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.

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.

Shelter from the storm

‘Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.
“Come in,” she said,
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

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.

Call me Ishmael

Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and knocking people’s hats off–then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.

– Herman Melville. Moby Dick.

The mountains, rather than the sea. But the impulse is the same.

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.

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.

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!

I have seen darker days

In my last post I referred to the “dark pre-Mitsu days” and I’ve been thinking about that time a lot lately. Specifically, I’m thinking about my upcoming week of bachelorhood — my girlfriend is going to visit California for a week and I will be on my own in the city. I’ve been thinking of all kinds of mischief I can get up to while she’s away as well as issues of isolation and self-destruction.

When she would leave town in the past I would fill my head with all sorts of kinky plans and self-indulgent fantasies. I would scan the internet for information about kinky parties or club nights or whatever. I would browse S&M listings and contemplate scheduling a session with a Pro. I would search alt.com for hours hoping to find someone to be naughty with.

And 99% of the time I would end up drunk, alone, and miserable in my apartment. There’s a lyric in one of my favorite songs that comes to mind:

I feel trapped by mutual affection

and I don’t know how to use freedom

I dearly love my girlfriend, but I’ve also had this wad of desires for so very long. It took a long long time for me to get to where I am today, and it’s a hell of a thing to look back on the darker days from this new perspective.

In the past, I would spend the two weeks before my girlfriend’s departure combing the web for every fetish event in the tri-state area. Even when I was lucky enough for an event like SMACK or Byte to fall during one of her trips it never worked out. I would masturbate myself into an absolute phrenzy of anticipation. I would dress up in my latex, play with some toys, snap some auto-erotic photos, and disappear into the world of internet porn. Then I would chicken out and not go. Sometimes I would sabotage myself with booze — end up soused by 9:30/10:00 and realize I was in no condition to leave the house.

I did manage to get out to a couple of events. Once I attended an open house at Nutcracker. That was one of the better adventures, but I didn’t get so far as booking a session. There were some very hot and friendly dommes there — I don’t remember any names, this was probably 6 years ago or more — but I ended up leaving before too long. One moment that sticks in my mind is when I was sitting near this woman (someone who worked in the dungeon but wasn’t a domme) talking about Hedda Lettuce. I made some gesture or comment that indicated I knew who Hedda Lettuce was and this woman was amazed and asked me directly — “You know who Hedda Lettuce is?”

Then it struck me that what I found uncomfortable about this open house was the vibe I got from the other potential clients. In my mind, if you’re interested in S&M some familiarity with the great drag queens of New York is a natural fit. This little exchange just pointed out to me that such an attitude might be an exception among the clientele. I also didn’t really know what a session would be like since I had never worked up the nerve to try. I’m sure I went home and had a few beers and beat off in my latex underpants. 

That’s not so dark; that was definitely a step in the right direction. The dark days were the times I ended up at sleazy strip clubs, drunk off my ass and throwing money down the toilet. I don’t even want to think about those times.

I want to think about how far I have come. I sometimes fear that I sound like a commercial for Rapture, but I would not be where I am with my kink if it weren’t for that place. I found them about 18 months ago, but I didn’t really pay close attention to the site until last November. I was determined that the next time my girl left town I would not fall into the same debauchery again. I carefully read all the domme profiles then picked up the phone and booked a session with Mitsu. 

I came close to chickening out once again, but something made me climb those stairs and I have never regretted it. Today as I think about the mischief I’ll get up to when my girlfriend is away, it makes me really happy to know it won’t involve waking up with a profound hangover and bitter remorse. Rapture is so much safer than the Hustler Club or some stranger’s apartment. “A safe place to do dangerous things” is my favorite description of that place.

So yet another giant THANK YOU to Miss Mitsu and all the lovelies — including the behind the scenes lovelies — of Rapture.

I’ll be seeing you soon.

Who I am and what this is

I am a middle-aged man living in New York City who has taken his first steps into the amazing world of S&M. I consider myself extremely lucky to have connected with an exceptional person to guide me along this path: Miss Mitsu, one of the Dommes at Rapture.

The current phase of my journey began on a cold and cloudy day last November when I had my first session with Mitsu, but my interest/fascination/obsession with the worlds of kink and S&M has very deep roots. Something I am learning about myself is that I am a masochist. I intend to use this space to explore exactly what that means.

To begin at the beginning would be to go all the way back to when I was about three years old. This is an incident I have no memory of, but my mother has told me the story multiple times. Mom was working in the garden and I was playing outside. She heard me crying and came running. According to her, I was standing at the fence that separated our yard from our neighbor’s yard. The two next door neighbor boys were poking me in the belly with sticks. I just stood there, bleeding and crying while they jabbed away.

My earliest memory of auto-erotic sado-masochism is from when I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. There’s a Buggs Bunny cartoon called “From Hare to Heir” (1960) that contains this exchange between Yosemite Sam and his Advisor (who has a huge, phallic nose):

Advisor: But Sire, there is no more money. Your uncle, the king, has cut off your allowance.
Yosemite Sam: You know the penalty for not having the books balanced!
Advisor: Oh no. Not the ‘nose-in-the-book’ penalty.
Yosemite Sam: Yeah, the nose-in-the-book.
[Advisor puts his nose in the book and Sam slams it]
Yosemite Sam: WE’VE GOTTA GET SOME MONEY!

I acted out this scene by myself, but instead of slamming my nose in a book, I slammed my cock in the toilet seat.

Hmmm…

There’s plenty more where that came from, which I’ll write about here from time to time.

For now I’ll just explain the title of this blog.

Mitsu has kept a blog for a while, and I often write her long e-mails about what’s going on inside my brain before and after our sessions. Last week she suggested I post some of those thoughts to a blog, so here we are.

I kicked around a few ideas for the title “Masochism World,” “The Masochist Monk,” “The Center of the Cyclone” and others. A few days ago I was reading a book by Alan Watts called What is Zen? and I sent Mitsu this quote:

The whole point of Zen is to suspend the rules we have superimposed on things and to see the world as it is — as all of a piece. This has to be done in a special setting of some kind, because you can’t just gaily walk out into the street and suspend the rules. And if you do, you’ll create traffic confusion of every conceivable kind! But we can set up a certain environment in which we have an agreement to suspend the rules — that is to say to meditate, to stop thinking for a while, to stop making formulations.

When I first climbed the stairs to Rapture over six months ago, the last thing I expected was a reawakening of my interest in Zen philosophy and Buddhism. But this journey is way more complicated than I ever imagined, thanks to the brilliant wide-ranging mind of Miss Mitsu.

I have come to see my times at Rapture with Mitsu as the special setting in which I can safely suspend the rules. Rules about what your body is for; rules about pleasure and pain; rules about what part of the brain gets to run the show.

The title is also perfect because one of the things I enjoy immensely is suspension bondage. There’s something indescribable about being bound with ropes and hoisted into the air. The total vulnerability; the total faith in my Mistress; the endorphin rush; the whole damn package is mind blowing.

Mind-blowing. That’s probably my favorite way to describe the experiences I have had so far. I’m eager to keep exploring the limits of both my mind and my body with the guidance of the incredibly skilled, wicked smart, and utterly gorgeous Mitsu.