Overthinking Pleasure and Pain

A former Domme once confessed she felt both guilty and aroused when she hurt me. It was early in our relationship, and her sadistic desires left her deeply conflicted. Before, during, and after sex, she’d shift between pangs of guilt and jolts of lust. Lucky for me, lust won out.

About six months later, I’d notice how she flexed her fingers while pacing a bit to hold some of her more destructive urges in check. Where she was once torn, those feelings of guilt were  ‘mostly’ gone. Hell, at that point, the mere idea of using me hard made her wet to the knees. (more…)


Going All In

Took Fledgling Domme out again on Friday night. It was a nice meal and some interesting conversation. A friendly ‘date’ that went well enough, but I’m going to avoid seeing her for a few weeks.

Why? Because she’s started to get the wrong idea… (more…)

Mostly Harmless

I’ve met and befriended a Fledgling Domme local to me. Since moving, this is the first local D type I’ve engaged with.

She’s a nerdy, Type A, professional gal, who’s delightfully neurotic and wonderfully naive about all things BDSM. I enjoy hanging out with her. Mostly because we have zero chemistry outside the ‘friend zone.’

I met her a few weeks ago for lunch and today for a quick after-work bite.

She asked if I would attend a munch or event with her.

“That’s not a good idea.”


The Frozen Sea

“A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.” ~ Franz Kafka

Too much ink has been spilled on the following topic: why do I write?  Yet having been silent in this space for some time, I find myself asking, why do I not?

Actually, I’ve been writing a great deal, just not here. I have a job that requires me to write at least forty hours a week.  (Should I taxonimize technical documentation as ‘writing?”…Certainly not with a straight face.) While work has knocked some of the intellectual and creative stuffing out of your humble narrator, it’s hardly an excuse to go quiet for months on end.

Maybe I had nothing to say…

Frankly, I feel as though my inner landscape’s frozen; too numb to spare a thought for an axe. Of course, Mr. K has a lot more to say on the subject than the fragment I just abused, and anyone who’s read a bit of Herr Kafka would have just cause to roll their eyes at my half-assed invocation.

They would, anyway, if I ignored his larger point, which is this – literary events should stun us like a disaster or death. For Kafka, anything less than a liminal experience was not only a waste of time and intellectually dishonest.

Of course, this particular point of view came from a writer determined to destroy most of his work before it ever saw the light of day; a tough bar to meet. Yet the spirit of this nearly unattainable ethos is admirable.

A tad dramatic, but it resonates with me. If what you consume or create isn’t dangerous and raw, than how can you possibly expect to crack those dark depths?

Let me go wandering in search of those narratives which make me grieve. It is time to threaten my comfortable isolation.

Let the waters run black until, once again, they pulse red.