Wednesday, 25 January 2012

Spanking stories part 2

Eris assures me that the first part of the spanking story was a) readable and b) hot so I have gone back to writing (the lack of comments had me panicking!). So here is part two...... I hope you enjoy

Part two: The Hostel

Ellie awoke to a keening sound, like the noise a wounded puppy makes. As her eyes focused, she realised she was in a room with several other women; all young, all partially naked, all dirty, all scared.

A tall blonde girl with an American accent stood up behind her and walked past her to the whimpering girl, shaking her roughly by the shoulder. “Enough, Maria. Jesus, I need to sleep and I can't do that with your whining all the time”. The frightened girl cowered from the American who let go of her shoulder with a disgusted sigh. The American turned and noticed Ellie for the first time. “Hey, you're awake. You speak English?” she queried in the slow, patronising tone often used to speak to foreigners.

Ellie nodded, her throat too raw to speak. Her face felt crusted and sore, her eyes puffy and bleary from the crying. The American girl tossed her a water bottle which she clumsily caught, downing it thirstily. She noticed her hands were no longer bound and she had been covered by a blanket which she clutched tightly to herself.

“Thank god” the American girl cried, throwing herself down heavily on the bed next to her. “Someone who can understand me. I'm sick of talking to myself”. Ellie looked away, embarrassed, as the girl's shift rode up and exposed her totally. The girl smiled to herself as she noticed the movement, shifting her legs so Ellie had a clearer view of her groin. “well, aren't you cute” she laughed. “they're going to love you”.

“Where am I? Who are they? What's happening?” The questions that had been flooding through Ellie's mind peppered the room like a machine gun.

“slow down, sweetheart, one at a time! You're in the delightful land of Romania. The playground of the rich, the toy of the infamous and they my sweet are your new owners. Long live capitalism, down with communism”. She toasted Ellie ironically with the water bottle and drank before resuming. “What's happening is that the rich and influential of this country, tired of the simpering country girls beaten into dull obedience by their loving parents, want fresh, 'enthusiastic', and most importantly, undamaged meat. That's you honey, in case you missed it. We were brought here, innocent as the newborn lamb – well, you were anyway – to cater for the needs of those who can pay. You my dear, are a slave. Congratulations. “ Some of the arrogance slipped from her face as she spoke and she sank back against the wall. “Get used to it sweetie pie, because you're here to stay.”

The fear began to well up within Ellie again, fuelled by the whimpering and sobbing noises coming from the other girls. She huddled herself up tighter under the blanket, shifting her weight to get more comfortable and crying out softly as she rested on her welted behind.

“Sore?” the american girl asked sympathetically. “well, that I might be able to help. Our masters are nothing if not considerate”. The ironic tone had returned to her voice as she leaned under the bed and pulled out a plastic tub. “Roll over and I'll put the salve on, that will reduce the pain and prevent and scarring”. Reluctant to show her nakedness to this girl, Ellie rolled on to her front slowly, trying to cover as much of herself as possible with the blanket. She could feel the American girl's amusement as she deftly pulled the blanket away, exposing Ellie fully to the room.

“Ouch! They must have been in a foul mood last night” she muttered as she began applying the salve thoroughly to the welts. Ellie began to feel the throbbing subside as the cold cream was applied gently, the tension ebbing slightly as she began to relax under the girl's expert ministrations. She began to drift, the absence of pain almost experienced as pleasure. She jerked back to herself as she felt the beginnings of a warm sensation, and realised that the girl's hand had moved to between her thighs. She pulled away so fast that the pain in her backside blossomed again.

“I can make it feel much better if you let me” the girl murmured. Ellie shifted herself even further away, pulling the blanket over the face so the girl couldn't see her blush. “You gotta love the English” she heard the girl say, laughing to herself as she walked back across the room.

Time passed. Ellie drifted in and out of sleep listlessly. She didn't have the energy to try and explore her environment, to try and escape. Despair held her under the blanket, pain pinned her to the bed.

Suddenly the room was full of shouting, wailing, pleading. She heard the door open and sounds of heavy plates being laid down on the floor. Feeding time at the zoo, she thought bitterly, burying her face further into the stinking mattress.

