Monday, April 30, 2007
I've been blessed to receive this gift from 6 incredible girls, of course i went about "The Gain" the only way i knew how, and that was to transform them on some level. When i met each of them, i was at a more advanced level in sexual deviance than they were, which was an incredibly enticing prospect all its own. I relished the role of debaucherer, introducing them to scenarios via stories, photos or videos, greeting their vehemenent protests at such filth with immense sadistic delight. Each of them responded differently to my tactics, and each required a specific, custom-made approach to drawing them to a place where the mere sound of my voice or look in my eyes brought them to a deep, safe, and indisputable submission. Something about interacting with these girls, all of whom were/are strong spirits and otherwise vivacious personalities in the outside world, felt incredibly natural and right. I acted precisely as i knew i had to and wanted to, which to an outside observer (and in the initial stages with most of these girls) would appear stubbornly arrogant. I made assertions and demands that they were not accustomed to that insulted their liberated sentiments. In fact, this issue contributed to the biggest challenge i faced. I learned an incredible amount about myself as i made mistakes and miscues. However, the most important thing i learned was simply because i desired to dominate females did not necessarily mean i was fully aware of the responsibility i'd be dealt once i gained an intensely strong and assertive creature's submission.
As i said, each one of these girls gave me their submission in different ways, but there was one thing that united all of them, which told me the exact moment i had it. We simultaneously experienced the same physical sensation of an intense field of energy throbbing in our chests that can only be described as a current running between our two bodies. It expanded out into our arms and hands, up our necks, and the more we breathed within the same space, it flooded over us. We became intertwined. The first time i felt this, i was hooked. It was the greatest high i'd ever experienced, and i would do what i could over the years to get back to the moment. That it came as a result of intense degradation and objectification of the girl struck me both as cruel and beautiful.
Incidentally, in my journey to continually re-experience this sensation, i found, as a result of my greed, a very appealing and efficient method that delivered "The Gain" more succinctly than anything else in my bag of tricks. I'll consider sharing it later.
*this continues on here
Friday, April 20, 2007
As i got a bit older, much to my father's dismay, i continued using dolls for stimulation. My mother had no problem supplying me with a contraband 'My Lil Pony' or a 'Cabbage Patch Kid'. I would enter into an intense relationship with these tiny feminine objects, treating them with delicate and meticulous care. In fact, my first crush was on 'Blueberry Muffin', the dark girl in the Strawberry Shortcake gang. But, as some may suspect, i didn't brush their hair or primp them in any conventional way. In fact, if you were to look at my small collection of dolls, they would look very different from how i received them. Almost all of them, if they didn't have it already, got their hair dyed to a dark color. I would take markers and draw longer lashes across their plasticine brows. Eventually, they would look as i wanted them to look.
Of course, as i reached adolescence, i abandoned my dolls. In fact the impulse to dress up a doll got locked in deep subterfuge, replaced instead by the less heady pursuit of real live girls and the flowery scents on their necks. It wasn't until i was dedicating my time to one of those females that i would begin to see applications of my childhood aptitude. I only went to three formal dances in Middle school and High school, and for each of them, i payed an unusually high amount of attention on what my date would wear. In 9th grade, i broke up with the captain of the Freshman cheerleading squad because one day she didn't smell the way i'd wanted. I even convinced the girl i dated for the longest amount of time in my teens to dye her hair from her beautiful natural blonde to deep, rich auburn. I still remember the whole body stimulation i felt when she came back from the salon with her newly tarnished locks.
Over the years, i've been able to explore different levels of feminine image manipulation. Most of my courtships have not taken the "ask for her phone number, set up a date" format. A few, those who i sensed would tolerate it, would be taken through a lengthy phone or e-mail interview - the equivalent of the stage director looking from the dark at the ingenue pinned by the bright spotlight, asking her to "turn around for him". The girls who permitted this odd evaluation wanted it. They wanted to be cast in my production. As a prerequisite to our eventual 'first date', the girl would consent to me choosing her comportment from head to toe. Some would be told to wear a certain length of skirt. Others with their hair up, and earrings that complimented the length of their neck. A very select few would be told to go completely without panties. And yes, a few of them agreed to that. All of them were asked to wear heels or boots, of a specific shape and style. These girls were not accustomed to dressing in the ultra-feminine way i demanded, and they absolutely were not used to being told how to dress. Over the years, through trial and error (some would come to the dates so enraged at me for my demands - yet, oddly still dressed as i asked - that i would usally get a faceful of the lady's beverage by the end of the night), i honed what i came to understand was my dress code, which i recognize serves as a hoop that a beautiful feminine creature must leap through in order to gain my attention.
My girl abides more or less to my dresscode on a daily basis. Except for the unbearably hot months, she laces in one of her custom corsets down to 22 1/2". We've been together for several years, and i still get incredibly aroused when on occasion she asks for my help lacing her up. She wears thigh high stockings, usually with seams, held up by a garter belt (or sometimes garters attached to her corset). She dyes her hair jet blue black, and keeps it long. Every two weeks, i treat her to a trip to the nail salon, where she gets a french manicure and fills for her 1/2" long acrylic fingernails. She does not wear pants - ever. Only dresses or skirts (i used to get such horrible looks from her in the early stages of our relationship when i would say "Men wear pants, darlin. Do you want to dress like a man?"), even in the colder months, where she employs the use of legwarmers, which i find much more flattering.
