’s going to happen or what the future holds for the world of kink here. I’m trying not to worry about it since I have enough turmoil in my personal life to keep me busy for now.

Regardless of what the future brings, I have come a long way. I have met some truly amazing people (on both ends of the whip). My kink is still there, but it’s no longer the angry dog howling in its cage and straining at the leash. It’s more of a comfortable cat these days; it’s curled up for a nap right now, but someday it will stretch itself out again. The difference is that now I possess a confident curiosity rather than a blind, desperate desire. 

Thank you again, Mitsu. And thanks to the whole Rapture tribe.

You’re the shit and I’m knee deep in it

The last couple of weeks have been rather tumultuous — at least, on the inside of my head they have been tumultuous. Over the summer I was invited to apply for a couple of jobs, got my hopes up, then had them dashed. Then, about a week ago, I applied for another job. Less than 48 hours later I was invited to come for an interview. The more I look at the job and talk to my cronies, the more I realize that I am the perfect candidate.

Only trouble is, it’s rather far from New York City. Not only that, it’s nowhere near a major metropolitan area. Well, it’s not Wyoming or anything, but it’s not within striking distance of Rapture. I am perfectly ready to leave this glorious city for some peaceful country living, a big fat raise, and an excellent step along my chosen career path. I keep daydreaming about owning an actual HOUSE and having more than two rooms. I also can’t wait to tell my asshole boss to “take this job and shove it.”

The one thing that pains me (and not in a good way) is the thought of being more than a phone call and a short walk away from Mitsu. Even though I only see her once, sometimes twice a month, just knowing that she’s nearby and that I can make a session happen when the urge strikes is a great secret pleasure.

What’s a boy to do?

I’m hooked.

Electric Bondage Playtime

Last Friday I went directly to Rapture as soon as I got out of work. That was a little odd — I usually take a whole day off, or at least a half day, when I have a session with Mitsu. It was definitely a different vibe going directly from the world of work into the world of fantasy play. I was feeling pretty run down and a bit glum by the end of the day, even questioning whether I was in the right mood for a session. All those doubts were dispelled as soon as Mitsu walked into the Red Room.

One reason I was feeling a little glum was that my limits on marks are back in place. I was getting down on myself a bit for still concealing my kink; for sneaking off to a session and having to settle for less than I truly desire. I also have plenty of drama in my work-life these days, so it all added up to a rather anxious mindset Friday afternoon.

Despite all those sorts of feelings, I have total confidence in Mitsu’s abilities. I know that Rapture is the place where the rules are suspended. Most important, it’s a place for PLAY. I can leave all my day-to-day concerns and anxieties in a heap at the bottom of the stairs and enter a special space with a special guide.

Everything about Friday afternoon was just right. I felt completely at ease from the moment Mitsu entered the room. We talked, I gave her presents, I got undressed. I like to refer back to Mitsu’s profile on Rapture, and today I’m thinking about this sentence: “I prefer to let things unfold without scripts.” I hung up my clothes then sat on the bed. There was no moment of “Ok, now we’re going to start” — I sat down and we continued talking as she picked up some rope and started to bind me.

I was sitting cross-legged on the bed, hands resting on my knees as Mitsu tied my forearms to my thighs. She looped the rope around my neck, added some twine to my cock & balls, then secured me to the bedframe. Then she pulled out the Violet Wand. This was my first experience with this particular device. First she plugged it in then stuck an attachment down the back of her panties, thus turning herself into an electrical device. Watching the sparks jump from her fingertips to my skin was very nice indeed. Then she picked up a pinwheel and sent more jolts through me — along my legs, across my chest, around my cock. But all that was just the warmup.

Mitsu untied me, made me squirm into the middle of the bed, then she re-tied me. My arms were still tied securely to my legs, with a loop around my neck, then she hoisted my legs into the air and tied them off. I was securely caught in her rope web, with more twine holding my junk in place. Electrode bands were fastened at the base of my cock behind my balls, and at the top of my shaft just behind the head. The Violet Wand was put away and the trusty TENS unit brought out and put through its paces.

In addition to the wonderful sensations she was sending through me, I really enjoyed Mitsu explaining what she was up to. This was one of the chattiest sessions we have had in a while, which contributed to the sense of light-hearted play. There weren’t any goals, there weren’t any cameras, there wasn’t any blood, just two people enjoying some playtime together with rope and electricity. And a hairbrush. She did smack me a bit with a brush. And the nipple clamps. Let’s not forget the nipple clamps. Four days later, there’s still a delightful faint soreness in my nips.

The other striking element of our playtime was the degree to which I lost the ability to speak. I’ve commented before on my inability to keep track of numbers as I drift through subspace, but I think it goes deeper than that. As Mitsu turned the knobs, I began squealing and growling and grunting with all sorts of shock and delight — not really surprising. But there were moments when I was genuinely trying to speak but I just couldn’t do it. That’s a huge thing for me — I am a very verbal person. Part of my submission to Mitsu is so completely turning myself over to someone else that I even surrender the power of speech. She turned me into her twitching, yelping robot and I loved every minute of it.

Perhaps most important of all, Friday’s session reminded me how much FUN this all is. I was listening to Graydancer’s Ropecast interview with Mia recently and there’s a bit where he talks about giggling and laughing in the dungeon. It’s the last thing people expect in an S&M scene, but it’s a huge part of what attracts me. Go back and read the excerpt from Fakir Musafar I posted here back in June for more on this theme.

