mistakes

Can you ever really cleanse yourself of your mistakes?

Some time ago, owned by D, i realised how painful it was for me to mess up. Not painful on account of the punishment, which was always delivered swiftly and vigourously but because of my own inability to let go and put it behind me. Disappointing a master is something which leaves you feeling mortified, it's as if you had lost something you will never be able to regain. D would say that the punishment would wipe the slate clean and the offence would be forgotten but for me forgetting was rather more complicated. Like any other wound it takes time and time alone to heal. D would say "i tell you it's ok, so it's ok, it's forgotten" and i couldn't really argue with him over this, except for knowing within me that it wasn't forgotten.

Now, in these situations you really don't want to turn things into a therapy session in order for you to try and feel better, this is really not what it should all be about, but it's nevertheless hard to simply overcome this heaviness that makes you feel like it's all over and you're never going to regain your Master's trust. Gone are the days when after upsetting a parent, they would smile, tell you it's ok, and you'd feel good again. You'd think a Master would be able to command that same level of control over your feelings so why won't the sadness just go away?

Maybe it's because at that point it's really not about your Master anymore, you're angry at yourself so it's not your Master who must forgive you but you must do it yourself. Can you find it within yourself to have the generosity and compassion to forgive yourself for disappointing the person whose needs and desires you want put before anything else? Clearly not quite yet.

where's jay?

i can't believe i posted twice the same video. This is the saddening confirmation of what little time and attention i've been giving this blog lately...

i do like the song, though.

jay

[snip]

who's a wanker?

Recently I was talking with a friend about a dom we've both met. Things hadn't quite worked out for us and when i brought it up with my friend his comment was plain and simple: he was a wanker. The directness of this statement surprised me. It left me wondering: was he really a wanker? Why didn't i think of it? In my mind things hadn't worked, i was unable to offer him what he wanted, blah blah, the assumption always being that a Master has a right to expect whatever he expects. But come to think of it, i suppose he was the kind of person you might want to call that: a wanker.

But this led me to wonder: why can't i express such ruthless, direct statements about people? I relatively easily tell someone that things are not going to work, for instance. That's pretty ruthless, i guess, and direct, so, if i quickly and easily pass one type of judgement about somebody, why can't i say, even just to myself, that someone is a wanker?

I suppose this would be your usual passive behaviour, not wanting to put yourself above someone else and judge them, but it's somewhat hypocritical because the judgement is there, i can sense it, i'm just completely in denial of it by not voicing or thinking about it.

I guess i just find it an odd character trait of mine that reflects my total refusal to behave in an active or assertive way, to the point of vigourously shaking my head to stop myself from admitting, even only to myself, that, yes, sometimes i do pass judgements on people and, yes, sometimes a Master can be a wanker.

the city-slave

Many times I have been accused of being a daydreamer living in a fantasy world. It's been going on since I was a child, by my teachers in school, my parents, down to, more recently, masters who consider my expectations unrealistic. As a submissive, you'll often get the occasional Master who will ask you "if this is a fantasy for you...", without hiding their contempt. It's like fantasising is something we ought to have grown out of, being only concerned with the here and now. It seems to me if you fantasise about things you don't have in your daily life, like winning the lottery, it doesn't mean you'll tear up the winning ticket, should you come across it.

Anyway, given my predisposition to not have my feet constantly firmly on the ground, i suppose it was only a matter of time before i would fly off to an entirely separate universe where the frontier between the real and the imagined is somewhat blurrier than here on Earth 1.0.

This universe is provided courtesy of Linden Labs in Second Life, a simulated world populated by lords and ladies, vampires and werewolves, warriors and slaves, whores and accountants. Everything you've ever wanted to be, you can be, if not in your first, in your second life.

After taking some time to get on the gravy train, i have, in the space of a week or two, burnt the stages that have taken me years in my first life to go through. After hanging around for a few days at a particular dungeon in Passion Cove where people come and go, fuck, whip and leave, i've been left, very much like in my first life, angling for more.

This "more" has materialised in the shape of the Gorean city of White Water where i have become a city-owned slave, undergoing my training while awaiting to be bought by a Master. With the help of a few sympathetic slave brothers, I'm learning the ways of Gor, how to talk, behave, serve, etc. So far there has been no sexual contact with anybody but during the role play scenes i am invigorated with energy by virtue of simply being in an environment made of überbutchy warrior men bent on camaraderie and hunts, and hyperservile slaves whose only concern is to ensure the comfort of their superiors. What can i say, like every other child, i thrive in the right environment, and i fit comfortably where roles are defined and i'm expected to be on my knees every time a Master is present and remain in silence until spoken to.

I'm uncertain how long this phase will last but i wonder if this kind of universe is maybe a little dangerous for me. In spite of my predilection for my dream life, i have nontheless never had much trouble (only a little) separating what's true from what isn't. Are things going to change now in my Second Life™?

body's a temple

self-drive

Yesterday my friend Marcus and i started talking about control. He was saying how a slave craves to be controlled by his Master. Somehow the concept didn't quite register with me. Something about it left me uncertain. Do i want to be controlled? I'm not sure that i do. In fact i suspect that being controlled too rigidly is what makes me want to run away. Marcus maintains it's reactance and there's possibly some truth in that but I sense there's more to it than that.

Sure, i would like a Master to have control over my life but not necessarily to control it. The difference i see in these two statements is that whereas the first describes a Master's involvement and final and, i should say, unappealable decisional power over a slave's life, the second seems to hint to a constant pain-staking passing or denying any decision a slave has to take in his life. It's kind of like bondage: i do like the idea of being helpless and vulnerably exposed but i would rather be free to serve and work to please my Owner. My service to my Master is something that i'm happy to offer as a tribute, a gift to symbolise and materialise my devotion to him, it's not something to be enforced every minute of the day, something which, i should add, must require a lot of work on the Master's part.

I suppose i prefer a model where I'm free to move and take decisions that put my Master's needs and interests at the core, instead of being told which foot to get up on.

has it already been since august?

i've been debating over what to do with this blog. If a blog's like a breathing, living creature, i'm afraid this one's been in a coma for a while. To be fair, I've been at its bedsite for a while now, bringing it flowers and trying to awaken it again but without success. I make mental notes of things i want to write about but somehow i never actually get to doing it.

I suppose i was a little fatigued by the perennial cycle of getting excited about talking to someone new and then seeing it not turn into anything. It felt like i was constantly writing about that when the real issue, namely what might actually have been the interconnecting wrongness of all these possibilities, appeared to blur more and more into vagueness.