The cold air rushed in as the blanket was yanked off her, exposing her naked backside to the room. Hands pinned her down and she could hear the rough, accented tone of her captor in conversation with another woman, also Rumanian she guessed. His hands prodded at her welts, examining them, checking them over thoroughly. He patted her on the behind twice, hard, before letting her up. Swiftly she covered herself, turning her face to follow his movements around the room.

“You help her?” He was speaking to the American girl now.

“Of course, I'm a good girl” she responded. She spoke in a low, faux sexy voice, stepping forward and kissing him passionately. He stood stock still for a moment and then began to to paw at her, pulling at her shift. Suddenly, he cried out, swearing in his own language, and clutched his face. “you bitch!” he cried, pulling a long thin whip out of his belt and striking her across the breasts with it.

Her laugh echoed around the room and he struck again and again, pausing only to wipe the blood from his lower lip where she had bitten him. The other women who entered with him, moved over to him and placed a restraining hand on his arm, pulling him backwards away from the girl.

“Bitch. You lucky. I not kill you. Master kill you when I tell him” he panted, holding a hand to his now swollen lip. He turned and stalked out of the room, the woman tailing after him,

Ellie got up and moved to the American girl who was by now lying on her back, making rasping noises as she tried to catch her breath. Her chest was welted and red, long stripes edged with a tinge of blood where they had struck across her nipples, her shift providing little protection against the thin whip. Ellie began trembling in sympathy, patting uselessly at the welling drops of blood. The girl looked almost drugged, her eyes rolled back, her breath shallow and gasping. Suddenly she began to laugh; an odd, humourless sound which terrified Ellie further. She shook herself, her eyes finally focusing and grabbed at Ellie's hand, pulling it away from the cuts. “They're fine, sweetie. I'm fine.” She sat up, shaking herself, repeating “I'm fine” as if by repeating it, it would sound true.

“Why did you do that? Why provoke him like that?” Ellie was almost as shocked by the girl's actions as by the savage punishment they incurred.

“Sometimes, you have to remind yourself you're not broken”. She turned to look Ellie in the eye. “You have to show them you are still a fighter”. She paused and gestured at the other girls, scrabbling over the food plates or cowering in the corners “or you end up like them”. She laughed bitterly; “ Don't worry, the Master likes a fighter – he won't kill me, just hurt me a bit. Well, probably a lot.” She shuddered, the fight leaving her abruptly and all humour draining from her face. She appeared to sag, leaning heavily into Ellie, who pulled a blanket from the bed and covered the two of them with it. “You don't mind do you?” the girl enquired, almost hesitantly, the predatory woman of earlier entirely gone now. Ellie cuddled further into her, one hand holding the blanket away from the girl's wounded chest. The girl's breathing began to slow, settling into a slow hypnotic rhythm. To Ellie's surprise, her eyelids also began to droop. The terror of the past two days draining her to a point where she once again felt exhausted. She slept.

Saturday, 14 January 2012

Spanking stories

I run into the inevitable blogging dilemma; I either have time to write the blog, or to do things to blog about. Not both.

This leaves me with a dilemma. Once I get into writing, I enjoy it and want to carry on. When I stop, I lose momentum and its a struggle to get back. However, work life has kicked in and our kink life has been relegated behind domestic chores and work exhaustion for a bit.

So my solution? Attempt to write fantasy - attempt to write a spanking story. I've not done this before but I have had a fantasy, or rather an in depth series of fantasies, which could easily be translated into a novel or a series of short stories. This is my attempt to write the introduction. If it goes well and if people like it, I will attempt more.

Be nice, it's my first attempt!!!

The capture

She gasped for breath as the hood was ripped off but the gag in her mouth stopped her from being able to fill her lungs. Blinking slowly, she looked around the room, taking in the dripping wet walls, boarded up windows and rubbish piled up in the corners. Most overpowering was the smell; damp, decaying rubbish and urine. Oh god, the urine smell was coming from her.

Her chin was gripped and her head forced upwards so that she was staring into the eyes of the man who was holding her upright. He ripped the gag out of her mouth, filling her mouth with the coppery taste of her own blood. “You wash now” he intoned in broken English.

The words didn't make much sense – she felt like she was hearing him through a fog.

