tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88042508951559195962024-02-07T00:44:53.564-05:00The lustful quality of watching her erotic demiseAll things may corrupt when minds are prone to evil. -OvidDeityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.comBlogger324125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-45328301399054864872015-12-07T11:50:00.001-05:002015-12-07T11:50:45.942-05:00A XXXmas tale from ole DeityWhen ole Deity was little, he absolutely loved Christmas.
He would lay under the tree in the living room and just stare up
through all the twinkly lights, the shiny ornaments and the velvet green
pine needles all night long. He loved the Christmas songs that came out
of this electronic sound box his parents had bought that synced the
twinkle of the lights to sharp-pitched tones. He loved how this was
the only room in the entire house he could lay and feel alone, but not
in solitude. He loved that not far away he could hear the plates and
glasses from dinner being cleaned and put into the dishwasher, and even
further in the distance, the blurry vocal static of the television that
his dad was watching. Not even his lovable orange tomcat came and broke
his sanctuary. Hours and hours were spent underneath that tree, all in
anticipation for the morning of Christmas day.<br /><br />Now, you
might think that the little boy was excited about the presents that he
would be opening once Christmas arrived, but that was not what was going
through his head. Every year, before the presents were opened, his
family held a little ceremony where the little baby Jesus figurine was
put into the handmade Nativity scene that sprawled all over the coffee
table. Nothing could happen before this took place - no presents, no hot
cocoa, no cinnamon rolls, no carols - NOTHING. The honor of placing the
baby Jesus into the manger had always fallen to the little boy, and he
considered it magical - he was the one who started Christmas.<br /><br />One
year, a few days before Christmas, the little boy's mother informed him
that they were having to make a slight change to the way things worked
on Christmas morning. She told him that his older sister had asked if
she could place the baby Jesus in the manger this year, and his mother
thought that it made sense to share the duties. The little boy didn't
think it made sense at all. He erupted, screaming, hollering and tossing
about the entire room. This response took his mother by complete
surprise, and she saw that she needed to come up with a solution quickly.
She told the little boy that he could carry the candle into the room
that was used to light all the other candles around the manger - something his
mother told him also needed to happen in order for Christmas to start.
Until now, that role had been one of his parents, an adult role, and she
thought he was a big enough boy to handle that important
responsibility. The boy quieted down and accepted the role, but only
after his mother told him that next year he'd get to be the one to place
the baby Jesus (they'd alternate years). <br /><br />So, on that
morning, he stood in the hallway with his sister. He watched as she
opened her hands, and his mother placed the beautiful figurine in her
out-stretched palms. He then watched as she bent down and carefully lit
the white candle he gripped tightly. His sister turned and began walking
into the living room, and he followed, making sure to step carefully so
that the flame didn't get blown away by his movement. He kept one eye
on the bright fiery light and one on his sister as she stopped in front
of the manger. And just as she bent down to gingerly place the porcelain
child into his cradle...<br /><br />...the little boy lifted the candle to the back of her head, and lit her hair on fire.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-21893544846616935732015-01-15T12:12:00.001-05:002015-01-15T12:12:50.546-05:00Multi-tasking<div class="content mls60 may_contain_youtubes">
The thing that interests me the most about cooking is the
chemistry involved. You can take an egg (a liquid) and apply heat to
it, and it changes into a solid (an omelet). Because I'm able to
understand these phase changes, I'm actually a very gifted cook. I can
read a recipe once, understand the basic methodology the various
chemical/physical reactions it's intending to create, and improvise. I'm
able to open my fridge, scan the leftovers, jars and vegetables, and
compile a quick meal that exceeds most courses on offer at higher end
restaurants. I'm not saying this from my point of view. I'm saying it
from the point of view of the countless dozens of people who have been
the recipient of my cooking. They cannot help themselves but offer their
joy and delight upon immediately tasting the cuisine in front of them.
All it takes to make a good dinner is concentration and clarity.<br />
<br />
So then, why would I fuck with this combination by putting my girl
into a predicament bondage tie while I'm in the middle of preparing the
main course for an upcoming dinner party?<br />
<br />
It had been awhile since she and I had played, and we had both been
able to take off some extended time from our jobs during the holidays.