I've considered calling it a day, blog-wise, but somehow it feels that there's stil more to be said, that the internal battle within me is not quelled and the virus is not defeated. Just like the blog, it was only dormant.

in my mind

i woke up the other day with fantasies involving cleaning. It might be the effect of the heavy pain medication i'm under as a result of a back injury but i think there's more to it than that. It's not that i fetishise or even enjoy cleaning but the thought of my work being used to make a man's life easier never fails to get me going.

In the past, i have been kept scrubbing floors and toilets to understand and accept my role and position. It's not that i necessarily enjoyed doing it, but on my hands and knees doing this mindless job i felt that the distance between me and my then Owner was immense and i felt content in my role. i loved the thought of cleaning the toilet he pissed in and scrubbing the floor he walked on. In my flat, i hate doing any of that but in that situation, i was more than happy to take time out of my life to do this job for my Owner.

That relationship was for me, the last one i've experienced that i have thoroughly felt as real and now, after repeated unsuccessful attempts at dedicated service, i can't help but wonder: what is going wrong?

A lot of people write on their profiles: no timewasters. I've been wondering what a timewaster is. Am i one? i suppose for most people out there a time waster is someone who likes exchanging messages but never actually intends to meet, or even worse makes the arrangement and in the end doesn't show. Now, i've never been a no-show, in fact, i've even shown at times when i really wasn't in the mood for doing that at all. I do it anyway. Why? I'm not sure. On the one hand there's the possibility that things could go unexpectedly well, on the other i really don't like disappointing someone and i generally feel that if i've committed to something, i have to go through with it.

When i reflect too much on it, what type of man i'd like to serve?, why isn't it working?, people tell me that i'm too much in my own head, that i have to let go and simply serve. I've tried that, and i don't think it really works. If it doesn't feel right, it usually keeps not feeling right. And when i keep going in spite of the way i feel, eventually i'm told i give out mixed signals, that i'm not sure what i want, that i express indecision but go ahead with it, only to later say it's not working. Maybe in this way i am in fact wasting people's time but i really don't have a clear recipe for not doing that other than not meeting people at all.

Possibly i'm expecting too much. I expect there to be a connection with a Master. i expect to care about him, and possibly for him to care about me. At the same time, i can't go full time because i do have another relationship that's important to me. "you want your cake and eat it", i can hear a lot of people say. Whatever. This is my reality, and it is what i have to work with.

I've even started considering recently that maybe what i'm seeking i can only ever really experience in my head. i've been blessed with a good deal of imagination and i can experience things in my head. Or i can read. Living them would be a bonus, sure, but it's definitely better to read a good story than live a bad one. Some guy i used to like used to sing: there's more to life than books, but not much more. And certainly there is more to life than there is to books but, once again, not that much more.

So while waiting for Master Perfect i can simply browse, surf, read, dream. And when it gets too much and it feels like this deeper need is just too unfulfilled i can usually manage an easy trick to "yank" it out of me.

the gangsta and the gay boy

cyberhonesty

Sometimes i wonder why i do the things that i do. Sure, meeting someone new is always exciting but when you've just started talking to somebody you haven't met yet, should you start complying with their requests? It's hard not to. For me, at least. Requests may come in during the day while i'm at work and i could simply say that i've complied without actually doing so, but then i'm overcome by this sense that i would be letting him down and i can't really cope with it. So i comply. i follow the requests of the exciting stranger behind the text message. And i've never been much for online/on-the-air games but it's hard to deny him what he wants when my instinct is to try and please him. I have to say similar experiences in the past have been quite disappointing. The more there's been pre-encounter activity, the less has the encounter been likely to actually happen, or lead to anything regular, or positive. Or both. But what can i say, ironically i'm rather optimistic in general and open every new chapter with a clean slate. It's not an effort, it comes quite natural.

the long silence

A long silence, i know. Things have been partly out of my control. I've made one more attempt at finding that which i feel is lacking from my life, one more attempt that hasn't gone as i would have hoped. The silence was not necessarily imposed but partly provoked by the master who wanted me to submit posts to him for approval. Maybe the blog is one area of my life, possibly not the only one, that i don't want to subject to someone else's will and i suppose this sense of rebellion stirring within me that i couldn't quell ended up catalysing the overall response that brought me to want to reaffirm my independence. It's getting harder to stay in a place where i can simply serve and obey, maybe i'm developing more of a dom personality. Dear reader, i've just laughed harder than you have. I tell myself it's simply because i haven't met the man who makes me want to relinquish control. Far from me to suggest that this has nothing to do with me and is only dependent on who i'm dealing with, after asserting my independence i have naturally gravitated once again towards the virtual spaces where one might meet the sort of man that i hope will make me want to simply bow my head, serve and obey.

container and content

Often when meeting dominant men off the internet the topic of the blog comes up in conversation. In this way what's supposed to be a log of something going on, an observation tool, becomes itself what's going on, the object of discussion and the element being observed. The container becomes the content.

Some people ask me not to write about them, or not to say things that will identify them. One man, whom i was tentatively in service to, once told me initially to stop writing it, an instruction that i promptly complied with, but later asked me to resume my writing as it would help him understand what was going on inside my head. This second order proved harder to follow.

Without any delusion of creative independence or artistic integrity, the blog is nevertheless a spontaneous outburst of thoughts, sometimes nonsensical (you might have noticed), that i like to freeze in these casual, irregular posts. I don't sit down thinking: what shall i write about today... In fact, most of the time it actually helps me make sense of confused thoughts that orbit the hollowness of my brain.

But being asked to write, if anything, inhibits me because i feel as though i'm writing for someone else, which makes it a dialogue, and a dialogue is generally less honest than a monologue.

I've met somebody this week, and although these days i'm careful not to trust my instincts too much, i really liked him. But we discussed the blog, and now i feel that if i write something complimentary it's going to sound dishonest, so i'll avoid discussing it at this stage.

rest

The blog's resting as i am. I'm on a break. If it's a voluntary one, i can't say. I'm not hostile to the idea of meeting someone new but i've grown somewhat tired of the business of online enslavement. Few people catch my attention these days, i'm unable to be excited about the cold calculating machine of online hook-ups. I'm always in touch with Dave and i curl up in the warm comfort of an interaction that is so uncomplicated and natural and i curse the distance that dooms the possibility of anything happening but also speculatively wonder if it's not the very ingredient that has kept this alive.

I've considered removing my online profile altogether but i suspect it would only end up being a temporary, short-lived suspension. I know people who do this all the time: they remove their profile, create a new one, remove it, then a new one and so on. i know that i can't completely remove this element from my life so why pretend.

