late

Same old road but a different time of the day and a very different time of the year. i'm used to walking this bit of road at 6 in the morning, crossing under the railway station towards the underground to get my train home. This time it's equally dark but late in the evening; a lot more people around me, but a much greater feeling of loneliness. Everything you can get used to, i remind myself. But there's so much to get used to that at times it feels like it's too much. I mechanically place one foot in front of the other and then again, and i wonder about the way that things take shape around me like it had nothing to do with me. My reflection glides from one window to the next on the buildings next to me and there is nothing i can do to change the direction of my steps. Someone i care for has left.

unlearning the ropes

In december last year, my then master spent the night at my place a couple of times and, on those occasions, made use of a length of rope i had here in my room. When he left i tidied up the rope and hung it in a corner so that it would be ready the next time he'd come around. Well, he never did come around again. The times we met after that were at his place until he recently let me go but all this time the rope has been hanging in the exact same spot. I've sort of got used to it being there so i don't really notice it anymore but every now and then i see it's there, i consider storing it away but then i feel sad about doing it so i leave it where it is. Like some respirator you can't bring yourself to switch off, I look at it and i wonder what i should do. The rope stays there. We look at each other, we reminisce, we wonder what to do. The future is uncertain for us but we're learning to share this bedroom and this uncertainty.

hurt

i miss the clamps and the things that hurt and hide the things that hurt.

the kindness of strangers

Some time ago, when i met D, my former master, i was in fact supposed to be keeping myself off the market for some time as i was meant to meet someone else a couple of days later and i normally don't like double booking meetings with masters as i don't want to have to cancel a meeting with a master because i have become owned by another. Well, becoming owned is hardly something that happens everyday so chances that this will happen are pretty small. Even so, i still like to avoid this possibility by not arranging anything between the time i've arranged to see a master and the time we actually meet. Well, with D, this is exactly what happened: the day after he took me as his slave, i called the man i was supposed to meet to apologise and cancel our appointment.

But we stayed in touch on and off online. A couple of messages now and then. Recently he has committed seriously to a vanilla relationship and has agreed to get rid of all his toys. He decided to give them to someone and he has kindly given them to me. We met a couple of weeks ago for the first time, just before i went to Thailand, and he handed me a box all taped shut that made a sort of rattling noise if shaken. I was quite curious on my way home. On the bus i decided to have a peak. i imagined getting off my seat to leave the bus and tripping, i imagined the box flying in the air and all the toys disseminated all over the bus with me spreadeagled face down on the floor of the vehicle. It was quite a funny thought but i went ahead and looked inside anyway. I broke the tape with my keys and took a look inside. It was difficult to identify a lot of the stuff in there as it was predominantly black in a dark box.

At home it was it a little like a kinky christmas morning with a lot of what's-this's and what's-that's.

The box is now in my closet. I don't really use a lot of the stuff in there. The only thing to come out of it with some regularity is a set of nipple clamps. I hate the damn things, they hurt like hell and i can only keep them on for a very short time but they were a favourite of my former Master and putting them on is a really strange experience. They awaken me. i forget what it's like to have them on, i think i can take it, so i put them on and the moment they bite into my flesh i'm reminded of what they are, what they do, and what my former slave life was like, what it felt like suffering at the hand of my master and being powerless in his presence. They also immediately get me hard. I hate them and they get me hard. As someone who's not really into pain, i'm surprised by this. Perhaps it's the effect of training, i don't know. I'm nostalgic and excited by this pain that i dislike. There's no denying it. Every now and then the clamps have to come on and as my nipples suffer squashed and tortured, i close my eyes and i remember.

back

back in london and i'm in a real funny mood. i keep spending time online but i have no desire to meet anybody. i guess i expect someone to inspire me out of this lapse and drag me over to him. in the meantime messages like "nice pics" and "wannna cum over for a fuck" don't register any reaction from me. i guess i still think of myself as my Master's boy and anything that carries any less intensity than that doesn't elicit a response.

i've been in this situation before. Something ends. Nothing compares. You just don't want to get into anything that feels superficial and meaningless. Nothing that resembles, without matching, what has come before.

Too bad. It doesn't matter. For now i can just be and let the sleeping slave sleep.

the crowded couch

Burnt to an inch of our bones, we're spending the day in the shade today.

I checked my messages on slave4master. Requests to become someone's slave still leave me uninterested. The journey into enslavement is not something i want to consider again, yet.

If i must put a name to the way i feel, i feel "betrayed" by my master. my ex-master. i'm sure he wouldn't see it this way and even more sure that he never intended for me to feel this way. But just like when i was seeing him and my therapist was insisting that i admit to myself that what i was subjecting myself to was cruelty, when i staunchly refused to refer to it in those terms, now the word i'm trying to avoid, but have to deal with, is betrayal.

But the independent side of me is taking charge of my body and my life these days. The slave is on a break, taking a vacation, and reduced to inhabiting a very small portion of my being. He can't really cope with meeting someone new: how could anybody new claim any rights over him? The walls are sealed and i can't let anybody new in. My therapy keeps revolving around four people: my boyfriend and, chronologically, C, L and my ex-master who i might as well start referring to as D. And it's crowded enough for one pretty small couch without the need to start letting more people in. I'd have to start letting people out but i don't seem to be very good at that. I need presence, not absence, and all three dominants i've let into my life have become absent. From time to time, unexpectedly, they come back, show some interest and then disappear, just as suddenly, leaving behind nothing but a sense of unfillable void.

just one

Second and last week in Thailand and I realise i could easily get used to all this. Apart from generally and understandably being used as a commodity by some of the locals to make some cash. The funny thing is that one of the side effects of my submissive personality is that if you insist long enough, i'm likely to give in. The most I can do is try not to let this show and put up a seemingly unmoveable exterior.

But in a way this is what i like about submitting to somebody: that i can let go of this facade and do what's instinctive for me and that is follow someone else's lead. But while on holiday in Thailand, the defence has to stay put or the street vendors would see me coming a mile off.

I remember this guy in high school -- classic bad influence, smoking, taking drugs and repeating the same year over and over. I didn't particularly like him and he was always out of cigarettes. He would come to me and ask me for one. I'd say no. He'd say 'come on', I'd say no. He'd say 'oh, come on'. I'd say no. He'd say 'come on, man, don't be a pain'. I'd say no. He'd say 'come on, just one'. You get the picture. This could go on for ages, or, more precisely, until I would have enough and actually give him one. I find it funny now -- if not surprising -- to think that i would always cave and he'd always get his way. I think as a child/teen I had a knack for finding this kind of people. In context i'm guessing it could have been a lot worse. I imagine in an English school, considering the type of guy he was, and the type of guy i was, i could have have been beaten into giving up my cigarettes but in mellow Italy all i'd get was this oh-go-on-just-one business.