“Wash” he repeated, miming scrubbing actions for her benefit, dropping her to her knees in the process.

When she still didn't respond, he sighed and dragged her to her feet, got a handful of her hair and pulled her towards the door. She was sure she should have felt pain but she felt numb.

Where was she? She took a deep breath and talked herself through it. Ok, Ellie work it out. She was with someone who didn't speak much English and the writing on posters on the wall used the Cyrillic alphabet. Some suburb of London she didn't know? The sounds from outside were too quiet for that; she could hear birdsong and tractors, neither of which were common London sounds. She tried to recall how she might have got here – her last memory was of hailing a cab to get her home after a night out with her work colleagues. There were some vague recollections of a dark space, smells of oil and lots of vibration. Nothing clear, nothing she could make sense of. Had she been abducted? Was she having a nightmare?

Her thoughts were interrupted by being suddenly thrown up against the wall by her captor. They were in a shower room of sorts and she could hear the sounds of other girls in the background; talking, crying, screaming. She wished the feeling of numbness would stay with her as he grabbed her once more and began ripping at her clothes. She began to struggle, fight but her hands were bound and he was strong.

She could barely hear the“wash, dirty bitch” over her own rasping breath, but his intentions were clear. The shower was like needles of ice as he shoved her under. She gasped for breath but that just caused her to inhale the ice water. He laughed as she choked and spluttered, holding her firmly under as she tried to squirm away.

“I wash you then, lazy slut”. She could feel the stiff bristles of a brush scraping at her back, her arms, her breasts as he began to scrub at her. A smell of carbolic from the soap got into her mouth and nose as she began to gasp with the pain of the scrubbing, leaving her retching. She struggled, trying to get away from him, kicking out at him and his relentless hands. She felt his hands slap the back of her thighs as she span away – sharp, stinging on her now ice cold skin.

“Keep still, stupid bitch”. His hands slapped down again and again until she collapsed down onto her knees, screaming out with pain. He dragged her to her feet again, leaning her body weight into him. Dragging her knees apart, he continued to scrub at her with the stiff wooden brush, tearing at the soft skin of her inner thighs and between her legs. She sobbed over and over, choking on the water as it ran over her face, her nerve endings burning with the cold, with the almost mechanical scratching of the brush. She disappeared into the pain until she lost sight of where she was, who she was; all embarrassment gone, all fight gone.

The towel he handed her after the shower was rough and gritty which felt like sand paper to her reddened skin but she still rubbed herself dry gratefully, bringing life back to her ice numbed limbs. The backs of her thighs stung as she patted them dry and her knees began to tremble, barely holding her weight. He watched her impatiently, handing her a plain white shift when she was done. It was grubby and too small for her, barely covering anything but her torso but it warmed her a little, reducing her shivering to occasional tremors.

“Come” he muttered and headed off down the corridor. She stumbled after him; disobedience requiring more thought than she was capable of.

The room he shoved her into was very different from the room she had woken up in. A large log fire burned in the grate in the corner and there was furniture, shabby but once opulent. A man sat, brandy in hand, staring into the fire. He didn't look around as he uttered commands to her captor in a strange dialect. Her captor nodded briefly and withdrew from the room, shutting the door behind him. She stood, shivering on the edge of the room in silence; waiting.

The man swirled his brandy and then shrugged it down in one go. With a sigh he rose and walked towards her.

“English?” he asked, with the same heavily accented voice as her original captor

“Where am I? What's going on? Who are you? “the questions poured out of her, barely audible over her chattering teeth.

The blow across her cheek hurt more because she was unprepared than because of the strength of the impact. “Shhh” he intoned mildly, as he walked around her. Stunned, she stood in shivering silence, the fear mounting within her until it felt like a wave about to overwhelm her.

“Pretty” he murmured approvingly, “breasts too small, but buttocks tight”. She felt like cattle being assessed at a market as he poked and stroked at her skin, handling her in the same detached manner she had seen farmers use to manipulate a cow's hocks before buying. She tugged at the shift, trying to cover herself but this only served to expose more of her breasts – no matter which end she tugged, she revealed part of herself as there just wasn't enough fabric to cover her.