But just as i'm writing this someone interesting has materialised. The name is promising. We'll see what comes out of it.

the beautiful south

On a night out with some people, i found myself chatting to this guy who kept telling me how the place was full of really hot babes. After talking about how hot i find maleness, i unexpectedly found myself knee-deep stuck right in the middle of it. My interlocutor kept pointing me in the direction of this or that hot chick as i kept wondering at what point i should mention that i wasn't exactly his target audience for this. Eventually i did. I didn't, though, to the other straight guy who elected to bond with me with a charming "i wish the fat chick would put her breasts away" and laughed as if he'd said the funniest thing ever. He was drunk.

I guess i'm more used to spending time with people who know i'm gay so i'm generally spared this kind of insight into straightness. But in the midst of a lot of people i didn't know, the good old rule applied: you're straight until proven guilty.

But out of my own environment, lost south of the river, my mind kept drifting back to L. It happens every time i'm in south London. This being his side of town, and him being a little on the lazy side, we would always meet here back in the days when we were getting to know each other. If there had ever been something proper between us, it would have made sense, upon separating, to split something we might have previously shared. The way things stand, we never really shared anything so leaving him the whole south side of the city strikes me as overkill.

Yet it's his. All of it is his playground. I can't set foot there without feeling that i'm on his turf. It's ok, i don't really hang around south london that much so this melancholic nostalgia hits me quite rarely. Every time i go back it feels so far and inconvenient to get to but on the plus side it definitely has an unmistakable taste of him. On my way home on the tube, with the music pumping loud in my iPod in order to block out all the friday night noise around me, as the train takes me back to a much more familiar part of town i feel L draining out of me as though my veins were emptying and my mental capacity starts to return. As my surroundings are familiar again i wonder if i still think maleness is so hot. The answer is yes.

love me like a lesbian

The close association of lesbianism and feminism, coupled with the fact that women are generally perceived as not desiring in the same agressive, self-centred way of the male gender, means that they could easily get away with a comment such as 'great tits' without it being perceived as offensive or objectifying in any way. The reason for this is not only that lesbians are already in the same camp as the object of their desire, therefore being perceived as less of an oppressor than the traditionally more mistrusted male suitor, but also that they are champions of an approach to appreciating the female form that is very different from the way men like to go about it. A woman will often be less concerned with the ideal of feminine beauty favoured by the media, preferring instead what can be defined as a more "spontaneous" female form, choosing what's womanly over what's clinically feminine, loving the woman as a a whole, a reality, rather than a concept or the sum of it's allegedly sexy parts.

Regular reader, you might be surprised to hear me talk about women. Dispair not, i have a point. The way women love women for what they are, as opposed to what they could or should be, made me think of the way that i, as a submissive, can love a man as opposed to the way a woman would.

When i say i'm attracted to men, i'm not simply talking about a man's physical attributes. I like the way a man thinks, acts, moves, walks, laughs. Everything that makes a man a man, is attractive to me, right down to the plain stereotypical. What's male is hot, in fact i fetishise those things that guys are generally given a hard time about. Yobbism, loudmouthed comments, slacking, drinking... all good. Even public urination. Alright, particularly public urination. Guys who want to quickly get off without reciprocating? Hot. A man who wants his cock to be taken care of while he sits comfortably on a sofa watching tv? Hot. Guys sitting at a bar, drinking and checking out girls? Hot. These kind of male traits are constantly being sneered at and ridiculed as being immature but boys will be boys, and boys they will be often in the way that it comes natural to them, rather than the way women fantasise that they should.

My point? Why on earth are genders attracted to each other??

booked

It's hard to define the borders between fantasy and reality when you deal in dreams and fantasies. I've talked to Mr Glasgow again and he's still the man that gets me the most. Maybe it's just because i've committed my soul to him that i can't seem to want to properly submit to anybody else.

I've been seeing someone recently, but it's very casual. There's no pretense that i'm his, that he owns me, etc. He has a very dominant personality, you put me and him in the same room and there's only one thing that could possibly happen. And that's what happens. But if he asked me to commit to him exclusively, i couldn't do it. Not that i see anybody else - although i must admit i've been trying to arrange a drink with somebody for several weeks now...

If i had to find a way to describe it, i'd say i'm his bitch. Well, i would be under the premise of our involvement being any more than purely casual. I do his bidding, i'm around to take care of what he wants taken care of, but i don't consider myself his slave at all, even though i allow myself to be overpowered by his dominance and manliness.

But my slave heart is in Glasgow and that's where it will remain, it seems. There's nothing to be done. Glasgow is the only man who gets my full unconditional attention. I don't seem to be able to get unhooked. He's the only one who makes me smile and cry. One nice word from him is everything and can fill me with joy, the same way that any inattention from him makes me feel hurt the way only he can.

Carrot and stick. Both are available in large amounts. What's missing completely is any opportunity to be face to face, to explore our dynamics and be who we are together in the same room. That's annoying when you think of it and when do i think of it? Every time he talks to me and he makes me wish i was hundreds of miles up north...

mal baisé

In the past, i think some doms have been impressed by my readiness to be walked all over purely on the basis of the fact that i was a submissive talking to a "superior". And i wasn't playing out a role even, i guess i was just the sort of guy who steps to one side to let someone bigger, or louder, walk past. These days things are a little different. Again, it's not as if i'm making a conscious effort in this respect but as my submissive self is experiencing a crisis of faith, i've started taking people's self-proclaimed dominance with a pinch of salt and i don't assume anyone is a true dom until i'm face to face with them and i can feel it on my skin. The other day i even went as far as giving someone a hard time over cancelling an appointment with me. It's not that people aren't allowed to cancel, but i don't like to be taken for granted. Not unless someone owns me. A man doesn't need to disrespect you in order to assert his dominance, and if i take it seriously when i arrange to meet someone, keep the evening free, tell my friends i'm busy, etc, i would expect the person i'm meeting to show me a similar standard of courtesy.

I sort of miss this feeling of humility, of feeling small. i stand by what i've written but re-reading it i can hear some readers think: you so need to be put back in your place and it's probably true...

let go, seriously...

There are times when you're with a dominant man and your mind starts to wander and you might end up considering how embarrassing it would be if Maureen from accounting could see you now as you're on all four and this guy is using your back as a footstool. These are the times when you might as well be killing time with Maureen from accounting planning the next company get-together because your mind is clearly not where it should be.

And then there are the times when Maureen from accounting doesn't exist, there are no company get-togethers and you couldn't even tell what your job title is because the comforting weight of this man's feet on your back, the area where his skin meets yours, sensing his relaxation as he looks down on you and imagining how you must make him feel is all that matters.

Understanding the cause of these very different states of mind is not always straight forward but the symptom seems pretty clear: when focus is key, your mind can be in it or not. For my mind to be "in it" it has to disconnect from everything else that isn't relevant in the moment and the only way that happens, in my experience, is when i manage to let go. Let go of worries, doubts, reflections, and i let my body respond spontaneously to the situation.

