Saturday, November 29, 2008

After all things must come beauty

I'm an incredibly sappy and nostalgic individual. I do not shy away from this fact here or in my everyday life. The number one edict in my home - above the establishment of stringent roles between me and my girl, and before the enforcement of rules that stem from those roles - is that at the end of everything, let the pursuit of beauty dictate the day.

So much in this world that confronts us these days serves only to break us down emotionally and psychologically. Our global financial crisis daily reveals that the search for the bottom will be difficult and uncertain. Violence rages across every continent - the kind that makes absolutely no sense when viewed either firsthand or through the lens of media. I sense a grand ennui, a heavy weight of dread and helplessness in everyone i encounter. There is little any of us individually can do to address these macro-level dilemmas, which when realized exacerbates the state of vulnerability we feel. What most people will do to avoid the continual bombardment of images and news reports of our doom is escape into fantasy, fluff and mindlessness. I understand this, but i don't believe it is the most adequate way to survive the drudgery. Seeking, pursuing, and celebrating the beauty in all things will provide the sincerest enrichment to our souls.

One of the finest examples of this that i can present to my readers is the film "Le fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain" (known in English as simply "Amelie"). I have myriad reasons for adoring this flick (chief among them that it is responsible for me finding my girl), and have watched it well over 30 times since i first viewed it in the theatres if just to remind me what it is like to admire the small, nuanced and often hidden beauty in everything. I share this trailer made by a fellow fan and invite those of you who have not seen it to treat yourself and give the full movie a chance.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

The hunter and the hunted

A great deal of the internal dynamics of a power exchange can resemble that which exists between the predator and the prey. The chief difference coming from the animal under chase in Nature is not one who wants to get caught and turned into the ravenous carnivore's meal. Clearly, between a Top and a bottom, someone in this transaction wants to "get caught".

In my youth, i unknowingly mimicked the game of 'cat and mouse' everyday out on the playground. Instead of playing H-O-R-S-E with the boys on the blacktop, i instead honed in on my latest crush, only to chase her around the jungle gym for the duration of our recess. Either she let me catch her, or i finally managed to do it myself, this conversation would always result in me pinning her to the ground, a potpourri of snickering and giggling, while my victim lay beneath me struggling to get away. Again, sometimes i'd let her wiggle free, or she'd actually escape on her own (i preferred the latter over the former). Still, i never connected this game to the actual task of hunting down and taking another creature's life.

I have hunted animals before. I was raised on a ranch, and i have slaughtered livestock, even those i raised with great care and attachment from their birth. I have pulled an entire evening meal's worth of fish from the ocean, watching these creatures flail the last of their life force in a bucket of sea water. I do not grimace when i watch nature films that depict the killing of an antelope by a pack of lions, nor do i feel the need to shield myself from the notion that the food on my table came at the expense of some other lifeform's demise.

Recently, in a discussion i was having with a colleague, the notion of hunting/slaying/gathering as a dominant trait came up. I had never identified those aspects of myself as related to my dominant streak (especially since it was required of everyone on the ranch to face the fact that in order to live you must commit murder). But i wonder if others feel this way. Do most folks who identify themselves as submissives turn away from the idea of taking another creature's life for the sake of their own sustenance? Are all dominant-types able to hunt and fish without any pause? Something in me rejects this notion as a true delimiter of what makes someone submissive and dominant. I'm very interested to hear what others think.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

The third person

It all starts with words. To be more precise, it starts with the reduction of them. I slowly remove certain words from my manner of speech, she responds, following my cue. Her tongue takes to the incision, and suddenly those bits of her vocabulary are off-limits. I strip her of more verbiage, just like i strip her of her clothes, of her identity, of her freedom.

Soon, the language organically evolves into me referring to her in the third person. She is still there in front of me, but dramatically diminished. The notion of "i" or "me", the possibility of autonomy, free thought, disappears. What remains is less. Minimal. A casing.

And she responds.

Her body becomes flush with warmth, tingles spray across the surface of her skin, and her head fills with light effluvium. I see her breathing take on different labors. I see her eyes widen and yet sharpen at the same point. A crest builds between us, drawing from my chest an apparition, summoning another dimension.

That's when It takes over. I take a step back, and It controls the flow.

The presence, the existence, the pause, the stranger, the unknown, the shadow, the flame.