The crack of his hand across her buttocks was audible and she gasped involuntarily with the shock and pain. “Keep still” was his only response as she tried to pull away from him and his hands.

“Ah, English girls mark well. No spanking as child.” He smiled almost companionably at her as he examined the hand print on her bottom. His calm, detached manner was getting to her more than the aggression of the earlier man; at least she could predict him, understand him - this man was cold.

“Be good and things will be ok for you”. He pushed her lightly towards the chair and she fell forward, landing over the back so her bound hands were resting on the seat. She tried to get up but his hand pushed her back down, firmly holding her so her stomach was pressed into the scratchy leather and her buttocks were stuck up in the air.

The wave of fear broke like a tsunami when the first stroke landed. She didn't know what he was hitting her with but she heard the swish as it ran through the air, and the crack as it landed across the top of her already stinging buttocks. She heard a scream but it was only when the pain started to subside a little that she realised that the scream had been hers.

She could hear a quiet little chuckle from behind her as the second stroke landed, sending a line of fire just below the previous blow. The pain blossomed over the next few seconds until it felt like she had been cut with a knife before it finally began to subside. As she caught her breath a little, the next blow landed, and then the next and the next. The pattern continued; the blows in a slow steady pattern working their way over her buttocks and thighs until the lines could no longer be distinguished, the threads of fire merging into a bonfire of agony. Again, she began to detach from herself and see imagined she could see herself from on high, lying prostrate and vulnerable over the back of the chair. Her screaming subsided into retching and sobbing, her voice broken by the ferocity of the initial screams. Still he continued, stroke after stroke; cold, mechanical, precise.

After a lifetime, the strokes stopped. She lay unmoving bar the trembling, no more tears left, no energy to try to escape.

The man bent to examine her buttocks in depth, poking with one finger at the occasional welt and muttering to himself. He returned to his seat by the fire, ignoring her as he pored himself another brandy.

“Drink?” He offered up his brandy to her as she lay there. Her thirst overwhelming, she crawled towards him on her hands and knees until she collapsed at his feet. He handed her the brandy and she gulped it down, the burning pain in her throat a distraction from her throbbing backside.

“Good girl” he intoned almost fondly, patting her on the head like a well behaved dog. “Men will like. Sleep now, Mikov will return you to your room in a while”.

Obediently, she lay her head on the carpet and stared into the fire, exhaustion battling with pain, until, eventually, sleep took her.

Saturday, 7 January 2012

To top or not to top, that is the question

Despite being fairly confident and assertive in real life, I'm well and truly a bottom when it comes to kink play. I don't understand why people want to top – it just looks hard work to me. To me, bottoming is like being taken on a journey where I have no responsibilities, no burdens, and where the focus is all on me. Why would I want to give that up and have to be the one worrying about getting it right and giving the other person an amazing experience. Don't get me wrong, I am eternally grateful that tops exist, I just don't understand why they would want to do it!!

That's why I am still surprised that I found myself plotting with Kami to co-top the beautiful Eris, a long standing kinky friend who has been through a lot with me and who is now like a little sister. We were all at a club together and I was in an odd mood. I was still somewhat buzzing and sated from the Sushi scene. To be honest, I was also still a little hungover from New Year's Eve! So I found myself in the odd situation of wanting to play but not wanting to be played with – I was still too emotionally drained to want to be toyed with!

Why Eris, when I had the delectable Kami there to play with (yes, I am spoilt)? Firstly, I know Eris very very well. She has shared a great deal with me about her past experiences, about her kink, about what makes her tick and I felt confident that I could create a headspace for her, despite my lack of experience and skill. Secondly, she looked glorious in her corset and had been nicely warmed up by her very generous boyfriend. Finally, I was not confident of my skills with implements so co-topping with Kami, who is fabulous at topping and who I trusted absolutely, seemed a good way of ensuring that I could play in a safe way despite being a rookie.

I took some time to build up Eris's trepidation before taking her downstairs to the dungeon. The advantage of being a fellow bottom is that you know just how powerful things like grabbing someone by the base of their hair and making them look up at you or whispering threats in their ear can be. Eris was already a bit unsteady by the time we got her downstairs!!