Now that doesn't happen all that often, to disconnect from everything else and let yourself go into blissful trust you have to be pretty comfortable with the other person. It definitely didn't happen in one recent situation I have found myself in lately with one man i was strongly captivated by. His zest and liveliness made him very fascinating to a somewhat quieter personality such as myself but it came, alas, with an unfortunate side-effect. He would constantly question me as to what i was feeling, how i was experiencing something and what my thoughts were about what was happening. Letting go was clearly not an option here as i was constantly called back to account for my emotions. I barely felt i had the time to experience anything because all i had to do was worry about expressing what, in the incessant verbalisation, i had no energy left to actually experience.

Furthermore, his vivacity made him fluctuate between this and another kind of verbal interaction that proved perhaps even more taxing: joking. How do you interact with a Master when you don't know if he's being serious or not? The kind of mental steps you have to take as a slave to let go of your boundaries and embrace someone else's desires to make them your own can't happen if, upon being given an order, you have to wonder: is he being serious? In fact, i really can't do it. In the headspace i get into when allowing my submissive self to come out, i take everything i'm given at face value. The words my Master speaks are understood to be honest and true. Final. Am i really expected to experience submission if i'm there worrying about throwing witty remarks back and forth with him and engage in playful banter? Is that really the kind of interaction that can lead to a relationship based on dominance and submission? Is it me who have to get a sense of humour, as he suggests, or does he need to get more of a sense of what it is to be in a position of authority?

When i was a kid, my father, who i never thought of as an authority figure, nothing compared to my gestapo-mum, used to drive me insane with his constant jesting. You could never get a straight answer out of him to the point that i would admonish him, aged 6 or 7, with what later became the catchphrase of my childhood: "Dad, can you be serious for once". Now, i really don't see myself going into slavery asking my Master: "Sir, can you be serious for once..."

semi-gods

The blog hasn't got updated in a while. I say that as if it had nothing to do with me, as if i was checking from time to time to see if something new had been posted. Well, that's partly true, i've felt very detached from all that for quite some time, my desire to be a slave has left me for the most part. It's too complicated, too emotionally involving. I keep wondering how such a drastic change may have come about and i honestly have no idea. I am generally somebody quite hostile to change but this time i seem to have closed the door to anyone new. It's only when i talk to Mr Glasgow that i recognise myself and my desires again, he's the only one who reminds me what it's like to want to wear someone's collar.

A few years ago, when i was, let's say, in love, or infatuated, with L, i thought this would actually never change, that i'd always be susceptible to his charms and it actually did go on for quite some time but looking back on it, i've realised it's happened. And if i have to put my finger on it, it probably happened when he stopped being this perfect semi-god and became a human being with flaws, weaknesses, idiosyncrasies. It sounds awful to say that, like i don't allow him to be human, but he's never let me know and get close to the real him, he always has this shield up and i guess at some point i must have felt i'd had enough.

Mr Glasgow is still a semi-god for me. i have seen some of his weaknesses but i've either chosen to ignore them or their impact hasn't been all that devastating. Clearly they've made me stop waiting for him after the whole commotion at the beginning of the year but when i talk to him we don't fail to notice that those same channels of communication are still very much alive and deep down i cannot hide i still hope that one day there might be more. Surely life is bound to put us within the same four walls once more.

plastic

The first time i heard the song Barbie Girl by Scandinavian trashy pop act Aqua, my kinkometer hit, well, orange... -ish. Yellow, not sure, i haven't worked out all the shades of alert, let's just say that i didn't fail to notice the kink potential of the tune.

Turning a person into a doll, that's only there for you to play and have fun with is a concept that most people who read this blog will be familiar with. Barbie tells us that life in plastic is fantastic, but is it really? Sure, plastic features are impeccable, faultless, a sort of idealised, everlasting perfection but a body encased in plastic, as the fetish is acted on by most people who are plastic-doll-inclined, has echos of imprisonment and suffocation in a dehumanising, objectifying way.

Boo-hoo, some of you might think. Ok, i do get the appeal of "modifying" one's body to remove its susceptibility to decay and turn it into a desirable, timeless plastic toy made to entertain but what i would associate with this are things like shaving or plastic surgery (more than sticking my human head into a plastic one) this way i seem to retain more of an element of humanity that i'm keen not to lose.



The idea also reminds me of a Japanese videoclip i watched where two seemingly baywatch-inspired, doll-like characters live their tragic, comic, plastic, hairless love story.

does age matter?

A few weeks ago, a mate came over to watch a movie. He's a friend i met through slave4master so he knows fairly well what i'm like. We'd tried the Master/slave thing in the beginning but he's quite a bit younger than me and the chemistry between us meant we naturally drifted towards a more friendly situation. When he comes over he normally stays over and when he does he often wants to get off before he drifts off.

The last time he was over i was on chastity orders so i made clear to him that i had no intention of having sex. How lost can we be in our own little worlds! I guess if you're a submissive on chastity orders, sure, no sex means no sex. If you're a 25 year-old top and you're horny, those words make no sense at all. So 5 minutes later he's on top of me with his cock inching closer to my face. At first i could only laugh. This was my friend, this young kid who comes over to watch movies and chat and now he won't take no for an answer. I tried again to resist his attack but he was just amused by my resistance and in the end i gave in. i'm always the one who gives in in the face of persistence.

So i allowed my lips to part and as he realised i had conceded defeat he transitioned from his active phase to simply relaxing enjoying his victory while i did my bit. i must admit i enjoyed it. In my mind i was feeling guilty because i thought that i shouldn't have been doing that, and that if i really wanted i could have stopped it but at the same time it was so easy to let go, to service a guy who's horny and wants to get off. There's only so much i could have resisted. When he was done i respected my chastity orders but that he was ok with and didn't insist. I enjoyed the transition from the energy of sex to the calm that follows it, knowing i had helped it come about but mostly i was fascinated by having witnessed the urge that comes over a guy who wants to get off, the unswerving drive and youthful and steadfast determination to stick his cock in places. i'm fascinated when i see this in someone and often a spur-of-the-moment quickie feels more intense to me than a long planned-out session.

Quite often 20-somethings have more of a quick and "repetitive" approach to sex rather than long sessions with final climax. Some subs take that as lack of experience or immaturity but i find it refreshing and endearing, even. I find exuberance charming and spontaneity attractive. However, when i was messaged today on gaydar by a cute 21-year-old who's quite keen to meet, i couldn't help but feel puzzled working out the age difference between us.