On the surface, she looks incredible every single day, and i look at her as a present to a world that suffers from not having enough beauty - to quote the theologian Vigen Guroian "We long for salvation, so that beauty fills our lives". When we are out, people take notice of her, stare, marvel at her tiny waist and her prim outfit. One elderly man stopped us and even paid her a compliment by saying "You are so beautiful, you remind me that there is the Divine." Underneath all of this, i know that my dress code limits her. She can only eat certain-sized portions when laced. She has grown intimate with the "Backspace" key, because the length of her nails causes her to hit the wrong one. All of this endlessly titilates me. I get a kick from the struggle, but i also admire, respect and cherish it.
Maybe someday i'll grow tired of enforcing this dress code. Perhaps, i'll find other passions to deploy my meticulous energy for details. For now, i enjoy having a living and breathing doll, who i can take out whenever i want, or keep her locked up in her case.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
I drove up to the house in Faircrest Hills, arriving at the estate in my dilapidated pickup truck. The valet looked at me as i handed him my keys with what i expected would be the first of many "you don't belong here" looks. I felt the same about him. Who has a valet at their house? I walked up the path to the front door, which seemed to magically open on its own upon my approach. As i stepped through it, i saw the proud butler holding the door in such a way that most of his body was hidden by it so that arriving guests wouldn't need to be distracted by his bodily presence.
Curving upwards, as if taking off in flight from the landing i stood on were two long marble staircases, with a golden strip of carpeting flowing right down the middle of each. These staircases served to frame perfectly the first of eight Christmas trees that i would encounter in the Stevenson's mansion. It was easily the biggest Christmas tree i'd ever seen in someone's house. 18 or 19 feet high, yet it came nowhere near approaching the lofty ceiling hanging above. However, this wasn't the most spectacular thing about this ornamentation. Looking at the base of this gigantic blue spruce, i saw what i suspected had to be true. Thinking no tree holder could be large enough to support this tannenbaum on its own, without trying to register my surprise, i looked at the trunk sinking right into the oval of earth cut out in the floor. I wondered as i was escorted to the north wing where the guests were milling if the Stevensons had planted the tree or if they'd built this enormous house around it.
I'd been invited to this festive banquet by the youngest of the Stevenson girls who i'd been seeing off and on at College. I knew and she knew i didn't belong, but i accepted her invitation nonetheless. I really wanted to see the environment in which she'd been incubated that contributed to her incredibly sexy bitchiness. I don't want to give the impression that i was outwardly some rebellious looking wolf who the youngest girl of this upper crust family hoped would cause shivers in the stiff vertebrae of her parents. On the exteriors, i was and still am very clean and dapperly dressed (which has always caught off any girl i have revealed this tilted side to), it's just that the Stevensons were that wealthy. They were among four families in the area whose names crested institutions, government pavilions and of course industries.
Dear old Papa did his best to reinforce, during the glamorous seven course meal, the esteem and prestige that made up the Stevenson pedigree. I realized he didn't usually regale his banquet guests with accounts of the precedents and pioneering achievements struck into the roots of our entire community by the hands of his lineage. He was doing that for my benefit. I listened to every word, impressed at the fluidity of his speech and pride in his heritage.
I smiled at him while i listened, while in my head i contemplated the contrast of the image of this founding clan parading across the terrain and the image from just the night before of his youngest daughter (whose leg had been running up and down my thigh ever since the second salad course) crawling on all fours, completely naked, across the floor of my dorm room, carrying my homework in her mouth that i'd had her fetch for me.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
I was never drawn to the shy, meek female. The ones that grabbed my attention were the most popular girls who had a loyal following despite their unhindered bitchiness. And if it wasn't the icy cheerleader, it was the exceedingly independent "dark" girl who was writing on her tattered jeans words like "death" and "destroy".
Now, i start this tabloid about my sexual journey somewhere in the mid-point. The cheerleader and dark girl were only characters i encountered once i started Junior High school. At some point i plan on expanding in all directions from this period of my life (the direction dictated by my and any of my readers' interest). This will serve to illustrate what i believe is the overall anatomy of a man who has grown comfortable with the fact that he enjoys the struggles of a beautiful female (muffled or not), put in a predicament of his choosing.
At the time when my social clique dictated that i stick to the Honor Roll and Speech and Drama club for my teenage romances, i couldn't help but wander to the section of the hallway where the cheerleaders bubbly and viciously convened and the South wall of the rec yard where the dark girls poured over their notebooks filled with poisonous odes. I would linger, take a position that would not expose my observational purpose, and just watch. Occasionally, i'd get called out, by someone who (usually of the opposite sex) noticed i was not with "my flock", but most times, be left alone.
The chapters of my early teenage exploration of the female species consisted of short periods of bored "dating" with nice enough girls who broke the bell curve on tests. But most of it happily resided in this realm of observance of the bitches and the darks. Once my freshman year of high school came around, i had found myself in a few relationships with girls from these two groups.
What surprised me was a universal reality i came to discover about these girls. It wasn't a universal quality they all shared, but my uniform reaction once we started dating.
I wanted to transform every single one of them.