Kami appeared happy for me to take a lead on the setting up of the scene (it wasn't exactly planned, but worked out that way!) and I talked to Eris repeatedly as Kami beat her with a ruler, telling her why she was being beaten, what a good girl she was for keeping still, making her beg for each stroke etc. etc. I went for reassuring and comforting whilst being cold and relentless – I knew that would get into Eris's head nicely!!! I winced at every stroke Kami made and I simply couldn't have hit her that hard.. I knew objectively, from knowing Eris, that this was within her tolerance level and that actually Kami was spot on the line – pushing her to the limit but just comfortably on the right side of it – but I really struggled not to tell her to stop. I was grateful I had established there would be a dozen strokes before the scene started as I would otherwise have bottled it and stopped early!

After the dozen, I could see Eris was floating but not fully there. Given her earlier warm up and fresh strokes, her bottom looked too sore to continue so I pushed her up against the wall and whipped her breasts with a flogger. By now, I was feeling much more confident. I had seen her take a lot of punishment on this area before and was confident that I couldn't do anything too dangerous with the soft flogger. Having full access to her face and facial expressions also allowed me to judge how she was doing more effectively so I was better able to fine tune the talking, reassuring and threatening. I really quite enjoyed this part, but interestingly Kami later stated that she would never have flogged Eris as hard as I – it shows its harder to watch than to do! The scene ended in hugs and a fair bit of trembling and I was reassured that the experience had been hot (interestingly as much by Kami who rather enjoyed my toppy side!). I was actually pretty nervous that I hadn't been up to scratch but felt reassured after numerous hugs.

So, am I going to change my mind and occasionally top? Occasionally, maybe. More than that? Nope. I enjoyed giving Eris pleasure but I could have just as easily bought her a present or baked her a cake! I felt strangely unmoved, untouched by it all. I had been a bit nervous at getting it right and had enjoyed the simple pleasure of making a stroke land where I had aimed at but had got nothing intrinsically from the process. My inner sadist is either missing or well hidden. If someone I cared about wanted me to do this for them, I absolutely would because it was lovely to do something nice for someone. Beyond that, I remain a bottom through and through.

The experience was well worth it though because it did give me more insight into tops. Marlowe worries sometimes that I will be scared or put off by his inner sadist. He's very wrong. This experience taught me to love it even more than I did before. His inner sadist means that I can self-indulgently enjoy being the centre of the scene as a bottom without having to worry that he is getting nothing from it. I can lie back and hand over responsibility knowing that not only will he enjoy giving me pleasure and enjoy a job well done, but will also get something from seeing me squirm, seeing me in pain. If he didn't, he might be just as unmotivated as I to top and then where would I be.

Vive the difference I say.

PS: Kami found me hot enough as a top to ask me to cane her! I won't detail this here as its a story to be told by Marlowe but, as this was another voucher, I thought I'd note it here!!

Thursday, 5 January 2012

Yo Yo Yo (or why sushi makes me blush)

I have always had a passion for sushi. Now I can't eat it without blushing.

The problem, if you can call it that, all began in a shower at the end of December. I have never been good at plotting scenes but earlier that day I had been presented with my vouchers by Kami and it had got me thinking. I have always been a bit avoidant of planning as it can turn me off and as, well to be honest, I'm a bit lazy and Marlowe is better at it than me! Marlowe was downstairs making sushi and the beginnings of an idea struck me – wouldn't it be hot to eat sushi in the gangster movie style; off a hot naked girl.

A long shower later and the plot emerged. I was the wife of a Japanese businessman entertaining an English colleague in the traditional style. I wanted to impress him, and what better way to impress than feed him sushi off of Kami. With a bit of jigging to make it more sadistic (who'd be surprised) by Marlowe, the scene was set.

I laid out my table (she didn't need a name, after all she was just a table) and invited in Mr Grant (Marlowe). From the moment he entered, his manner was cold, disdainful, with a barely contained edge of anger simmering underneath. I could begin to feel the nervousness creep as I pored him champagne and I could see the table begin to gently tremble as we knelt before it which added to my own fear. Mr Grant was furious with my husband for messing up their deal and wanted to know why he wasn't there. When I informed him he wouldn't be joining us and that we were his peace offering, he was not exactly mollified.