This left us with more leisure time than we're used to having. I was
going to the Italian market that morning, to get the essential
ingredients for the sauce I'd be serving for dinner. As I was leaving,
my girl came to me and expressed her interest in being tied up at some
point that day - and who would turn that down? I told her I would be
able to work it in once I started cooking.<br />
<br />
The afternoon arrived, and I led her to the bedroom. On the bed, I
had already laid out four 7-meter lengths of hemp rope, her
latex-strapped wand/vibe harness, and her baby pink latex hood from Kink
Engineering. I quickly bound her arms at her elbows, then anchored
these to her torso, encircling her tits, until all bits were well
wrapped and squeezed. I moved to her left leg, and affixing her wrists
to her ankles, bound up her leg so that it was pointing up towards the
ceiling. I repeated this same arrangement on her right side, threaded
the rope through the outer bars of her bed, which forced her thighs up
and outward. She would not be closing those for the entire time she was
bound. I buckled her Hitachi into the harness wound around her crotch,
and rest it between her legs. The head of the wand rested firmly against
her naked, anticipating cunt. The last thing I did was to pull the
snug, <a href="https://fetlife.com/users/1233/pictures/34508812">pink latex hood over her head</a>, ensuring the micro-cut nose holes were in the right spot on her face.<br />
And then I left.<br />
<br />
I wandered into the kitchen, set the timer on the oven for 8 minutes,
and began preparing the ingredients for my tomato sauce. When the timer
went off, I quietly entered the bedroom. I began to inspect the rope,
to make sure her circulation remained vibrant. I checked to make sure
her breathing in the hood wasn't too obstructed. Kissed her delicately
on the shiny, pink forehead, then flicked the switch on the Hitachi to
'low', and exited the bedroom.<br />
<br />
Setting the kitchen timer to 10 minutes, I returned to my task,
sautéing the ingredients I had prepared. The scent of the aromatics in
the pan finally burst into the air right as the timer went off.<br />
<br />
Once again, I penetrated the quiet bedroom, but this time, I was met
with the constant hum of the Hitachi, and the seductive myews of a girl
slowly reducing into a sexual collapse. Immediately, I turned the wand
off. I methodically checked <a href="https://fetlife.com/users/1233/pictures/34508849">the rope and her breathing</a>,
and saw that she could easily remain for a good time more. I began to
walk myself back to the kitchen, but before I left the room, I felt the
rhythmic throb of my erect cock tenting out my slacks. In fact, once I
took a moment to notice, my entire demeanor had altered, and a hunger to
torment smeared itself all over my face. I reached into the nightstand
and pulled out my black, latex cock sheath, lubed up my pulsing member,
and slid it into the sheath.<br />
<br />
I went back to the kitchen to attend to the sauce cooking on the
stove. Set the kitchen timer for 8 minutes, and tried as much as
possible to not think about the bound, naked, writhing frame lying on my
bed.<br />
<br />
Over the course of 45 minutes, I would repeat the cycle of wand
on/wand off, eventually building the crescendo of not being able to stop
myself from sampling the pool of erotic energy that once was my girl.<br />
<br />
Incidentally, the sauce turned out amazing. Our dinner guests couldn't stop praising its richness and vitality.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-6218976089725226042014-11-19T09:13:00.000-05:002014-11-19T09:13:48.022-05:00Scene it allAs you make your way through your own sexual discovery, you tend to spend the initial stages of this exploration within your mind. It's not common that you share this embryonic experience with others. Not yet. You play with the new sensations in your head. Flexing the new connections between stronger, fortified and maturing muscles. When you are ready (or more likely when you aren't), suddenly presented with a partner (or partners), you venture into an experimental stage with others. It's from this point where you forge deep, intimate connections with these individuals who share similar appetites as yours, each of you uncovering new forms of expression that broaden a nascent language of the skin and senses. If you are blessed, you look around this new world, and see similar souls, each seeking the same sexual sustenance - synchronicity, symbiosis, singularity.<br />
<br />
But what happens if you are not fortunate enough to find those "others"? What happens if you discover that your sexual desires do not match the oft-repeated examples from society and culture around you? Do you start to doubt the authenticity of your needs and hungers? Do you embark on a long voyage of self-betrayal, doubt and denial?<br />
<br />
It's been nearly 20 years since I saw my first fetish images from the unsanctioned use of an Internet-enabled computer I was stationed at for a mindless temp job (back then, "Internet-enabled" was in fact a very common thing). What I felt as I clicked through a seemingly endless assortment of grainy images of women clad - head-to-toe - in shiny rubber was a pulse that throbbed in me unlike anything else up to this point. It triggered alive some sort of contraption in my body that sought a source of fuel and energy not easily found, and more importantly, one that my then-current environment labeled as perverted, wrong and unacceptable. I was forced to take my sexuality deep underground.<br />
