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.