The scene was interesting in that we spent some considerable time talking in role initially, talking over and around the poor trembling table. Mr Grant spelled out his displeasure and made it clear that he intended to send a clear message to my husband on our hides. When I offered him the table to mark as he wished, I could feel poor Kami beginning to simmer with a mixture of anger at me and fear at the prospect. As the tension in the room increased, the sushi became harder and harder to chew as my mouth dried with nervousness; chewing a piece of Maki became a major exercise in endurance.

By this point, Mr Grant was casually tormenting the table, using the chopsticks in creative ways as well as scratching at her skin. When he demanded the table cleared and restrained, it was almost a relief – the waiting seemed the worst part. He asked me if I would take the punishment or the table, a cruel choice but one my character didn't hesitate at (though I did!). I watched as he restrained her and beat her with a ruler and a paddle until she was on the edge of tears and at the edge of her tolerance. I couldn't take any more at that point and offered to take her place. Untying her and laying down in her place took so much willpower. I had seen what he had done to her and his cold, hard face made it very clear what he intended to do to me. Again, the punishment was almost a relief and felt somehow cleaner than watching him beat the table at my instruction.

After what felt like a long while, he stopped and asked Kami whether she should take a caning or if I should; instructing me not to speak. The pause was very, very long before she could answer and I initially thought she had said “mistress”. My heart sank and I braced myself. It was only as she untied me that I realised that she had said “me, sir”. It was at this point I started crying, and didn't stop as Mr Grant repeatedly caned her. It was my fault, I had put her here and I couldn't help, couldn't make it better. My anger at my (fictional) husband was strong but, interestingly, I was never once angry at Mr Grant – just frightened. Kami was clearly flying by this point which helped me, if not my character!

After the caning, we were both clearly emotionally broken. We had no will to rebel and almost calmly submitted to the will of Mr Grant. Which was to embarrass and enjoy us. He encouraged us to pleasure each other as he watched, which was humiliating (and incredibly, incredibly hot) and then took advantage of the situation.

Ok, so I'm getting a bit British here and drawing a veil over the rest of the scene, but both Kami and I are surprisingly shy about some things :)

The scene was powerful and pushed us to limits emotionally in ways that surprised us all. Oh and very, very hot. As we chatted later, we all realised that we had reached points in the scene where we had wanted to end it, where we had felt our limits being brushed up against or where we were doing things that we normally would have said no to but somehow we had pushed through this. Physically, it wasn't demanding but for me it was more emotionally draining to feel responsible for someone else's beating than to take my own. I haven't cried that much in a scene for a while. Maybe that was why it was so hot – we had danced on the edge and had just about managed not to fall off.

Whatever the reason, next time I go to Yo Sushi, I will have a smile on my face and will probably blush into my maki :)

PS: I felt that a scene this hot merited spending a voucher:

And a Happy New Year...

This year brought one of the most creative and intriguing Xmas presents I've received. Kami gave me vouchers. Vouchers, I hear you shout, the present of last resort for the person you don't know anything about? How are vouchers creative? They are when they are vouchers made by and, well, for Kami herself.

The vouchers offer a range of tempting propositions from the humble massage through to * blush * being pleasured in whatever way I desire. She even bravely included a blank one for me to fill in as I wished (she informed me that she trusted me not to abuse it – I promise not to allow Marlowe to fill it in). Apparently Kami had a great deal of help from Abel in constructing them, though she did comment that she needed to tone them down a little...

This leaves me with the delightful conundrum of how and when to spend my vouchers. Do I present them with requests? Do I retrospectively spend them after a scene has taken us down a particular route? Do I post them to her with appropriate dates and times attached? And how do I make the most of them? The pressure to use the blank voucher to its full potential is staggering – after all, I only have the one. What happens if I use it in March and then have a truly brilliant idea in April?????

The delightful, delightful pleasure. Comments and advice would be welcomed.

My one commitment is that I promise to blog, with voucher attached, their use. Much to poor Kami's embarrassment, and probably mine. The thing is such a beautiful gift has to be truly appreciated and by as many people as possible.

Happy new year, I know mine will be

Ps: I appear to have already used two. Oops.