With age it's all relative and, on the basis of that, i tend to classify people in terms of a very relative younger, older or same age as me (i.e. a couple of years either side). Of these, i can't deny i have a penchant for meeting people who are about my age. Serving someone younger can be hot, on the basis of what i've said above, and flattering, too, but i guess there's always a sense that i shouldn't serve someone who's younger, that somehow it's not right. Serving someone older, more than just a few years, on the contrary, feels like it's too matter-of-fact, conventional, in line with the natural order of things: you look up and respect someone who's older than you so you follow their lead and submit to them. But the real mind fuck is serving somebody who's about my age. That's pure embracing of my submissive self. With someone my age, things could theoretically have gone either way, we would normally be on a par but as it happens we're separated by our very different natures. I can feel a stronger bond with someone my age, it's as if he is a part of me that's not in me, an alter ego, and in coming in contact with him i am finally whole. He fills all my voids and i fill his.

Well, this is as idealised as it gets. Things are generally not this clear-cut but i can't help but ebb towards this idealised perception of things in my attempt to make sense of myself and drifting out to wherever it is that i'm going.

under the train

Yesterday someone died in my underground station. A "person under a train", they say. i don't know if it was an accident or it was suicide but the place was swamped with emergency services vehicles: fire engines, police vans and even a helicopter. The event didn't make the news as far as i can see but the situation above ground was surreal with hordes of rushing commuters walking the streets looking for a way to get to their destination as the train service was suspended.

Surrounded by this chaos, i started feeling the weight of this death several dozen feet under that very ground. If it had been a movie, the camera would have moved high up over the ground taking the opportunity to symbolise the departure of this man or woman's soul billowing up into the vast emptiness above us as we, the living, would start looking smaller and smaller, befitting our superfluousness in a world where there are so many of us. From ground level, though, the situation was one of annoyance, of people asking each other what was happening and irritated over being inconvenienced by another day of travel chaos.

With a past delightfully full of suicidal thoughts that stretch back all the way to my teenage years and a charming penchant for making things about myself, i immediately imagined i was experiencing life after my own passing away, mesmerised by the ineluctable continuing of everything else. We didn't look all that different from a line of ants that continue to carry their provisions home past the ones that have been stepped on. Personally i've never really considered jumping under a train, or off a building or a bridge. I've never considered any jumping at all in this respect so the situation was not immediately relatable but this death was so near and so present, directly touching my daily routine, that i couldn't help but feel affected by it.

I don't think i'm ever going to be able to avoid experiencing this side of life so closely. They say that a depressive personality is a hereditary condition and with a great-grandfather who committed suicide, a depressive grandfather and a fun mum that i can always rely on for casual chit-chat about all things death and tears shed over breakfast, i have no problems subscribing to this belief in my enviable position as the next in line.

So, you see, when i'm told to enjoy my submissiveness and feel happy about it, it's not that i don't want to do it – i just can't. Such a strong experience will always elicit a deep and strong response within me and my way of doing it, my way of dealing with it is this, by allowing the pain to flow through me freely without the need to stop it but leaving someone else to ensure my safety and my wholeness. My need for a stronger man near me is to be able to seek refuge. From me and from everything else.

give peace a chance

We go through life piling up experiences upon experiences that in one way or another mold and define who we are. Every once in a while we come across something or someone that leaves a definite imprint in our mental landscape. Our heads are littered (literally) with events that we sometimes can't make sense of but somehow end up indelibly drawing the map of our minds.

Some time ago i read a story online on the nifty archive. I think this story has marked me quite dramatically. It's called "puppy love". It's about a guy, Pete, who over time discovers, then is overwhelmed by and eventually comes to terms with his submissive nature. All this, aided by Matt, his dominant counterpart with whom he gets involved in an initially undefined relationship that simply develops naturally around the spontaneous dispositions of the two characters.

i have to say, the thing that has struck me most in this story is how Pete retraces the same mental path over and over. In experiencing Matt's dominance and unwavering definition of how their unusual relationship is going to work, he goes around in circles submitting to him, experiencing the overwhelming flow of emotions his submission stirs up in him, finding joy in his owner's protection, then rationalising the unfairness of their relationship, freaking out about how he can let himself be subjected to this kind of treatment, feeling jealous of the fact that Matt also has a girlfriend, acting out to reaffirm his own independence, only to finally come face to face with Matt and re-experiencing the weakness in the knees and the calm of his surrender and find security again under his owner's wing. The whole story is a constant replay of this cycle marked by the peacefulness and happiness that Pete feels when with Matt and the desperate loneliness and anger he experiences when his owner leaves him to go off with his girlfriend.

This struck me because i find myself going through similar ups and downs that make it very hard to have much of a clue about what i actually want. And in the process i end up confusing those who come in contact with me with mixed messages and so much uncertainty.

Last night i made a bit of a fool of myself in one such situation, giving one signal one minute and an entirely different one the next. And i hate this feeling where i feel like i'm wasting someone's time with all this crap that's in my head.

Of all the things that Neil told me there's one that keeps resonating in my head: i don't give my submission a chance. i don't know if this is true. There's certainly other people who would firmly agree with him. I thought i was healed, that i wasn't afraid of ownership anymore. But i am. And there's this fear of disappointing, of taking a commitment i'll end up not being able, or willing, to keep, and again feel like a fraud, like i've wasted someone's time. So i keep gravitating towards the idea of ownership unsure as to whether i actually want to land.

message personnel

Au bout du téléphone
Il y a votre voix
Et il y a les mots
Que je ne dirai pas
Tous ces mots qui font peur
Quand ils ne font pas rire
Qui sont dans trop de films,
De chansons et de livres
Je voudrais vous les dire
Et je voudrais les vivre
Je ne le ferai pas
Je veux, je ne peux pas

Je suis seule à crever
Et je sais où vous êtes
J'arrive, attendez-moi,
Nous allons nous connaître
Préparez votre temps,
Pour vous j'ai tout le mien
Je voudrais arriver,
Je reste, je me déteste
Je n'arriverai pas
Je veux, je ne peux pas

(uri)nation

i can't piss in front of people. i realised this several years ago coming to this country where urinals are almost ubiquitous.

i think i used to be able to when i was younger, before i somehow began associating so much with the act of urinating until it became something that i felt was, in certain situations, precluded from me. Of course i do evacuate but i just can't stand next to other guys in a public toilet and piss, no matter how badly i need to. Just like with fucking or other activities involving others and that are geared towards climaxing, it's something in relation to which i feel more comfortable being in a supporting role – and if that's not the case, i just feel uncomfortable and out of place.

i guess it's linked with what i perceive as making a man a man, what makes me admire men and want to serve them. i do love to look at men piss, especially those who do it so well, without thinking much of it, as though it were something easy to do. Or those who are comfortable being serviced and having their pleasure taken care of. They whip their cock out and use it comfortably – something i cannot do.

