the thai massage

Only one day into my Thailand trip and this place has already given me something of a memorable experience.

Severely jet-lagged at the end of a day that lasted many, too many, hours, we decided not to further test our resistance to heat and humidity and instead to end this never-ending day with one of Thailand's most renowned institutions: the massage.

Having to pick a place we opted for a gay friendly, or rather just gay, spa. We went with our separate masseurs and as i found myself with this very cute guy pulling and pushing, pressing and stretching different parts of my body, i felt very comfortable with him, with his gentle ways and his shy, hesitant requests to move from one position to the other. As i was relaxing and letting myself go, my dick was occasionally reacting to the pressure he would apply to my crotch area and the inside of my thighs. I thought of apologising about it in the beginning but i later chose not to acknowledge it arguing with myself that he was probably used to this kind of response. Coming towards what felt like the end of the massage the adorable boy asked me to lie on my back again. He proceeded for one last rub in a few strategic places stopping often in the area around my crotch again. He later proceeded to a rather energetic and unequivocal dick rub which felt almost endearing for how casually it was delivered. At that point it didn't occurr to me i might want to apologise for the now vivid erection he had caused. I did feel a little uncomfortable but i did feel very close to him and didn't mind him touching me anywhere he was going to. It also occurred to me that this was in the end a part of my body like any other and thought this would simply end the massage. I tried to fight those christian influenced feelings that it was somehow wrong for him to touch my genitals so i just let him proceed. When he started opening up the front of the loose trousers i had been given and taking out my erection i started to feel that this was less innocent than i had anticipated. But once again i reprimanded myself for thinking along those lines. Like there was something wrong with sex. Yet i was feeling ill at ease thinking that i was paying this guy for a massage that included what turned out to be a hand job. But he was so sweet and gentle and i was so relaxed that i even let myself go to accepting unreciprocated sexual attention. It was a first for me on so many levels. The first initial thoughts of telling him that it was ok, that he didn't have to do it started to fade the minute this nun alert went off inside my head. I told myself i had enjoyed this boy's skills in giving me a formidable massage and there was nothing wrong letting it end the way that it felt natural that it would letting go of the last tension that was left in my body. I only had to observe how much dedication and attention he was putting into ensuring a pleasant experience for me to finally bring his job to an end. He wiped me clean, kissed me gently on the lips and asked me a few casual questions before helping me get dressed again and accompanying me back towards the reception area.

When i found my boyfriend again, he was quick to point out how, coming together again after a 6 week break, i had just marked the occasion having sex with someone else while he was in the next room. Not exactly the way we had planned our reunion.

holiday

back mid may

barca senza timone

Over the last month i have been missing C. Very much in fact. The therapist has been telling me these are displaced feelings, i think that's what she called them. I seem to think i'm upset about missing C when in fact my feelings are about something completely different: they're about me missing my boyfriend. Apparently it's a decoy i use in order not to deal with the real problems and a way to channel my emotions where i feel they're easier to manage.

She either gets me way better than anyone could or she doesn't have a clue what she's talking about. Either way, it's hard for me to relate to what she tells me for the simple reason that it's not a me i recognise. But apparently, according to her, i live in this bubblewrapped universe where i don't let anything get to me and i dissociate from anything upsetting to the point that it's as if it wasn't even me.

I don't know if all of this is true. Of course i miss my boyfriend, he's thousands of miles away. But that doesn't mean that my troubled slave self doesn't also miss C and the idea of safe ownership. To me he is the first time that i felt happy being a slave, that i felt protected, secure and happy to serve. He was the first master who kissed me, who allowed me to feel emotionally attached, who justified and received all the feelings that being his slave awoke in me. The first time i didn't have to feel ashamed for wanting to be a slave. With him i just felt right.

