Sunday, September 21, 2014


One of my favorite operas of all time is Mozart's 'Don Giovanni'. There are many parts of the opera that repeatedly pop up in my mind. However, the frustrated aria sung by Masetto sticks in my head more than the others. In "Ho Capito, signor, si", Masetto is expressing his resentment at Don Giovanni for pushing him out of the scene, but knows there is nothing he can do. Why? Because Don Giovanni is his boss.

We all have them, in some form. Odds are we all have one at our place of employment, telling us what to do and what rules to follow. Sometimes, we really enjoy their placement above us in the food chain - because they provide shelter, stability and guidance. Other times, like for poor Masetto, they are overbearing and unruly. (And for the record, I don't do well with reporting to someone, and have largely avoided this power structure in my professional career as a result)

However, when you really analyze it, we have installed bosses throughout our lives. Most of us wake up to an alarm clock. This electronic patron informs us that it is time to get out of our comfortable beds and start our days. Some of us have relied on applications installed on our phones that alert us of our next appointment, tell us when to head to the airport, or even which medication we should take that day. We rely on physical journals to mark down our daily caloric intake so that we can take control of our weight. And, who hasn't hired a personal trainer or attended a class at a gym run by one because we know we wouldn't do the hard work otherwise if this physically fit person wasn't barking at us to keep going?

All of these things assume a hierarchy over our lives, if we let them. But, here is the key "if we let them." That alarm clock has a snooze button. Those phone apps can be silenced. We can "misplace" our food journals. And we can also choose to not go to the gym. We have to want to be led.

One way we can get to that point of submitting to a boss is to understand the full spectrum of what they do for us. Certainly, they help us get to a goal (Be on time; Lose weight; Stay on track). But, just as significant, they also shape us, reform us, and contain us.

It's that last one that works so much for those who lean toward the submissive side of this power exchange. Many of us thrive when we are contained. Many of us feel liberated only after we have been shackled. We do not have to worry about appearing to lead, but dutifully, passionately follow and carry out commands.

I was recently away from home on business for a time longer than I could remember. Once I came home, my girl started listing all of the times she felt frustrated, uncertain and unsafe (this wasn't immediate - she relished the first 24 hours I was away). She came to a conclusion that once spoken gave me such a rush:

"I really think I need a boss in my life."

Signora, si. 

Saturday, September 13, 2014

les cheveux

I was shelving old anthologies of ragtime sheet music, when i first caught glimpse of her. In this tony and bland music library, her appearance clashed with the surroundings like a single golden leaf on an otherwise empty sidewalk. As quick as i could, i abruptly slammed the dusty collections in my hands to the floor and bolted into the aisle, only to see her turn the corner towards the exit. I conjured up some reason why i needed to run outside, tossing it at my manager as i sped by. Once outside on the street, i scanned the horizons to my left and right, finally seeing her 50 feet up the pathway towards the Arts and Sciences campus. I instantly took up the pursuit.

As i made up ground between us, i tried to think of what i'd say to spark a conversation:

"You dropped this..." - but i wouldn't have anything that she'd dropped
"Hi. I noticed you were in the traditional music section. I happen to be an expert in the field, and thought i'd offer you my assistance." - too trite and a bit on the creepy side
"Pardon me. But i saw you in the library, and just knew i had to say hello or regret it for a very long time." - much better, but still too wordy
"Excuse me. I just saw you in the library, i felt compelled to tell you how beautiful your hair is."

I hadn't actually seen her face, or even much of her figure as she passed me in the library stacks. What caught my eye - what always catches my eye - was her hair. Her rich chestnut locks cascaded all the way to the lower mid part of her back, with several pieces pulled over her face and shoulders. It responded to her body's turns with reciprocal flips and sashays. And every single locomotive quality enticed me. The deep dark color, however, pushed into my gut, awakening a hunger. I instantly imagined my nose sifting through it, pummeled by the perfume of her shampoo and natural oils from her scalp. I felt it curled around my fingers, as i raked through its abundance, the silk strong and tender.

Just as i reached her, she flipped her hair over her ear with her right hand, stroking the torture of her beautiful appearance. We ended up having a wonderful conversation that day. I won't say for how long, or whether it ever ended. But i will say, all these years, she's never cut her gorgeous hair.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Tunnel vision

Immediately, I feel the need to react.

There are few things like this in my life. I can pause my growing hunger for very long periods. I can perform throughout my day on very little sleep from the night before. I can run past the point of my fatigue.

But when faced with my girl taking that first step into the unfairly tilted game I've set up for her that evening, I am completely arrested on the spot and unable to ignore it.

We both love puzzles. We love the idea of tackling a challenge. But, these types of games cannot be put down, and casually picked up later. They demand an immediate solution.

I cannot see anything but her struggle. I cannot smell anything but the sweet poison of her warming sexual arousal. I hear only the whimpers and groans. Soon, my uncommonly strong restraint disappears, and my only choice is to react.

Only then do these blinders lift.