This is probably one situation where being too much in my own head is having the better of me but i can't really do anything about it. It's not like i haven't tried. i still try to, sometimes, if i'm alone in a public toilet, i make a point of using the urinals instead of the cubicles and if someone comes in after i've started i can generally see it through. But just as i get cockier and try that with someone else standing not too far from me, there's just no way i can relax whatever muscle i have to relax to get the flow started.

Do i mind? Well, it certainly would be practical in certain situations, like when i'm bursting and there's no cubicle available but, the way i see it, this is yet something else that reaffirms me in terms of what i am and what is meant for me and clearly standing next to other men pissing as an equal in a men-only environment is not for me.

the new

Starting again to see someone new is worrying but exciting. Worrying because these days talk of ownership seems to have the same effect on me as talk of commitment to your average stereotyped 20-something straight guy but exciting because it's meeting someone new and because it's someone exciting.

The first post-online-chat encounter is possibly one of the toughest situations to go through. The person in front of you is both familiar and unknown, a stranger you thought you already knew so much about. I've found myself in one of these situations enough times to know that you leave with a completely different image in your head than what you came with.

But images i have my head full of. All the people in my past are still lingering under my skin. I feel them and i'm very aware of them. D is the one who has fully owned me, L has broken my heart, C has showed me that a Master could care, and Mr Glasgow has given me this perfectly idealised fantasy, albeit self-admittedly erring somewhat on the cyber side of things, but matching like clockwork all of my needs and desires with his own.

i come out of all this enriched if somewhat burdened with past lives and heartaches. Letting in someone new can't be forced, it can only be felt and it's when you come out of that first encounter that you either feel it or you don't. What do i feel? i don't know. I'm following my senses and i slowly put one foot after the other, maybe skipping once or twice.

What i know is this time the new fascinates me and draws me to him, but i'm unable to understand, let alone verbalise, what exactly i'm expecting to find with him other than something new: something that i don't yet know.

out of the cage

Once i read something that Griego de Caballos had written talking about an ex-boyfriend. He wrote i miss you but you no longer occupy that special place in my heart. These words came back to me today as i was thinking about C, my first important master who i used to be in service to over 3 years ago. i have issues with him, issues i haven't managed to resolve. They involve intimacy, breaking barriers, honesty, care, detachment. A lot has changed since the time i used to devotedly look up to him but that place that he had in my heart is his and i can't seem to manage to evict him. My heart isn't a place that people can walk through. It's desolate devastated land that some people build something in. Or where maybe i build something for them. Whatever that may be, that place is theirs and i never claim it back. That's how it has become the overcrowded space it is now and how i've managed to lose my bearings trying to find my way around it.

And today, on my train to work, i sent C a message suggesting to meet up. I did so knowing very well that that time 3 years ago is 3 years away. But it was an attempt to play, play a part in a scene that used to represent me so well. It took some courage on my part to write that message. On the one hand because i don't normally initiate this sort of thing and on the other because the last time i spoke to him, my issues spoke for me. But it only took half a portion of courage. My train was underground and it was easy to press the send button knowing that those few words wouldn't be able to escape the confinement of my tunnel and the message would end up in my unsent items. One step at a time. Upon my arrival, i left the station, and held the phone in my hand knowing those few words were in there somewhere. i hesitated for a while afraid of rejection, then i played another role again, the character who has the second half of that portion of courage. So trying not to think about it too much i opened the cage and watched as those words billowed out of my phone into the morning air.

the kinky village

When i was growing up and coming to terms with stuff i remember thinking that i had found myself not in one but 2 very unlikely and undesirable situations, kind of like being locked outside your home AND having nothing to eat, or being stranded on an island AND having one leg only. First of all i had to come to terms with being gay, "why me?", "what are the odds?", "that kind of sucks" and all that. At the same time i had to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't just that i was attracted to boys rather than girls but that what got me excited was the idea of being a slave. Working past the first issue is relatively easy, it's the second that's a bitch, it's one more thing you have to learn to deal with. If we consider the human population on earth, you start thinking: ok, i'm in this minority group that's, say, 10% of the whole. Within this group you actually have to understand you belong to an even smaller minority: the kinky people, that might be even less than 10%, i don't know, i've never seen any statistics on that published anywhere. You start by thinking you might be the only one on earth who could be into all this, then, thanks also to the beauty of the internet and sites such as recon, you realise there are many more people who are into the same things. However, there's no denying that you're still in a very small minority.

Even in a city like London the kinky people, doms and subs, are a very small group, you always meet someone who knows someone you know. I know a guy, we'll call him sub1, he's met dom1. Well, i've also met dom1. Dom1 knows dom2 who also knows sub1. I've spoken to dom2 several times. I also know dom3 and dom4 who know each other. dom3 has also met sub1 and dom4 has shared sub2 with dom1. Now, i'm not just saying numbers, these are actual people. It's just like living in the tiniest of villages.

the producers

I've been approached by a production company who are working on a programme for channel 4 on people who blog about their sex life. We met for lunch and talked about it. I was flattered by their interest in subdiscourse but couldn't help but wonder if my blog is really about sex. They mentioned a couple of other blogs that are going to be featured in the programme and i had a look and found something that i thought was quite different from what i feel this blog is really about.

So the question is: what's this blog really about? It's about how i confront myself with my submissiveness, how it affects my life and my decisions, my relationships with people. Sure sex is part of all that, because it's part of my life, but i just don't feel that it's the main point at all. I think when i started writing this blog it was because i felt that my submissiveness wasn't all that kinky after all and i wanted to put down into words most of all my emotional response to this very important part of me. A way to embrace it as opposed to hiding it.

But how much do i want to disclose it? They want me to appear on the programme in the flesh and i don't know if i'm really ready for that. I'm also more of a writer than i am a talker and i'm not sure i'd feel very comfortable talking about this in front of a camera to people i don't know. I know, it's a bit of a contradiction to want to embrace this side of me but to be afraid to show my face publicly. Even the blog doesn't have pictures of me. I should borrow a page, or should i say a post, from Mr Bruiser. In a way, i'd want to do it, to say this is me, there's nothing wrong about it, but do i really want to put that in the public domain, say it potentially in front of anyone who might or not know me, neighbours, co-workers, friends. Where should i draw the line between private and public?

gravity

The air of detachment persists. Even though i'm always inevitably drawn towards online hubs of kink where i persistently dialogue with men of a dominant disposition, i still hesitate to trust. It's not that i don't trust them: i don't trust that they'll be the person that i need to have in my life, that they'll fill those big shoes that i've been preparing. So i don't fool myself and am becoming intolerant of those who seem to want to fool me.

