Thursday, July 10, 2008

Being in bimbo

It starts with a brief conversation. We've been hanging out in the same chatroom with the generic topic of "BDSM". Looking at every profile embedded in each feminine-sounding handle, i'm searching for the right combination of vulnerability and nubility, but also a wicked and intelligent streak to her. I'll usually send a private message, something playful, but not too aggressive.

"What does a 20-year old like yourself look for in a random BDSM chatroom?"

I have no idea if she's 20. I have no idea if she's a "she". Most don't respond. Those that do, reveal their personality within the first five sentences of our chat. The fiery sprite who wants to flame any and everyone will toss some choice words for me to properly fuck myself. The bored will offer merely one word answers, never ask anything in return and sound too much like, despite her obvious digital multi-tasking with twelve open message windows, the world couldn't get more dull. Five sentences are up, and i move on. There have been only a handful of girls who captured my enigmatic energy and study.

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There was a time i spent a great number of nights trolling chatroom after chatroom, seeking an exchange with this feminine source that invigorates and motivates me, in hopes to take it and warp it horribly. Lately, i've been thinking about this former practice of mine. I've noticed that my attention, when i've felt an aroused desire to splurge an hour on the internet, has largely been centered at erotic transformation fiction sites (one of my latest finds has many of the other stories i've poured over numerous times before, but presents these often, poorly written bits in a new and refreshing format). I've long gotten over how poorly constructed these stories are. Their language (when spelled correctly) affects an impatient tone from the writer and a feeble grasp of the proper manner of massaging the reader's anticipation. Yet, i'm still able to become impassionately turned on (why?).

For many years, my bimbo fetish has provided me with ample amounts of guilt regarding the unavoidable view of women materials touching on this interest seem to have. Mere objects, their worth arriving only in their physical undulations, brainless beauties who have few objections to their manhandling. As anyone who reads these humble pages knows, i have sheer admiration for the fairer (and i do mean the more forgiving and judicious) sex. How do i reconcile, then, my desire to achieve erotic climax by subjecting them to intense submarining of their well-deserved, hard-earned identity? Enter those lasses in my past who allowed me to explore with them my own fixation to turn them into ditzy, slutty fucktoys.

It was the recent torrid of ravished reading of a transformation tale that led me to understand what stabs me so succinctly to the core with this subject. The stories that launched me to festive erectile reverie all had one universal thing in common: the girl at the center of the tale is always an accomplished, independent, and incredibly intelligent girl. Here lies a classic example of my approach to SM. In order for me to get fulfillment, i must conquer, i must command, and i must completely rule. If, however, the girl in question offers no challenge or bounty, i may as well depart before the requisite five sentences expire. Taking the feisty, spunky girl-creature and transforming her into a perverted twist of a voracious slut-object who has no awareness of social mores and expectations indulges the basest of my hungers.

Amidst this process, another unexpected transformation occurs. When i view evidence of the transported acting on sloven desires with which i have conditioned it, i too disappear. I morph into a deduction of myself, where only senses (that are afire and sizzling) matter. I don't want her to remain a bimbo any more than i want to maintain this status of wild beast. This is a single act (depending on the duration and our endurance) that has a finite end.

I recognize why this excites me so entirely. By slipping this deep, by allowing me to guide her to the point of inhuman recognition, i am allowed to expose myself entirely and act without any dread from judgment or scorn. High-octane cylinders that fire engines of pure ecstatic bliss are driving me, and i'm merely along for the gloriously, thrilling ride.

7 comments:

oatmeal girl said...

tingle...

the core of it, for both parties: to "act without any dread from judgment or scorn." pure mutual vulnerability, which can only exist in a state of pure trust.

which is why i persist in believing that the most exquisite bdsm bonds are almost spiritual in nature, much more than just perverted indulgences for the sake of an explosive orgasm.

thanks, Deity. as always.

better-off-redd said...

Deity Sir,
If I have not said this before, your writing entrances me and your topics have challenged me examine certain things and also look at others differently.

While there is objectification, perhaps some mystery still remains?
Underneath that conquered, bound, shapely, obscured identity is a living, breathing, thinking person who trusts you.
She has made herself completely available to you.
And what is she thinking and feeling at that moment, wordlessly wrapped up in the mystery of what she is at her core, and that mystery you had a hand in creating about her?

And I’d like elaborate on the statement Oatmeal Girl said, because It is a sentiment I too, can identify with:
“…i persist in believing that the most exquisite bdsm bonds are almost spiritual in nature, much more than just perverted indulgences for the sake of an explosive orgasm.”

As much as my next paragraph might upset the fundamentalist mentality in its tone of seemingly moral blasphemy, it begs to be stated:
There is something about having that kind of trust on a baser, intimate level that I do find spiritual.
It is as close as we can get as human beings to being our own Alpha & Omega. Resulting in an act where we come back to our beginning. How we all get there is a uniquely personal journey of exploration & analysis.
How can it not be a thing of beauty?
How one beholds this beauty is something that should not be a topic for prejudice or scorn.

Thank you for continuing to share & inspire.

Redd

oatmeal girl said...

Redd - i am so pleased and moved to see you pick up on my concept of the spiritual nature of bdsm. i've had moments crawling out of subspace when i couldn't release a coherent word, and wondered if it resembled what sends people speaking in tongues. with our penchant of talking theology, the philosopher and i have discussed this a number of times. perhaps i should explore it more in my own space.

DinaX said...

The flip side of this is that some women - myself among them - find it all far more rewarding when the gentleman involved is acutely aware as to how far down he's bringing me. Even more so when he also knows that the act itself is secondary to the idea that it's the downward journey that matters.

It's not the degrading act, although that's not to be entirely lost, rather it's the shared knowledge that he's taking me to a place far away from where I usually live. It's the look or the hit r the pinch I get from him when I'm down there that reminds me of my place as meat.

better-off-redd said...

Oatmeal girl,

Yes, I do understand the effects on one’s ability to communicate.
I don’t know about speaking in tongues. However, ‘tongue tied’ I can personally relate to. ;-)

My first experiences of that feeling were not intimate, sexual, or chemically induced at all.
It was not until later that I was able to surmise a possible connection to the spiritual.

While, I’d be happy to elaborate, out of respect for Deity and his personal blog space, I won’t go into detail here.

Deity said...

o.g.,
i would go further and say that if it is a proper power exchange, it must be rooted in spirituality. otherwise, it simply doesn't make any sense to me.

redd,
i do love trances and challenges.

i absolutely acknowledge that she has given herself completely over to me, but what i am asserting in this post is that i am doing the exact same. i am revealing the fitful monster inside and she is neither castigating it or running from it.

to some, my practices might appear garish, brutal and ugly. whereas, i say the same thing about a person wasting their afternoon in their driveway, dousing their pristine BMW with soapy suds and carwax. beauty is absolutely the target, and i am lucky enough to sometimes accomplish its creation.

you are ALWAYS welcome to elaborate, just remember that i have ultimate editorial authority.

dinax,
so beautifully put. if i were ever to be so disconnected from the situation that i'm not cognizant of how deep i've submerged her, i would no longer have any grip on the pleasure of this scenario.

DinaX said...

"... i would no longer have any grip on the pleasure of this scenario."

And what good would that be?

It's when there's the mostly-hidden smirk that makes both of us know that he, the kid from the bad part of town, has me, the powerful one, squirming and moaning and begging and panting in front of him, that things really get interesting.