Goddamnit

I miss everyone in London.

I miss my nights of non-normalcy. In London, 'going out' to my nilla friends always meant getting trashed in some pithy pub somewhere, and while fun for a time, it was only bearable because I spaced it out with kink nights where the focus wasn't getting completely intoxicated and hitting on plastic women in clubs. Instead it was about intoxication of women wearing plastic by hitting them in clubs.

*ponders for a moment*

There's a difference in there somewhere. Damnit I know what I'm trying to say.

My sub/good friend/plaything/girlfriend/fuck toy, or whatever definition you care to conjure up, is coming up from London this coming weekend. What I can do in my small dorm room with what limited kit I have, I will be doing to her many times over. Talking to her on the phone gives me the impression she is barely able to keep it together in time to see me.

Should be interesting.

Wordplay

[pain[submission[discipline[sacrifice[bondage[collar[love]collar]bondage]sacrifice]discipline]submission]pain]

Beauty and the Beast

a love story wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a latex teddybear's pelt



I went for a walk with a good friend of mine, and we talked as we walked the path into the park leading to 'us'.

We chatted amiably, talking about nothing and everything as good friends do. I never could put it out of my head that she was a girl and I being a boy knew that we walked down the path leading to 'us'.

On the sunday after a few convincing bottles of red wine, I kissed her cheek, and she, with or without her own consent, kissed me back, and then I knew that we were an 'us'.

After a while, I let out the chain on an animal that scuffled along behind me, as I have with many girls, to see whether they understood, and she, in her own way, let me know that she did, and on that day we did play and play and play.

After some gentle inquiries, and some nudging on my behalf in light of the fact that we were an 'us', I encouraged her to show me herself, unleash and let play, and initially she held back, refusing, but then after some time she let the chain out slowly, slowly...

My God, it had fangs. And claws… it was huge. It had 6 legs, three heads, and several Viking legends attributed to it. A great hairy mane of jet-black evil, and three eyes as red and craven as the harvest moon, and they were LOOKING. AT. ME.

I think it had an eyebrow raised.

I gulped, taking a step back. My animal yelped and ran behind me as the shadow of the Great Demon Beast fell over the two of us.

'My, what big teeth you have…' I said, feebly. She only stood and smiled, giggling, laying on the bed naked and looking rather... expectant....

'Where does this even go?' I asked, puzzled, holding the object in my hand.

'You'll figure it out!' she giggled, like Satan.

My neck was cold, and icy, as the wind moved through the wide-eyed trees.

Au Revoir

I'm at a loss to say where the last month or so has gone, as I sit here in my new room in Edinburgh.

The last year or so has certainly been interesting. What started as a mild inquiry turned into far more than I ever could have anticipated, the small stream in which I had happily been playing turning into a wide-eyed raging river of leather, breasts and latex.

All good fun and sport.

I find it hard to remember being the person who started out on that particular journey, and to be honest I'm confused where I am along that path now. At the beginning I thought I was embarking along a clearly defined path of hedonism, but since then I've discovered that there is no such thing as vanilla, only those who haven't figured it out yet, and thus the new identity for myself suddenly looked exactly as it had always done. I had gone full circle.

I can scarce remember the 'group therapy' sessions with my beloved nibblers, even even less so the Dark, ST and Crimson 'book clubs'. I find that time serves only to make it all a more alien and incomprehensible experience, like a dream. I came to the conclusion that the perversions of the few are better served by one than the many, and so in the spiraling clusterfuck of confusion that was my life mid-summer I concentrated on one special girl.

Slowly but surely, I had all my libido fucked out of me like the last minute of the last hour in the last day by a blonde vixen, and now I wander the streets of Edinburgh a mental eunuch. A month or two of chastity and perhaps the Hunger will return, and probably, this will be good for my study habits. Time will tell.

Certainly though, I have enjoyed the last few months of my own private submissive, if she could be called that. The usual learned definitions did not fit our roles; there grew between us a rich and powerful psychology that fostered a strange but wonderful intimacy, and I savored it every day I had it. I'd miss her if I didn't already know she's coming up to see me soon. I suppose I'd better start doing some ab crunches or something.

As a whole, however, the memories outweigh the regrets, my only real sorrow being that I didn't really get to say goodbye to anyone before I left. So let me just say now then that I think of you all as my friends and when I'm next in London I'll be sure to drop in for chat and... well, other things I'm sure.

Ta ta,

Vice

Black Pudding

a deliciously savage breakfast

"would you like me on all fours?" she asked, innocently.

I have now decided that the upper class English accent lends a unique and deliciously erotic edge to casual vulgarity. If it befits the girl in question at any rate, if she can pull it off, and using an equally vulgar method of measurement it would appear that this girl most definately could.

Such was our haste to get into bed with one another that we had neglected to remove the clown makeup from the party.

Now, naked and embracing passionately, it was adding a rather ...peculiar... air to sex. Expressions on our painted faces became hugely exaggerated, movements that would otherwise have been erotic were now satire, everything became symbolical and for supposedly vanilla sex I found it all rather... not.