This third person, thing, beast rushes over the object in front of It, overwhelming the microscopic bundle that sits in wait. It will devour the tiny creature.



and enjoy

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

again and again

"...I say that the true artist-seer, the heavenly fool who can and does produce beauty, is mainly dazzled to death by his own scruples, the blinding shapes and colors of his own sacred human conscience."

J.D. Salinger, Seymour: An Introduction

"That again, that she is. She is that again. All that is that, she is and will be and is expected to be, again and again. Beauty."

I walk this land, repeating this to myself. Over and over, wherever i go. One day, while walking along a country road, i encountered a farmer and his pig. This was no ordinary pig, i was to learn, unless you expect most pigs to be the kind that sing - which some of those amongst us do, however we usually expect in the end, whether they sing or not that they will end up as bacon on the farmer's plate. Not this farmer. This farmer loved this pig. True, the farmer ate pork and true he had thought of eating this pig who was juicy and round and perfect in every piggy way. But above all of this, the farmer loved the singing. He listened to the pig singing, letting the pig sing whenever it wanted to. The pig loved singing above all else.

Well, on this day, the farmer was discussing a serious matter with the pig. You see, the pig had become restless and frightened. The pig knew that the farmer would never eat it but couldn't help take notice the farmer's taste for bacon, his longing for ham, and the agitation and terror were just too much to handle. So the pig was asking the farmer if it could leave. The farmer protested and tried to reassure the pig, but the pig had made up its mind.

The pig left to go live with people who never eat pigs. This would make the pig feel more at ease because it believed it signaled a respect they had for pigs he currently lacked. The farmer felt empty as he watched the pig leave, for the song had departed from his life. I turned to continue on my way along the country road, but not before offering my condolences to the farmer.

"That again that she is. She is that again. All that is that, she is and will be and is expected to be, again and again. Beauty."

A year or two later, i happened upon this farm again. I had expected it to be under a deep shadow, but to my surprise it was as vibrant a farm as when i'd first encountered it. The pig had apparently returned. The pig's new home turned out to be a disappointment. You see, the people there didn't avoid eating pig out of a respect for the animal, but refused to eat them because they found them to be filthy animals. They would not eat our pig, thankfully, but worse, they outright rejected its song - no matter how beautiful it sounded. They called the pig "swine" and sent it away. After many months of wandering, the pig came to a conclusion. It offered it to me that day:

The only way I can truly be happy is to find other pigs that sing. But, as I found, there are so few of them in this world, I fear I shall never find them. Since I see more pigs on this farm than anywhere else, I rejoined the farmer and hope that one day, I will not be alone on the farm.

"That again that she is. She is that again. All that is that, she is and will be and is expected to be, again and again. Beauty."

Saturday, November 15, 2008

The illusion always has an explanation

The average visitor to these pages comes across "TransformHer" for the first time, having never stepped foot into my shadowy lair ( i know this because there's a reason i get so few comments but a healthy albeit humble turnstile count). As i've come to notice, most random, brand new visitors find my black and orange-hued corner through image/content searches for "venus corset" or "neck corset" (and especially these two posts: one on Venus corsets and the other on my neck corset obsession). The latter post being over a year old, and yet it still seems to snag a gigantic portion of my visitors. In fact, were it my sole goal to accumulate the largest number of visitors my particular bent could muster, i'm convinced all i'd need to do would be to post an entry filled with a run-on sentence that consisted of four words: "neck corset venus corset"

neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset neck corset venus corset

and so on...

In actuality, my number one goal has not been focused on me luring the largest number of interested readers (i.e. quantity), but rather me presenting a viewpoint that sparks dialogue, debate and conversation about topics that too frequently get treatment as pure fantasy (i.e. quality). By this i mean i want to take the "Gor" out of SM, the forced honorifics and protocols that seem to muddle up what anyone who seeks a power exchange is really looking for - a connection to a like-minded spirit (i speak out against the fakery out there in the SM world, and yet i still pen this entry under the fictional name of 'Deity'. Yes, i recognize the irony in this).

This entry really is meant for those first-timers to "The Lustful Quality" or even those semi-frequent visitors who have not lent their voice to this dialogue (i promise to be kind and encouraging to anyone who comments). Should you desire to engage in a kink relationship that takes the structure of a Male Top and a female bottom, i seek to dispel any illusions that this journey is devoid of difficulty, emotional pain or even total miscalculations. I've been pursuing this kind of power dynamic for decades, and i have yet to have still master the day in and day out, and despite what may come across in my entries, there are still struggles between me and my girl that are very human, very raw and very flawed.

