the stir

I'm continuing with my new enterprise as a pleasure slave.

After a long period of inactivity, things have been pretty busy and it's nice to be able to "feel" something again and rediscover part of me. I'm being deliberately and necessarily vague because I don't know what that feeling actually is. I realise that most things I do I experience in a very intimate and confusing way. I think I had forgotten this about myself during the time when everything seemed to be clear.

Guys come to see me and I give them my mouth to use for their pleasure. That's all I'm willing to do at the moment. When I was looking for a master, I felt I couldn't negotiate, I had to give all of myself but now I'm in a different transactional space where I feel able to state what I'm bringing to the table and the men I meet take it or leave it on that understanding. I will not let random guys fuck me because to me that's the mark of ownership and I don't take that lightly, but I'm more willing to allow men to use my mouth because that answers a deeply help need I have. I'm happy to admit that: this is not selfless.

Generally they are men who primarily lead a straight life, some are divorced, some have girlfriends.

Disclaimer: they really aren't as many as this makes it sound.

Without any intent to lessen other people's experiences (or primarily because I won't pretend to know what anyone else experiences, especially someone whose life perception is so vastly different from mine) I suspect that what they get out of the exchange is just that: the pleasure of the moment, getting off, perhaps emphasised by a feeling of control and dominance. But I don't know, I'm not in their heads.

What do I get, I ask myself. See, I can't even tell what I, myself, get. I can't quite put my finger on it. I get a good, deep stir, that's what I get. I remember those cartoons when I was a child where two characters get in a fight and it's represented by a dark cloud with random feet, hands and other bits sticking out of it. That's kind of the state I'm in after I've been stirred. Or like a glass of water with some muddy sediment at the bottom. I stir it and it all starts to swirl around and mix together until it all turns into a dark emulsion. Then, when it's all over, the sediment separates from the water again and it floats back down to the bottom of the glass leaving the water seemingly clean again. That's how I experience it, I go from a moment of apparent clarity where all the dark gooey shit is nowhere to be seen to another moment where it's suddenly all over the place and I can't see farther than my own nose.

Sometimes literally. ;-)

Then the sediment takes some time to gather again at the bottom of the glass and that is the intermediary phase I'm in now, the moment where I can start to look around me a little and even tell myself that I can make out what it is that makes up this goo. But then it's all back to the way it was. As it all slips through my fingers, nothing is retained and, with my feet ankle-deep in mud, I need a good stir again.

The stir goes by in a moment. I think. I'm in such a state of confusion when that happens that I couldn't say exactly what goes on. Or maybe I say that now because I'm in the after phase and I'm slightly disconnected from the experience. But I think it's primarily chaos, the gooey sediment spins and I'm caught in the vortex. I go with the flow and don't think about anything else.

But when the stir stops, that's when I start to feel. At first, I get a deep sense of accomplishment when my guests leave. For a brief, fleeting moment I feel fulfilled, centred. Whole. I have pleased. I've gone through it and I've proved myself and I've done well. But that feeling doesn't last long. When the water starts to clear, I start flashing back to what happened. People might be talking with me and quite suddenly I'm not there any more and I remember a movement, a snapshot, a sound. It comes back to me so suddenly that I completely disconnect for a moment and I have to struggle to not appear completely catatonic. Incidentally, I have no idea if I manage that at all. My interlocutors might be perfectly aware that I'm not there anymore. I can't tell because I'm obviously not there. But the initial sense of accomplishment is replaced by the immense distance that I feel from these men whose pleasure and satisfaction meant so much to me in the moment and are now gone. I vacillate between that satisfaction and a complete opposite feeling of loneliness and incompletability. Like a circle that you can never finish drawing because as you draw more of it, the other end of the line starts to fade.

But I look forward to these men returning, to once again stir the mud inside of me because their return gives me the validation that I need. It means I'm doing well.