Of course, not every session is going to be so lighthearted, but that’s part of what I love about playing with Mitsu. Some scenes will be rough and fast, some scenes will be serious and pointy, and some scenes will be funtimeUSA. The challenge now is to find ways to incorporate more play into the rest of my life. I don’t mean more S&M play or sex play, just PLAY. Let things unfold without scripts, loosen my grip on the steering wheel, let my unconscious mind take the reins for a while and see where it all leads…

Masochist in the Mosh Pit

I have been listening to a lot of old hardcore punk lately (Bad Brains, Black Flag, Dead Kennedys, Misfits, etc.) and I had another one of those epiphanies about the roots of my masochism. 

When I was a junior/senior in high school, I went to as many hardcore shows as I could. There weren’t all that many in my town, but I relished every one. Apart from loving the music, I was drawn to the violence of the mosh pit. My friend and I would drink Colt 45 in the parking lot, then dive right in to the mass of bodies flailing around in front of the stage. We would leave every show completely exhausted, sweaty, bruised, sometimes bloodied, and ECSTATIC. Kind of like the way I feel after a session with Mitsu.

My greatest memory is of the Dead Milkmen show senior year. Screaming Broccoli opened and the room was absolutely packed with bodies. I ended up with a bloody nose — I caught either an elbow or a knee to the face — a black eye, and bruises everywhere. When I came down to breakfast the next morning, my mom refused to believe that I hadn’t been in a fist fight. I tried to explain what “slam dancing” was, but she wasn’t buying it. I had to show her a Suicidal Tendencies video before she would believe me.

The other angle on the mosh pit that resonates with my S&M experiences is that, as violent and chaotic as the pit was, if you fell down all you had to do was stick your arm up and you would be pulled to your feet. There was that same delicate combination of violence and community; hurting and soothing. We were there to hurt and get hurt, but there was always a hand to help you stand up.

Song of Myself

When in doubt, consult Walt Whitman. “Song of Myself” begins thus:

I celebrate myself, and sing myself, 
And what I assume you shall assume, 
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. 

I loafe and invite my soul, 
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

I loafed a lot yesterday and observed many spears of summer grass as I wandered the streets and avenues of this great metropolis. That’s an excellent thing to do when one’s mind is full of swirling thought clouds. The storm still rages on, though it keeps shifting and altering itself with each passing minute.

My marks from last week continue to fade, and I am learning exactly which parts of my body take longest to mend. My cock is fine. You wouldn’t know it had been through the Mitsu wringer. Not a mark on it. My belly, on the other hand, still has some traces of bruising and faint parallel rows of pinpricks. I treasure my marks, but my girlfriend is back now, so it’s good that they’re fading away. It’s also delightful imagining the marks to come.

The past and present wilt–I have fill’d them, emptied them. 
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future. 

I love my S&M explorations. I love my girlfriend.

I’m a submissive masochistic ass-slut. I’m a sturdy and reliable lover.

Do I contradict myself? 
Very well then I contradict myself, 
(I am large, I contain multitudes.) 

We all contain multitudes. Somewhere Mitsu posted something about being uncomfortable with a label as broad as “Poly Bi Switch.” There’s nothing that needs to be labeled or resolved or defined or decided. It’s all always changing. What I was a year ago. What I was two weeks ago. What I am today. All different, but still the same. New marks on my body. New marks on my mind. Same body. Same mind. Different body. Different mind.

Not sure where it’s going, but I am enjoying the journey.

I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, 
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. 

Pleasures and wayward distractions

I spent a lot of this week sleepwalking through work and obsessively tending to my wounds from last Sunday’s adventure. Last night I saw Mitsu for a video shoot and was invited to stick around to serve as a training dummy for a quick CBT lesson. And tonight I’m going to see her again. After tonight, it will probably be a few weeks before I can session with her again.

I’m sure I’m just overthinking everything, as I tend to do, but I’m just trying to cope with a whole lot of new and strange thoughts and feelings. I think the very biggest thing I’m grappling with is what I wrote in my very first entry on this blog:

Something I am learning about myself is that I am a masochist. I intend to use this space to explore exactly what that means.

Maybe it’s the result of spending so many years on the outside looking in — feeling like a cowardly “wannabe” — that makes it strange for me to accept and acknowledge that I’ve reached the other side. At this point, there really is no doubt that I find great sexual satisfaction in pain. Or, rather, sensations most people would describe as “pain” but I find quite delightful.

This shit is intense. The mental aftershocks of receiving 100 needles will last long after the wounds have faded from my flesh. I’m definitely proud of myself; I don’t regret a single thing. Acting out dark fantasies has been a deeply rewarding adventure. And loads of fun.

And maybe there isn’t anything to be figured out or decided or resolved. Maybe I’m just feeling like a shook-up snow globe right now and soon the storm in my mind will settle. Which takes me back to yoga and what Baron Baptiste says. He says something about yoga practice helping to calm the mind so that we can find that center of stillness in the midst of the storm of thoughts and feelings.

One big thing I have learned is that S&M isn’t one thing. Everybody’s kink is their own, and I’m getting a pretty good sense of what mine is. So much of it is so counter intuitive — an electrified rod down my urethra feels GOOD? — maybe that’s an obstacle to relaxing and just accepting it?

And then there’s Mitsu. I’m simply fascinated by her, and that fascination keeps changing shape. Early on, it felt very much like a high school crush — I was eager to know all the most mundane details of her life. Does Mitsu like soup? What’s her cat’s name? and so on. I think that kind of curiosity is a natural response to the clear limits on the Pro/client relationship.

Then there were times, usually the days immediately following a session, when I would embrace the unknowability. There’s a certain thrill in the contrast of intimacy and anonymity of our relationship. What would be lost if I DID know all the mundane details?

Whatever this relationship is, it’s unique. If no two people’s kinks are the same, no two D/s relationships are the same. Whatever ours is, it is wonderful.