Sunday, 18 December 2011

From Hell

Saturday, 16.05

Shh! I'm hiding!

I've found a small space to tuck myself away from the horror and I think I'm safe for the moment, but no one make a sound!

Oh the horror, the horror.

I am in great danger, and it's not just physical danger - my very soul is at risk if I don't protect myself. I just have to survive for two days and I'll be OK, but two days can seem such an eternity.

Hmm, perhaps I should explain. I'm down doing the Christmas visit to my family! For two days I cannot escape, I must just survive.

OK, there is just a tiny possibility that I may be being overdramatic about this, but seriously it's genuinely a bit of a trial having my adult self thrown back into the relationships, attitudes and environment where a very confused adolescent had to sort out who he was and untangle how he felt about his kink twenty something years ago.

So, I can be adult and reflect on the issues of identity and experience, or I can drop any pretence of rationality and just go on a big stream of consciousness rant in a barbed and bitchy way. Which way do you think this is going?

I'm only going to get to grab ten minutes at a time to write this, so let's see what comes out over an increasingly cloying afternoon in which I am likely to drink whatever is available. If I'm particularly unwise, I'll then post it unedited at the end of the night. Should I apologise now?

They're coming! Signing off!

Saturday - 17.23

Th calm before the storm. Full Christmas meal being prepared, most of family yet to turn up. Hiding for a few minutes and have discovered iPod headphones. Picked some appropriate music for feeling like a rebellious teenager - the sisters of mercy.

So, why do I find this so difficult. I have a broadly supportive, loving family background and yes, I'm fully aware how many people have had to survive far worse. In truth most of my childhood was fine. It diverged from this steadily as I began to evolve my sense of self and finally had to realise that I didn't fit. From a very conventional, evangelically Christian family it gets difficult to discover that either you are going to have to spend your life crushing your real self or break away.

Saturday - late

I've described some of this before, though not here. Kami once asked me what I got out of playing dark scenes. One of the three strands of that answer was a big part of why I became really uncomfortable with the family culture and aesthetic. I'll need to censor that previous answer but let's cut and paste it and censor as needed:

"Well a big part of the answer comes in a hunger for experience and intensity, a dark aesthetic sense which has been with me in differing degrees since my childhood. Some people get by with normal lives and experience, and are quite content. I'm not. I want and need more.

There is a restless need for experience that makes my biggest challenge in day to day life just surviving the bland banality that surrounds us. That cloying web of tedium, social normality and duty that seems completely fulfilling for most but leaves me spiralling into ennui.

This doesn't just fuel my kink side. It's why I have done a lot of the things in my life... Extremes of sensation and emotion have always fascinated me and it's in large part why kink first fascinated me and why I jumped at my first chance to experience it. Arguably a little extreme for 16, I neither hesitated nor regretted anything.

This restless, dark aesthetic is very tied up my kink. It's why negative emotions are interesting to explore, why breathlessly intense kink will always score over vanilla (unless it's really good vanilla, though that then seems to make it automatically kinky in the eyes of most of the world!). Interestingly, I can actually pinpoint the life experience that really brought this aesthetic to the fore, though as I was only eight at the time I think it's safe to say that the sexuality got attached to it later!

This strand is a big part of me, a big part of my kink, though not the dominant part in really heavy scenes, at least not when I'm topping. Remembering the first time, that was interesting because it was the first occasion that I met someone who I knew, instinctively, very early on, shared a similar darkness to my own. Something that a religious upbringing had left me feeling very negative about. "

So, welcome to the bland banality, mixed with the ghosts of years of self doubt and the fear I was some sort of evil corruptor. Phantoms that I still carry around in faint form, to whisper their doubts at moments where I am at my lowest. They are loud tonight, and sleep may be some time in coming.

It's curious how we all learn to adapt, grow and survive but many of us carry scars. Old ghosts of doubt and pain. And all this despite basically loving my life.

Oh well, tomorrow I escape and this will feel like a bad dream. I think I will post this, though I'm not sure. If I do so it will be because this may in future be read by people who hit the same confusion and identify with it with a wry smile. And it may be read by people who are in the middle of that confusion, who I hope would recognise some aspects of my distaste and see that most of my life passes untroubled by this.