<br />
This subterfuge led me to relocate to a different city, a much larger one, with the promise that I'd find other like-minded souls operating in a world where I could satisfy and explore this erotic currency much more freely. Since my emigration, there have been many unconnected experiences that have fulfilled, but even today, I cannot ignore my deep dissatisfaction with "the scene". As recently as this past Halloween, my girl and I went to the self-proclaimed "Premiere Fetish Play Party" in Gotham, only to be incredibly let down at how enormously disorganized and scattered this world was. I won't go into detail about what we encountered, only to say that if <i>this</i> is the preeminent celebration of kink in this metropolis, fetish is unattractive, sociopathic and rude. After an evening of extreme letdowns, I had to come to grips with the fact that in this massively chaotic and unbridled city, you still are not able to find the environment that permits you to foster the deep kind of intimacy you'd think a playground of this size would allow. <br />
<br />
I wonder if those of you reading this have found similar disappointments. I invite you to share your experiences in the comments to this post. I'd really love to hear your successes and your misfortunes. Perhaps here on these pages, we can have a dialog over what sort of landscape we'd hope to find. Perhaps, we can find ways to not feel totally isolated and alone.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-36500257253715774932014-10-06T23:20:00.000-04:002014-10-06T23:20:15.918-04:00Risk takenI invite you to watch <a href="http://www.flyflv.com/movies/11592/latex_pain_and_pleasure" target="_blank">this scene</a>. Go ahead. I can wait.<br />
<br />
Quite
exquisite, isn't it? I even have it playing in the background as I
write this. The noises of her struggling to breathe in the beginning are
quite rich and appetizing. And just as her domme (<a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CCoQFjAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Ftwitter.com%2Fmzberlinonline&ei=3k4zVMzWO7DCsASL0YDwBA&usg=AFQjCNEcHV06tFM5v3TlQIHnB_QrqPyBzQ&sig2=rwYBrNDH_MzFoOUi3tLNpw&bvm=bv.76943099,d.cWc" target="_blank">Mz. Berlin</a>)
squeezes the bulb to the gag in her mouth one last time, the little
slurp from the rubber toy is delectable. Mz. Berlin eventually produces a
cattle prod and the scene unfolds to a nice tormenting crescendo.<br />
<br />
It's
a very reliable and typical production from DeviceBondage.com. I find it
very arousing to watch, but after a few views, I begin to recognize it
for the theatrical piece that it is. Breaking it down, my mind migrates
to the ways in which one could recreate it in the comfort of their own
home, and very quickly, the magic of the scenario dissolves, and the
spectacle becomes quite pedestrian. <br />
<br />
When we
encounter disembodied performances like this, we tend not to ponder all
of the labor and effort that goes into it. First of
all, there is the well-coordinated latex gear. These rubbery items are
not cheap, and one thing about transparent latex is that without proper
care, it can easily become discolored and unseemly. My girl and I have
played scenes with similar get-ups, and dressing her up like this takes a
great deal of time and concentration. It can take twenty to thirty
minutes to pull everything on and make sure all the necessary holes
align with her nostrils so that she can breathe properly. For something
that lasts only a handful of minutes (as this video does), it sometimes
feels like the preparatory effort isn't worth it.<br />
<br />
Next,
when you look at the rigging, that hardware consists of some major
amounts of metal fabrication. Most people could never begin to mimic the
craftsmanship on display here - and this metallic artistry isn't even
the thing that gets our attention. We don't even think about the
professional lighting, or the set designs, and our minds never turn to
the dozens of professionals behind the camera, ensuring this scene flows
as designed.<br />
<br />
For those of us who aspire to perform their
own similar bondage minuet, we are hopelessly outmatched by all of this
choreography. When we try to pull something like this off, it can often
fall apart clumsily, killing the erotic atmosphere we'd hope to
command. There have been many times where something I planned didn't
work in execution, and the humiliation both my girl and I've felt as we
detangle all of the gear from her person takes some time to live down.<br />
<br />
I
think it's important to remember that when we watch professionals
perform these fantasy moments, these are actors who are
getting paid (most of them, anyway) to produce an illusion that to them
isn't the intimate connection we hope to explore with our partners. I
know I can catch myself losing site of this notion as I watch Mz. Berlin
effortlessly bring her rubber toy to yet another forced orgasm.