Monday, September 1, 2014

Tribal mentality

Over the years, i have witnessed many long term partnerships, commitments and marriages crumble. So many times, the explanations given for the dissolution of these relationships focus on money, ambition or political/cultural identities. I think this is hogwash. What we are talking about is a coupling, which at its root is a sexual pursuit. Either out of embarrassment or convention, we do not pinpoint sexual incompatibility when we cite the demise of a relationship. It was:
  • We didn't see eye-to-eye on money issues
  • He was too thrifty/she was too much of a shopaholic
  • I couldn't see where he/she had a plan for their future
  • Their position on reproductive rights troubled me
I'm not suggesting that these are not real or important matters, but in my experience, a great number of these issues had a sense of intractability due to the fact that they concealed deeply flawed sexual alignment. For each story about how this person's endless and frivolous online purchases exasperated the other, i've witnessed the self-medicating, cosmetic purpose of these shopping sprees - to cover up the fact that their root, physical needs weren't being met (and perhaps even being shamed by their partner). The reasons for this have become increasingly clearer over the years.

Sex is how we intimately connect.

And I don't just mean how we connect with our sexual partners.  For the extent of my life, I've felt like an outcast. I have a healthy amount of friends, those i'd call my social compadres. All but a very small number know about this site. I have been faced with concealing this side of me to mostly everyone i know. And yet, i have been incredibly blessed to meet people with whom i'm able to share this partition of myself like i share with those of you who visit. Initially, we chatted about our respective engagement in the SM world, and then...our conversations resumed a normal, conventional discourse. In fact, to anyone who observes our interactions from the outside, the conversations we have are incredibly (and perhaps, boringly) normal. However, these people represent the folks with whom i get to be my most authentic self. I get to be my dominant self - no question - but i also get to be my challenged, struggling, uncertain and questioning self in ways that are liberating.

There's a lot of cosmetic manipulation that can make a life pursuing this kind of sexuality sound glamorous and profound, but if we never find those who make up our tribe, it never feels real.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014


Can you deny the fact that ankles are so prominently overlooked?

When was the last time you spent the good part of your day staring at the panoply of these gorgeous yet differently-shaped podiatric joints?

I whimsically pretend not to gaze at the small, faeric, fleshy pistons that populate the city sidewalks and bus chassis and waiting rooms and subway platforms during the warm, smarmy months of summer. I'm supposed to, instead, force my eyes onto the 3 by 5 inch digital screen of my mobile, gathering the disconnected bits and bytes of bland tuppence that my social networks serve to me on-demand. To peer at these angled protrusions as they march by, i am breaking the social contract i have entered into by donning the clothes of a well-behaved, professional gentleman.

I'd take the moments i catch a glimpse of this spectrum of human beauty over all the shaved iced treats in the world the humid, hot weather permits. I thank each and every one of you for sharing, but i needn't dare tell you that i noticed.

Sunday, August 24, 2014


This is an unpublished vignette that i wrote a while ago:


I'd just dropped off my bike to get a tune-up, and turned the corner when suddenly i was hit by inspiration. No, it wasn't the kind of inspiration that brings me to type these words into this editor window. It was a different kind of inspiration, and i can't really say where it came from but it took a very simple form:

I wanted to spoil my girl

I occasionally get these urges, just out of the blue, where i want to go get something nice and pretty for her that will come as a complete surprise. She'd recently been complaining about her wardrobe, how she was kind of bored with it. I understood what she meant, but making a change to it wasn't her responsibility. For a very long while, my girl has abided by a dress code of my design. Anything new introduced to it is either selected by me or put forth for my approval.

I told myself that i would walk the avenue, looking in the store windows, and if i saw anything that inspired me to purchase, i would execute. This search lasted all of four minutes. I passed a store where all the dresses are hand-designed and sewn by the shoppe's owner, and there was a dress that screamed "my girl." I entered the store and asked to see the dress so i could find out whether the measurements matched those of my tightlaced beauty's. I came to find out that there were only four dresses made in this style, and it just so happens the one we were looking at abided by her dimensions (almost eerily so). I told the shopkeeper that i would be right back. I wanted to think about it, give some of the other stores an opportunity to woo me. Alas, after a short survey of the competitor's windows, it became clear the dress had a new owner.

When i brought the dress home, i hid the gift-wrapped box behind a chair in the foyer, and greeted the missus in the kitchen. We spoke a little, as i withdrew some cold refreshment out of the ice box. Filing through the mail, i nonchalantly asked her to fetch the bag behind the chair.

"What is it?"

She hands the bag to me, as if i wanted the items inside.

"It's not for me."

She knows it's not for me. She makes this gesture to seek my permission to accept the gift.

Needless to say, this dress has become one of her absolute favorites. She wears it well. I mildly worry about the way it may have spoiled the rest of her wardrobe.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Borne this way

I can't help it. Provide me with an ass, and i'll bite it. Until it hurts. Until it REALLY hurts. Until you yell at me. Until you can't stop jerking your backside away from my mouth, and moan out of protest.

Moan. Complain. Protest. Dig in your heels. God...that's what i want to hear. I was just spending the waking moments of our morning satisfying my tactile desire to chomp and bite, but then you insist on whimpering. Do you not know what that does to me?

Moan. Whimper. Appeal to my decency. My humanity. You will soon see how i respond to such protestations. You will soon feel how rigid your verbal rejections of my behavior instills in my groin. This erection, you cannot blame me. This is your fault. I was just biting. I was just nibbling and nuzzling. You chose to paint the air with your withering victimhood. You chose to offer your cries, your rejections.

God...does that resistance stoke the flames in my mind.