I chronicle a regular correction of my girl on these pages that some of you have taken a shine to, but i don't often present the failed episodes wherein my girl does not respond to the discipline i'm dishing out. This does not make her flawed or disobedient, rather it can be chalked up to the regular ruminations of living life. It would be complete folly to expect my girl to take instruction from every single character she encounters in her life like she does from me. In fact, she is a fiery, opinionated, and intelligent creature whose voice is very often sought and relied upon - to insist that this voice be silenced would do an injustice to not only her but the world. That being said, this creature with such a tiny, feminine frame who must fight for a seat on the train ride home can't just disrobe of this armor the instance she steps foot across our threshold.

I've seen many portrayals out there of 24/7 power exchanges where the submissive is able to/expected to immediately assume the role of the bottom as soon as they come in contact with their Top. I won't declare those as being false, but i will say i've had no such similar experience. Just because i call my girl up in the middle of the day, on a day where she needs to be on top of her game, responding to others' needs, juggling others' demands, it would be completely ignorant and unreasonable for me to expect her to assume the bottomness she so beautifully accomplishes in the comfort of our home.

This is a game of psychology, and for the most part sanctuary. I'm not able to, nor should i seek it, to be a Top to everyone i encounter in my business transactions. Nor should my girl assume the role of the submissive to everyone who engages her. When we do come together, there is a considerable negotiation and a certain amount of theatrics that takes place. Sometimes i feel like i'm putting on a production with me as the Director/School Master/Boss character that creates an environment where we are able to assume the roles that slough off the masks we portray in our daily lives. What makes it all the more engaging is that we're not following a set protocol or an ideology, and in fact exploring this journey together, making it our own. Me being who i am, i would be quite disappointed should i discover that i was in fact towing some unseen party line with regards to SM. And quite personally (with all due respect to those who enjoy lines that are rift with parties and ideologies), i'm not sure that's realistically possible.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

The autumn leaves me smiling

The crispness in the air that serves a pleasant note of chill to the skin has arrived, and with it comes my favorite season: boot season. In the past, i've dictated how i have a reflex reaction to the sound of heels upon the pavement. My head jerks in the direction of the click-clack percussive, for which i most certainly look odd, nonetheless my adoration for the heel-shodden female takes command at these moments. Most times, my instantaneous peek of excitement quickly turns to glib dissappointment because the chosen footwear doesn't fit my (admittedly) narrow aesthetic. However, should the shape and form match my likes, i will study them, examine how the girl's foot lays in them, the impact on her calf (if visible) and her buttocks, and how she holds her posture standing in them. If i'm truly smitten by the wearer and the worn, i've been known to take a 20 minute detour just to follow the lass so that i can witness the pedestrian pageant.

Another reason occurs to me why i enjoy this season so much. The cold weather discourages a practice that i've come to revile. It's rather tough to dress in tight, revealing, midriff-exposing rags when the windchill drops - and thank God for that! My male colleagues relish the Spring thaw because with the rising temperatures comes rising hemlines, and frankly, as i've often stated, this rush for females to sluttify their appearances greatly diminishes their power over other women, men, and sadly, themselves. They've removed the anticipation and imagination about what they might appear like in their bedroom, and paraded it around like a stripper who's only absent their pole.

I was recently reminded of this distinction and the real power a lady dressing in a classy and elegant, yet still sexy fashion has. In my office, the environment is highly male-dominant, and the few females in the ranks feel the need to dress down and minimize their femininity in order to achieve their spot in the pecking order. One, however, stands out. Since her start here six years ago, she has always presented herself with excelled beauty and dignity, taking great care in her appearance. She keeps her hair very long, easily to the base of her back. Her costume usually consists of skirts and dresses and always heels. Her hands are exquisitely manicured, and her makeup subtle but striking. She has a very devout Christian faith that she allows to quietly guide her decisions and her opinions (e.g. she won't let her son celebrate Halloween), and she tolerates absolutely zero crude or sexist remarks (which is commendable in a very high-ego, macho environment).

