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.

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.

I Go Swimming

Twenty four hours ago, I was in the middle of this:

The One Hundred Needles of Miss Mitsu

I don’t even know where to begin. We began last night with a bit of corporal punishment. We don’t do that too much, but my limits on markings were temporarily suspended.

So she tied me up, commanded me to the floor, then thrashed me. There was the initial pain, then she built up through “this is ok” to “this fucking HURTS” then on to “why are you doing this to me?” She pushed me a little farther than before with a cane at the end. I don’t know if I could have taken any more, but I’m really glad she stopped when she did.

Then it was onto the bed where she roped me up and held me down. I had a bit of wiggle room. I have no desire to escape, but I do like to see what the range of motion is for any particular rigging. I like having something there to hold me up; something utterly solid on which I can rely during the coming test.

I haven’t mentioned yet how spare the setting of the room at first appeared to be. The Silver Room felt quite empty when I arrived. When Mitsu came in she almost immediately ordered me to strip. “Don’t you want your presents first?” I asked. She allowed me to give her gifts, but then we moved right along. We often talk for a good long time, but last night, she seemed eager to get down to business.

And the business of the night was piercing.

Once I was fully restrained, Mitsu pulled boxes and boxes of needles from the cupboards, set up a tray with the requisite supplies, then set to work on my body. My body. Mine Mine Mine! I get to do whatever the fuck I want to do with it. And what I want to do with it is turn it over to Mitsu.

She sat on top of me and surveyed her blank canvas. She picked up a needle, opened a packet of lube, and started pushing needles into my tender juicy flesh.

My brain got into a thought loop: whenever a needle went in, I thought “wow, that feels like electricity.” Then I would think “But people describe electricity as feeling like pinpricks.” Over and over. Maybe you had to be there.

Three through each nipple. Fucking brilliant.

Mitsu worked her way down my torso.

The first needle in the Crown of Thorns hurts like a dog-fucking bitch. The next fifteen felt better and better.

The neglected angle on this scene is that I got to spend the better part of two hours flat on my back watching Mitsu do her thing. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s a rather attractive young woman. And there she was, carefully regarding her specimen to insure symmetry of design in her needlework. My body was entirely hers. Her canvas. Her sandbox.

After the Crown of Thorns was done she paused to admire her handiwork. Mitsu counted 57 needles. That wasn’t nearly enough.

I was seriously trying to keep count of the number of needles Mitsu put through me as she worked her way down my cock and beyond. She really got a rhythm going — flipping off the caps, dipping into the lube, sliding through the skin. I remember asking her how many there were — I thought we were around 62; she said 69. I for real cannot keep numbers in my head when people are pushing needles through my dick.

Mitsu came up for air at number 80. It was decreed that we would go to one hundred — a nice round number. It only meant ten more needles on each leg. What could be finer?

At long last, Mitsu completed her design. I was released and allowed to stand to admire myself in the mirror. It was rather delicate maneuvering, but I stood and gazed and was greatly pleased. Then I returned to the bed and Mitsu began removing the needles.

That’s when the blood starts.

And now we are in an entirely new category. A completely different reality. The place we are is the place in which the command “Masturbate with your own blood” is met with eager compliance.

Just incase you don’t recall how an erection works, let me remind you. Your dick gets hard when chambers in the penis are swollen with blood. If someone has poked a bunch of holes in the end of your cock, it might get a little messy if you find yourself aroused. And what better aid to arousal than asphyxiation and face/neck pressure points? It seems to work well for me.

My cock was a dancing fountain of blood.

The horrific smear of blood and come across my torso at the conclusion of this affair truly blew my mind. This experience has left what Flagg might call an “irrevocable boot print” on my mind. I’m holding back a few details, which truly threw me over the far horizon.

And cleaning up afterward was a bitch. There exists some variety of spray bandage. Mitsu hit me with it after I showered and was about to get dressed. That stuff burns like a motherfucker. It seals up your holes and you won’t be weeping blood on your way home, but it hurts real bad. Just when you thought you were done.

I sure am glad I had the whole day off to recover today. Here’s a shot of the aftermath:

The Morning After

Not so bad, really. Not on the outside.

On the inside, there’s all sorts of chaos and confusion. There was, anyway. That has settled substantially over the last few hours.

This is what I like to do.

End transmission.

Please push pins into my body

I’ve been meaning to post something about Chris Burden and I think now is the right time. If you click on his name in the Hall of Fame on the right, it takes you to a video in which he talks about his art in the early 1970s. That’s the period that got Chris Burden a lot of attention — that’s when he did what I would call his Body Works.

For example, a performance called “Back to You.” Here’s his own description of the piece:

Dressed only in pants, I was lying on a table inside a freight elevator with the door closed. Next to me on the table was a small dish of 5/8″ steel push pins. Liza Bear requested a volunteer from the audience, and he was escorted to the elevator. As the door opened, a camera framing me from the waist up was turned on, and the audience viewed this scene on several monitors placed near the elevator. As the elevator went to the basement and returned, Liza told the audience that a sign in the elevator instructed the volunteer to “Please push pins into my body.” The volunteer stuck four pins into my stomach and one pin into my foot during the elevator trip. When the elevator returned to the floor, the door opened, the volunteer stepped out, and the camera was turned off. The elevator returned to the basement.

Four pins in the stomach and one in the foot isn’t so crazy, but he did many more extreme performances. In “Through the Night Softly” he crawled on his belly through broken glass; in “Shoot” he had a friend shoot him in the arm with a .22; in “Five Day Locker Piece” he spent five days in a locker.

I learned about Chris Burden 20 years ago when I went to see a major retrospective of his work. I think I went to that show 15 times or more. There’s so much more to his work than the body pieces that get all the attention, but what impresses me is how doing shit to his own body was at the center of so much of his work. It’s yet another one of those fascinations of mine that makes so much sense in retrospect. I was drawn to this smart and interesting artist who used his body in such extreme ways. 

I also like that he had a very loose “let’s try it and see what happens” approach. He had no idea what a volunteer would do when invited to push pins into his body. I’m trying to maintain that attitude toward my S&M adventures. 

Earlier this evening Miss Mitsu stuck many, many needles into my body.

One hundred needles.

There was a lot of blood.

Fuller details (and possibly photos) will appear soon.

[I cannot believe I wrote this just hours after that session. This guy is fucking crazy.]

Absence and Presence

I just started reading Flagg’s book The Forked Tongue. I like that he talks about the universality of body modification/body play. This sentence early on really smacked me right in the head:

Remember that the more excited someone is, the more they will consent to. (xv)

 That’s in his “Author’s Note” where he talks a lot about consent. It has been nearly six weeks since I last  saw Miss Mitsu and I’m very excited about our upcoming session. I’ve noticed that, within my fantasy realm, that excitement gives rise to visions of increasing severity and violence. I just wonder if my body is ready to receive the same degree of torment as my mind.

But at this point, my faith in Mitsu is such that I trust her to be attentive and ethical. I want to be pushed, but only by someone who knows me. That’s where I am in Flagg’s book right now — his chapter on Mindfucks where he emphasizes knowing your subject. The chapter on hypnosis was interesting. I can vouch for the amazing potential of hypnosis/trance in the BDSM setting.

I think I don’t feel like such a newbie anymore. Let’s have another look back at the Darker Days. In times past, I would have taken a peep at an S&M book in a shop, or maybe bought an issue of “Bizarre” or something and felt like a complete outsider/wannabe. Today I am reading a highly regarded brand new work and I have sufficient personal experience to fully identify with what the author is saying. 

So that’s rewarding.

And tomorrow Miss Mitsu is going to tie me up and hit me!