Regardless, alchohol suspended the ridiculousness of it all enough that the eroticism could percolate through and I returned to my hormone infused cartoon.

Asphyxisatiation

I am the world’s biggest ice cream fan, and I have the keys to the Ben and Jerry’s factory down the road.

I've loved ice cream for as long as I can remember. I would savour it whenever I was allowed even the smallest micro-bite; every dessert was a golden dream come true. Especially when I dreamed about it. Other boys would come from miles around to talk about their ice cream, and we’d talk about the various flavours, dream about the future ones we had yet to explore, and plan how we were going to taste the ones we’d seen on TV, all of it magical, mysterious. Elusive.

I still see those same boys, now men, sniffing around the ice cream parlors. Some have settled down with one flavour, and even started mixing and concocting flavours of their own. They seem happy. Others however are in constant pursuit of it, the more ice cream the better. Never satisfied. Quantity over quality, and then quality over quantity. They share their stories of the sparing few and tacky tasters of the previous weekend and I flatter them with attention too sheepish to mention my endless bounty; paddling pools full of ice cream containing paddling pools full of ice cream.

And then, slowly, walking the lonely walk back to my ice cream factory atop Lonely Hill, and ascending the stairs passing the huge and endless variety of shapes and flavours on my way to my bedroom. Chocolate. Vanilla. Strawberry. Strawberry shortcake. Cinnamon buns. Key lime pie. Breasts. Rainbow assortment, banana split.

Rocky road.

All readily available and in endless supply; at whatever time I wish and at my beck and call. My initial prayers have been answered times ten, and now, I, being unbelievably and predictably mortal and human, am in great danger of becoming restless and disinterested. Damnit, I would share if only I knew how.

Ah well, I'm enjoying the sweet torments while they last. Desire and Lust can't outrun me for long.

Caffeine Daydreams

Tentatively, I listen as jazz percolates in through my headphones and down into my ears, caffeinating my brain.

Ah, Miles be my wild mistress.

I watch the women's 49kg taekwondo match on the BBC's live olympics channel. The dull task on my computer screen at work only intensifies my interest, as the two stick-thin women throw their legs at one another.

One of them has the letters 'DOM' written on the back of her jersey, clearly indicating that she is the Dominant and the other a submissive. Obviously all this kicking and flailing is some sort of ritual whereby the sub is challenging the Master, wanting to be taken by force. Ah, the mouthy sub routine, I think to myself, it's a classic. The Dom has to not only control their own emotions but bend the will of the other in order to...

I blink and look again. It dawns on me (rather slowly) that DOM problably stands for 'dominican republic', and that this is an olympic taekwondo match, not an elaborate scenario play. I look around and it appears I am not in a paddle-lined dungeon, but in my office, with no other kink stimuli save for the stapler on my desk.

Be wary, dear traveller, the mind of a dom is a twisted and winding garden at best. Abandon hope all ye who enter here.

Then I look at my empty mug, and wonder whether I should start cutting back on the coffee.

Wishlist

Dear santa, you kinky old bastard...

A short list of (mostly) unconsummated fantasies:

Having sex in a pitch-black room, with nothing but UV black lights for light, and then using UV paint on our bodies. Alternatively, having a pitch black room with strobe lights set to go off at long-spaced intervals; contrasting a lack of the sense with it's sudden abundance.

Perhaps mixed with the above, having certain music in the background. A simple fantasy, I know, but to be able to play/fornicate to the NIN album 'Ghosts', or to a Meshuggah album would heighten the experience entirely for me. Music affects me in ways I don't even fully understand. For instance I once had sex with a girl to a tribally influenced bulgarian band, and it utterly sent me into orbit.

I have whiled away more than one dull afternoon dreaming of making love to a girlfriend fully gothed up; black lipstick, black clothing, makeup, a collar. I can't remember a time when I wasn't hugely attracted to goths.

Speaking of fantasy, never underestimate the power wearing a collar has over my libido. Sex with a girl wearing a collar is utterly, profoundly different to me than sex without, despite whatever activities we may get up to.

Though I would consider myself Dom, I have always been of the opinion I would switch submissive at some point if for no other reason than to get a fuller picture of play. However, one fantasy that I have never managed to consummate is my lifelong fantasy of having a more mature woman dominate, to the tune of The Piano Teacher. (For those who haven't seen this movie I strongly urge you to.) This fantasy definitely stems from my secondary school form tutor, who would wear knee-high boots and a skirt to school, and had an elegantly thin frame to her, not to mention a dry sarcastic wit to match (above all else, I prize wit in others). I could even swear that once, during a one-on-one, that she may have let on she would be interested, but the subtleties of it wouldn't allow further comment, but nonetheless it set my 16-year old brain on fire.

Obviously not just any Domme would do, and if one thinks me too discerning in my choice of girlfriends, they would positively gawk at the long list of criteria for which I've set for this particular role.

I'm not sure if I had any particular purpose for writing the above, but perhaps simple posterity will suffice?

I'm sure, more to come.