The other day, i was picking up my mail, and she came scooting by me with considerable velocity. She boisterously greeted me as she passed. I returned her greeting by smiling, and instinctively scanning the floor to catch a glimpse of her heels du jour. 5" stilletto heel, knee-high, black leather boots with constrast grey lacing on the sides. Very fetching. I just had to have an excuse to engage in a longer conversation where i could catch a few more glimpses of her appearance (quite honestly, she has to, by this point notice how intently i study her chosen garments). Even though my girl has become quite the pro in maneuvering in rather high heels, i decided to play up my bewilderment at how any girl could manage.

"I have to ask, but how do you manage to whip by with such agility in those things."

I pointed at the boots that extended out beneath her desk. She looked up with a smile, hearing that it was my voice behind the question.

"It's not that hard. Have you ever tried?"

"Ha ha, uhm, i may have when i was in college, i don't really remember."

"Well, ladies are built for it. We have different physiques."

This qualified for a follow-up question of clarification that my smartass mind conjured but quickly contained.

"I agree. Just this morning, my girl put on her maroon, patent leather, mary jane platforms, and i marveled at how effortlessly she could navigate our stairs."

"Exactly. With practice, it's easy enough to do. You like how she looks in them, don't you?"

"Without a doubt."

We smiled and laughed a little longer, while my eyes finished their meal. Knowing how reserved and dignified she was made this exchange even more enjoyable. I wouldn't have had nearly as much a thrill had she shoved her cleavage in my face and sold her wares with loose urgency. Her restraint, the indications she gave that her body was off-limits made her all the more attractive. I excused myself as a little hint in the back of my mind told me she had an inkling as to what portion of my appetite she'd help satiate.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

The Garden

There lay a field, open and fertile, just over the hill and beyond the very old maple tree. One day, two individuals came upon this plot, separately and on their own. Each looked upon the earth that lay partially in the shade of the very old maple, and felt the urgency of potential emanating from beneath their feet.

In a very short time, the man found that the woman saw the land the very same way he did. She too wanted to plant and turn the dirt underneath. He discovered that much of the crops she wanted to grow were the same exact ones he wanted. She learned that some of the vegetation he specialized in very nicely complemented some of the vegetation in which she specialized. They could hardly contain their excitement underneath the tranquil shadow of the very old maple. The very next day, they began to build their garden.

He turned the earth with a shovel, and she followed behind him gently placing the various seeds of their intended crops into the terrestrial womb. After a few day's work, they'd planted every assortment of vegetable and fruit they'd chosen. Each day, they came back and watered the ground with great care, taking pleasure in the excitement of anticipation. When the first sprouts appeared, they held eachother jubilantly, humbled by the process of creation. For the next few months, each day, they tended to that garden, removing any weeds or pests that might endanger their product. They marveled at the transformation of this little piece of land with each growing stalk and bulging bulb. Occasionally, the joy of their effort would overcome them, and he would grab her and roll around in the dirt, playfully laughing and and tickling her.

Finally, the Fall arrived. Everywhere they looked, a tremendous diversity of color and shape greeted them, sounding out the full song of their harvest. The week that followed, they picked, pulled and tugged every ripe vegetable and fruit they could find, until they had a tremendous flora bounty. From this cornucopia, they were able to create great feasts for eachother and their loved ones. With each savory bite, they gave thanks for the product of their hard work and partnership.

What followed could take many paths. They could continue to put in great labor tending to this garden beneath the old maple tree that would over time not require as much labor as it did initially, and would continue to provide them with a bountiful yield year-long. Or they could dedicate themselves to the joint effort for a few years, but over time petering out, leaving the garden to fall to neglect and abandonment. Eventually, the earth would reclaim this land from them, and over time present itself to others. Regardless of what path they chose, there would be times this garden would not produce a single plant. There would be years where portions of it would need to lie dormant and fallow. But, all of these would be followed by a period where great output could be assured. As long as the two individuals who came upon this plot so many years before remained dedicated to their joint pledge to care, tend and love this garden, there existed no reason the very old maple tree wouldn't witness the continual beauty of fruit's bearing.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Christmas came early...or late

Ecstatic. Overjoyed. Quite frankly like a kid on Christmas Eve night. I finally heard from him.

After months of no replies to my weekly e-mails inquiring about an update, finally, my girl's corsetier got back with me. The custom patent leather neck corset and hood was finally completed. To tantalize me, he sent me a photo of it, laced onto a mannequin to shoe its full viciousness. If i could, upon viewing this picture, i would've taken a cab up to his place immediately, but, as it was, i had a wedding to attend and was heading out of town. I'd have to wait another week longer (some may say "what's another week after all this time?" and i would reply simply "uhm, another week, that's what it is.").