Slave and Master are big words and i now beware of them, and of anyone who uses them too early on. I'm submissive and i'll always respond submissively to a dominant personality. There's not a lot that i can or want to do about that. But if you call me your slave after we've exchanged two messages, i can only think that we don't share the same idea of what ownership means. In fact i doubt that i can truly be owned by someone else, i doubt that i can give away that much of me. i have now discovered that my natural response to these claims is to run.

i'm at a stage where i want to enjoy my submissiveness, enrich it by making it a part of me that i can unashamedly look at feeling it fit me like a glove. i don't want to make it the thing that rules, runs and ruins my life. I like experiencing it because it's the tingly sensation that goes through my body when i'm in front of a naturally dominant man, that doesn't make me feel inferior but makes me realise that i've entered an orbit that is stronger than my own and i can reassuringly allow myself to gravitate around it for a while.

But it's orbits that draw me too strongly that make me fear an imminent collision or, at the very least, a vertiginous fall and i don't want either of those at the moment.

The boyfriend is leaving in about a week and, after enjoying for a while the comforts of our relationship, i'll be at that point once again alone with my submissive self, ready to explore it but careful not to explode it.

what if

Reality is such a waste of time. I think i'm once again removing myself from it, becoming less and less concerned with the world around me. I keep one foot in it while the other is off in some other cushioned velvety shoe. I can peacefully sit in my corner for hours enjoying my own company without the need to come out of myself. Some weekends are spent exactly like this: unable to leave my room. Those are the signs of a slightly depressive personality – we all know that very well, we've been there already.

The need to belong is still there. I've simply lost track of the end of this thread that's got all tangled up and messy. It's the desire to channel my exchanges with this world through one person alone, a person greater than me, greater than life. So i do sometimes look up, squint in the light that i've become unaccustomed to and wonder – what if...

empty shell

I should start by apologising to the gentile readership for the long silence. It's been a reasonably eventful period especially marked by confusion and some unexpected reactions. At times i have felt i had undergone something of a metamorphosis when in fact i think i probably simply needed a quiet time.

When i came home that saturday, i lay my tired arse down on the bed and started considering where i was at. i had gone through this long, drawn out, hopeful but hopeless, long-distance would-be ownership with Mr Glasgow, i had come out of it and agreed to give someone else priority over deciding whether to own me. Now that both these attempts had failed, i really wanted what i felt was a deserved break. I wanted to stop agreeing to tentative ownerships, stop committing myself 100% to somebody before even having met them, stop seeing ownership as my goal, stop being so damn serious about it all. What i wanted was to play the field: meet several people, chat, do what was natural instead of living by my own or someone else's rules. I wanted to sort of date: see dominant men, serve when it feels right, walk away when it doesn't. Until i'd meet someone that would make me want to be owned again. That was the plan. A plan that didn't take off as and when i expected.

The first thing i did coming home was update my profile and go online to experience my new freedom and availability. OK, well, the first thing i did was really to put an end to 10 long days of suffered chastity. The experience had left me wondering whether i was really strong enough to endure it for long periods of time and i felt somewhat relieved that i wouldn't be locked in a CB3000 this time around, as i was due to.

When i went online i started talking to a man that i had spoken to casually for some time, he didn't seem to agree that i should be playing the field and pointed out that if i offered myself to an owner, that owner should know that i'm not talking to any other about possible ownership. This wasn't what i wanted but it made a lot of sense for me to hear that. Coming back from that second out-of-london venture, all i could think about was how i missed Mr Glasgow, how natural it had felt for me to want to belong to him, how i really didn't want somebody to take his place in my head. But the reasoning made sense, i shouldn't see more than one prospective owner at any one time so i postponed my plans for a break and agreed to consider myself "under consideration" for ownership, waiting to meet and chat face to face with him a couple of days later.

It's not my habit to blog about too many details that do not exclusively belong to me but i'll just say that our chat was less casual than i had thought it would be and by the end of the evening i found myself being told that i was owned again. At this point i felt unable to accept or refuse, the man in question was clearly more dominant than me and i followed my instinct going along with his desire to make me his slave. But i soon came to realise that something of a quite radical change had taken place in me, i had become detached from the quest for servitude. I began accepting this type of "imposed" ownership as the truer form of slavery. i didn't have to necessarily feel it, i simply had to do what was requested of me and that i did.

The setup was almost perfectly what i had been seeking and yet something wasn't right. i became more and more detached week after week as my actions were not coming from my heart but simply from his commands. Most readers will think that this is exactly what should happen, that i'm thinking like a spoilt kid, that i'm no true slave and i won't argue against any of these points. All i know is that i did not feel happy dealing with this big vacuum inside of me where in the past i had known there could be storms of feelings of devotion.

But devotion is a powerful feeling that you can't recreate at will and there had been too many masters in too little time. i became devoid of any ability to feel what i was doing, they were mere actions i was carrying out and i didn't know why. i couldn't find words to express what was wrong, i only knew that it didn't feel right. The scariest thing of all for me is that i didn't anymore find myself aroused by my subordinate condition. A few weeks earlier, waiting to meet the previous possible owner, i found myself suffering hell trying to endure little over a week of chastity. i became so aroused that i couldn't get a wink of sleep at night and winded up being a wreck during the day to the point of having to take time off work. This time around it's like i was broken: i was serving and there was no arousal, chastity was easy to endure because i was drained of all desire, it was as if i had become an empty shell, a robot.

I voiced those concerns to ensure my owner was aware of what i was experiencing but after a while i had no choice but to seek and, against his will, claim my freedom again. i felt bad about disappointing him. The fact that i even had to disappoint made me feel useless, a hopeless case which perhaps i am. For this reason, having escaped my bonds, i am quite determined to not disappoint again and at the present time i can only do that by not submitting to any form of ownership until the time comes that i'll feel as certain as i did when Mr Glasgow was around, when i was willing to get on a plane at the drop of a hat, in order to kneel where i felt i belonged.

Right now i don't belong at anybody's feet. All i can do is wait to be proven wrong.

rocks under the water

Quite some time since my last post which doesn't reflect a lack of things happening but rather a lack of time for blogging.

Things didn't work all that well with the man referred to as the "new master" in my earlier posts. It was quite a disappointment. In that case, what seemed like online chemistry translated to no chemistry at all once we were face to face. I travelled once again outside of London anxious to meet him. I still remember the feeling of getting a text from him when i was on the train.