Ultimately, though, all these emotions came to a disastrous end when he let me go etc etc. To this day i keep in touch with him and when times are a little difficult i look back with a little melancholy to when he used to own me and i could find calm on my knees at his feet. These days i'm trying to see him, to escape unhappy moments artificially recreating some of this past glory. It's all false of course, just a fantasy. i'm aware of that, and i hope that makes it ok. i wonder if he knows how he's come to embody all of this for me. I try not to burden him with this stuff. i just need to feel safe again.

on a break

Recently my profile reads: on a break. Since ending things with my Master i haven't really been in the mood to look for a new owner. A couple of requests have come from men who are looking to own a slave but i've asked for their patience as i can't really deal with submitting to someone new. That's always the case, when something ends that felt meaningful, you need some time to adjust, you can't jump straight back in and you can't actually envisage having someone else step in and replace the person you have lost. When C let me go a few years ago, i came to wish over time that he had passed me on to someone else because for months i just couldn't deal with having to choose to give myself over to someone else, i couldn't imagine wanting to call someone else my master, it was too hard accepting that he had gone. But these days, replying to some messages explaining that i had just been released by my owner and couldn't really consider a new ownership i suddenly felt ashamed of myself, i felt that my behaviour was reprehensible. As a slave i guess i shouldn't allow myself such comfortable indulgence. My master has let me go and this makes me available to serve someone else. As a slave i probably can only feel better about myself by being of service. I should be able to overcome myself and my selfish self-centred needs. Even if there's sadness inside of me right now, i can find strength in letting someone else use me, validating my slave identity. This is who i am and what i'm there for.

the reappropriation of body hair

During the time i was owned, i was required, under my Master's orders, to keep my body hair shaved. The shaving process had become almost ritualistic: i would observe the razor's blade glide over my skin removing the hair on its passage and leaving in its trail a different, almost rejuvenated me. Every inch of skin was uncovered and discovered as my Master's property. The ritual helped me transit from my outside public persona to a different intimate slave self. Under the cover of my clothes, my skin was smooth and hairless because so had been instructed by my Owner. The movement was mechanical, automatic, and i felt happy knowing that this decision was out of my hands. I simply had to carry out His orders without worrying about whether or not i wanted my hair gone. This helped me visualise myself as His slave, my body as His property and it gave me a place and a role: a position of safety in the knowledge that i was under His control and command.

With him gone, so has the simplicity of decisions taken for me. I have to ask myself whether i want to continue shaving my legs, pubes, balls, arse... i have to ask myself whether i like it and liking it or not appears insignificant. What matters is that shaving it is a lie: it's like pretending that i'm still his, that he's still around, that things haven't changed. It's like buying my own collar and wearing it around the house. It's a lie. It's make believe.

Things have changed and In my renewed solitude the hairs are growing again as the slave fades. Free will is growing again out of these follicles, like a dark deep-rooted weed that infests me. My desire to let myself go and give myself over to someone else comes to show me once again that Masters come and go and the only person i can truly entrust with ruling over me is me.

clenched teeth

the thought is on my mind, all the time. i'm no longer my Master's slave. i miss him very much and there's sadness in the idea that i must get used to his absence. i've been in this situation before. somebody goes and you have to find the energy to pull yourself up, start again, look ahead. As a depressive personality with a psychotherapist and a box of antidepressants in my night-stand i can't claim that this is generally an easy task for me but, like a trip to the dentist, sooner or later it's something you have to go through.

uncollared

So it ends. The collar comes off, ownership turns into freedom and freedom tastes of milk gone bad. My owner is letting me go and out of his sphere of influence i find myself exposed and lost once again. It's a feeling i know very well. It's me through and through. Like the smell on my skin and the lines on the palms of my hands. And like trapped in a hole i have no way to see what's right beside me, who walks the earth at surface level. I just sit - sit and wait - having now lost who should have told me what to do.

silence

some days are harder than others to get through. Ironic how you wait the whole week for the calm quiet of the weekend and suddenly that quiet has become the noiseless void that you can't stand leaving unfilled.

i've disappointed my owner. i had to ask him to stop. i felt so embarrassed i just wanted to quit. Leave and go home. But i couldn't continue, i just felt overwhelmed by the deepest sadness and loneliness. it was like being alone at night in the middle of a field, with the air all cold and humid, not a soul around for miles and no clue where you are exactly.

That was the feeling in me a few days ago and today i have this pain eating at me from the inside. It feels very lonely inside my head. i have a need for my master to come and invade the whole of me with his presence, chasing out all of this from me. But i know that you can't always rely on external forces to sort out the shit you've got going on inside your head and at some point you yourself must learn to reckon with the ghosts in your closet.

But decisions and active life choices are something that leaves me feeling somewhat powerless most of the time. i just need a little guidance.