For those of you who recall, this contraption was supposed to be a naughty christmas gift from me to my girl last year. Twelve visits, thirty one e-mails, and countless fittings later, he'd completed the piece. We arranged to visit the following weekend. I didn't care if a monsoon hit the city, i'd trudge my way to his studio. I was going to have my toy.

When we arrived, we quickly dispatched of the most rudimentary social niceties (largely because the corsetier is an awfully socially awkward fella), not to mention i was a little peeved that he hadn't responded for so long. I scanned his long workbench on the other side of his studio, in hopes of eyeing my treasure. No such luck. The scoundrel had hidden it away from me.

"Okay, let me see it."

He gave my girl big eyes that spoke his incredulity at my tactless cut-to-the-chase manner. Without much hesitation, he opened a closet, and wheeled out the headless dress form where laced around the stem that served as its neck lay the beautiful neck corset. If i didn't gasp, i could've very easily. He produced the hood, handing it to me. I immediately responded to the tactile quality of the slick surface of the black patent leather. This was real. This item i'd envisioned, designed in my head and commissioned was finally in my hands. The garment was thick, stiff, and had considerable rigidness to it, despite its undeniable feminine qualities.

With haste, i positioned myself behind my girl, pulling her hair into a ponytail. I then slid the hood over her head. Even without doing any of the laces, the fit was exquisite. It literally was like pulling a second skin over her face, as it clung tightly to her slender cheeks and dainty chin. The lacing was simple, much easier than a corset, but i had to remind myself not to close the gap as tight as possible. We were just here for a fitting. There would be other times where i can test its tensility.

Next came the corset. I had to solicit my girl's help with this, as positioning this device was critical to a good, constrictive fit. I asked her, once i placed the chin piece over her mouth, to hold it still with her hands. It took several tries at tweaking the way it lay over her sternum before i felt comfortable with lacing it shut. Immediately, i noticed that the patent leather of the hood would cause some difficulties with exact placement because it would stick to the patent leather of the neck corset. Even once it was fully laced, the corsetier showed me that i could pull the collar even further up her neck to achieve a higher degree of immobility. I let my girl take a peek at herself in the mirror fully sussed up, and then latched the matching black leather eye mask over her ocular cavities - locking her in darkness, robed by soft, supple layers of pink, lambskin leather.

The corsetier and i spent some time examining the fit, seeing if there were any adjustments that needed to be made. I tested my girl's ability to breathe with and without the three leather buckles hitched closed on the back. Because of the restriction, she was not able to speak, only squeeze my hand to indicate any difficulties she encountered in her respiration. I was completely satisfied. More than that, i was elated. I couldn't wait to go home and play with my toy.

Here is a view of the front of the neck corset that completely covers her mouth, ending right at the bottom of her nose. Notice the pink patent leather trim that runs along the bottom and beautiful satin brocade lining. And don't forget the attached D-ring mid-neck (there is a corresponding one not viewed in the photo)

This is a view of the back of the neck corset and the aforementioned buckles. Are they necessary? 100%.

Here is a profile view of the hood itself. The small pink slit just beneath the buckled eye mask is the only hole for her mouth.

This is a fantastic view of the interior lining of the hood. A sea of soft pink completely surrounding her.

Backside of leather eye mask that renders my girl completely blind.

I waited a few days before i pulled the whole thing out to suit up my girl. However, i could not keep myself from pawing it constantly throughout the day. It had such allure and charisma. It drew me to it whenever i happened to be in my bureau. I spent easily an hour just trying to figure out how best to store/display it while it wasn't being used. I couldn't quite place what about it made it so mesmerizing. It was just a garment, albeit a completely unique garment meant only for my girl. It entered my mind frequently leading up to the night i unwielded it.

Forgive the poor quality of the following photos. To say the least, i was incredibly excited, which made holding my hand steady at the camera quite difficult. I've manipulated the image to obscure the background.

I gleaned almost instantly what captivated me about the device before as i handled it. It was instantly transformative. It contained supreme power to alter the way i viewed my girl, and the way my girl viewed herself in it. Once on, once the last strap buckled, my girl vanished. The hood and corset made her my toy. I'd had only a glimpse of the cravings this object would well up inside of me before. Once on, my tempestuous urges exploded. Toy had no voice. Had no language. The blind object was wholly dependent upon me. For its safety and its purpose.