What i find odd about this business of meeting people online is that when you first start talking to someone online you form an opinion about them, an idea of what they might be like. You basically create them inside your head. You then meet them and generally they'll be a little different from the way you thought they'd be. They'll look a little different from their photos, you can see that which you thought you could see in the picture but face to face they are a different person. Sometimes you go on to see them for quite a long time but for whatever reason that first person you had created in your mind is always there, you can always see them again in your mind and remember the way they made you feel. Or at least that's what happens to me. Even now i can reconnect again with that person i was talking to before i actually met him.

When i got his text i had been on a train for some time already. I'd been up for several hours, to get ready, to get to the station early, to catch my train and to arrive at his place at a time that would be reasonably early for a saturday morning. His text came to me as he was just waking up and after my own anxious morning trying to get things done on time, i immediately relaxed and got hard at the thought of what separated his saturday morning from mine. I remember wishing i could go straight to his place and wake him up on my knees and with his breakfast. But this was our first encounter so he was going to pick me up at the railway station and drive me to his place.

When i arrived it was raining quite hard and i had to wait for a little while outside the station because he waited for me to arrive before he left his house to drive out to pick me up. But of course i didn't mind all that as i was still waiting for that person that i had met in the intricate corridors of my mind.

It was quite unfortunate that the car that stopped in front of me to pick me up had inside a very different person, one who looked quite different from the one i had seen in his photos and who felt very different. One that didn't speak to me at all on the way to his place. One who felt a little awkward and ill at ease in that situation. Suddenly this had become a cheap pick up at a railway station and driving home for some anonymous sex.

It become even more anonymous as a blindfold was fastened over my eyes back at his place. Initially i felt that that way i could still see the master that had existed in my mind but, as things went on, it became obvious that awkward is awkward even with a pillow duct-taped over your head. As he started taking photos of me, it became clear that he was making the most of this one-time meet and i became sad and asked to leave.

On the train back I didn't feel sad any more. The person i was leaving behind was not the one i thought i'd be meeting and all i could feel was an incredible sense of confusion. I missed Mr Glasgow, wished that i could see him again but above all there was the desire to take a break from any Master/slave situation.

I came home thinking that i wouldn't be seeking to commit to anyone for some time, that i wanted to meet people more casually, stop jumping into slavery so easily, perhaps meet someone where there could be complicity, understanding, fun and, next to it, a good match sexually. I told myself that i wouldn't commit to serving any one man until one came along where it felt i had no other choice.

But that same saturday afternoon i talked to someone else.

the de-fetishised fetish

I thought further about what i wrote yesterday about pure and simple work. I think i have eroticised the non-erotic, and made a fetish out of managing to remove any classic fetish element. The enormous appeal is in the normality of Dom/sub dynamics where service is the key and any "gear" becomes completely redundant and unnecessary. Almost a distraction. I must admit the theatrical still has a way of capturing my senses and my mind. Collars, manacles, whips, they do get my attention but so does a confident dominant man who wants to get head when he wants to get head and wants his shirt ironed when he wants his shirt ironed. And maybe i don't need to be plugged when doing this, i just need to get the job done right for him.

Some time ago i was reading a story by one of my favourite online writers, and the character in the story was very convincingly arguing how a man cannot be expected to always appear the way a gentleman is expected to if he doesn't have slaves to wash and iron his shirts, press his trousers and polish his shoes. All these things take time and a free man can't be expected to have a job, where he has to appear at his best, and have to worry about such chores.

Now beyond the fantasy, would i leave my job and become a stay-at-home slave? i wish i could say that i would, that i had the freedom of mind required to do something like this. Or rather, i wish i could meet the man who'd make me want to leave everything for him. In the meantime i've internalised too much of this society to be able to pull off quitting job, friends, family, relationship, to become the proper slave that i dream i could be.

Yesterday a man talked to me about internal enslavement. I was familiar with the concept and he thinks it's for me. It certainly is on a metal level but i'm starting to be tired of my inability to embrace my "call". If it's really me, i should be able to make it my reality instead of flirting with the thought without ever really making it happen for real all the way. I'm paralysed in my own inertia perhaps waiting for someone else to operate all these changes for me.

doing the work

Today i was doing a bit of cleaning. Still riding on my sportsgear shopping spree i had sweats on, a t-shirt and some white cotton socks. Very uninspiring and yet... as i was cleaning and tidying up i, er, got inspired. i started thinking about what it would be like to do this kind of work for a Master. I liked the idea of pure, simple work, totally de-fetishised, not naked, in chains or collars, just everyday, run-of-the-mill work to make my Master's life easier. Because chores have to be done and sometimes it's not about whips and clamps, but shopping, washing, vacuuming, and giving your work to the man who owns you.

one extra week

The new Master has cancelled our meeting on Saturday. Far from me to want to stigmatise him for this which is likely to have very valid reasons, i won't deny that my recent exploits have left me rather sensitive to cancellations and plans that aren't adhered to. I have always been, to be honest, this way. In the past, i've always taken a cancelled meet as a sign that the person i was meant to meet wasn't serious about things happening. Lately i have stopped adhering rigidly to this rule. That's definitely what happened with the whole Glasgow story and in this case too, my prospective new owner has shown his clear interest in owning me so i will clearly wait to meet him next week and will not let myself be too bothered by this cancellation.

In the meantime, he has started making his presence felt in my life with a few simple instructions that don't fail to remind me that he's taken charge of me. It's always difficult in the beginning, when you haven't met the person who might soon own you. I normally try to hesitate to get too involved at this stage, but what do you do when the man you might soon belong to asks you to follow certain instructions and start obeying. You do it, of course.

So, among other things, i'm in chastity. Chastity is a great thing for a slave. Clearly you can't do it unless you're owned -- you are bound to lack motivation -- but if you're lucky enough to be owned and to be kept in chastity by your owner, after a few days it starts to deeply change your perception of yourself. It is self-admittedly frustrating but you also stop seeing your body as something that's there to give you pleasure and start considering it as something that can give someone else pleasure and, if you're in any way the submissive type, you'll know that that is the best feeling. You detach yourself from the idea of cumming and messing with your dick as something that is really more your Master's thing and you start becoming more focused on your arse and appreciating it as the thing that can be the source of your Owner's pleasure. As someone who's not naturally arse-centred at all, not a natural bottom in that sense, i appreciate the way that chastity can change me and make me crave the feeling of my Master getting up there taking pleasure from it.

While fantasising and waiting for all of this to happen, i've found a different way to please my Owner. That is indulging his sportswear fetish by taking advantage of the january sales. I've positively gone on a shopping spree that's filled my drawers with tracksuit bottoms, soccer kit, trainers and other bits and bobs, even shin guards. It's odd to have bought all this stuff, to wear it and feel like i'm changing a little to become a little more the way my Owner wants me. But it's a nice feeling and it keeps me going until next weekend when our meeting is scheduled.