Allowing myself to accept that I'm not always 100% certain or correct
permits me to thrive on the mistakes that to me, make the moments with
my girl all the more real. <div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-57163654490954415962014-09-21T23:13:00.000-04:002014-09-21T23:13:15.344-04:00PatronOne of my favorite operas of all time is Mozart's '<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Giovanni" target="_blank"><i>Don Giovanni</i></a>'. There are many parts of the opera that repeatedly pop up in my mind. However,<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyHP6A67LQI" target="_blank"> the frustrated aria sung by Masetto</a> 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. <br />
<br />
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)<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />All of these things assume a hierarchy over our lives, if we let them. But, here is the key "<b><i>if</i> </b>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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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:<br />
<br />
"I really think I need a boss in my life."<br />
<br />
Signora, si. <div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-72946676382104379952014-09-13T09:45:00.002-04:002014-09-13T09:45:44.576-04:00les cheveuxI 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.<br />
<br />
As i made up ground between us, i tried to think of what i'd say to spark a conversation:<br />
<br />
"You dropped this..." - <i>but i wouldn't have anything that she'd dropped</i><br />
"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." - <i>too trite and a bit on the creepy side</i><br />
"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." - <i>much better, but still too wordy</i><br />
"Excuse me. I just saw you in the library, i felt compelled to tell you how beautiful your hair is."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-4087209900159049302014-09-07T22:51:00.000-04:002014-09-07T22:52:10.303-04:00Tunnel visionImmediately, I feel the need to react.<br />
<br />
There are few things like this in my life. I can pause my <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2008/01/taste.html" target="_blank">growing hunger</a> for very long periods. I can perform throughout my day on very little <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2008/02/go-to-sleep.html" target="_blank">sleep</a> from the night before. I can <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2008/12/morsels.html" target="_blank">run</a> past the point of my fatigue. <br />
<br />
But when faced with my girl taking that first step into the <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2009/04/wandher.html" target="_blank">unfairly tilted game</a> I've set up for her that evening, I am completely arrested on the spot and unable to ignore it.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2007/08/restraining-order.html" target="_blank">restraint</a> disappears, and my only choice is to react.<br />
<br />
Only then do these blinders lift. <div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-5604939194900271692014-09-01T23:08:00.000-04:002014-09-01T23:08:55.821-04:00Tribal mentalityOver 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:<br />
<ul>
<li>We didn't see eye-to-eye on money issues</li>
<li>He was too thrifty/she was too much of a shopaholic</li>
<li>I couldn't see where he/she had a plan for their future</li>
<li>Their position on reproductive rights troubled me</li>
</ul>
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.<br />
<br />
Sex is how we intimately connect.<br />
<br />
And I don't just mean how we connect with our sexual partners. For the extent of my life, I've felt like <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2010/05/alone-again-naturally.html" target="_blank">an outcast</a>. 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 <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2008/07/revealer.html" target="_blank">concealing</a> this side of me to mostly everyone i know. And yet, i have been incredibly blessed to meet <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/search/label/K" target="_blank">people</a> 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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-39192394577510871442014-08-27T23:06:00.000-04:002014-08-27T23:06:30.734-04:00AnklesCan you deny the fact that ankles are so prominently overlooked?<br />
<br />
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? <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-39760441801397305942014-08-24T22:54:00.000-04:002014-08-24T22:54:17.823-04:00RottenThis is an unpublished vignette that i wrote a while ago:<br />
<br />
----------------------------------------- <br />
<br />
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:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">I wanted to spoil my girl</span><br />
<br />
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 <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/search/label/dress%20code">dress code</a> of my design. Anything new introduced to it is either selected by me or put forth for my approval. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
"What is it?"<br />
<br />
She hands the bag to me, as if i wanted the items inside.<br />
<br />
"It's not for me."<br />
<br />
She knows it's not for me. She makes this gesture to seek my permission to accept the gift.<br />
<br />
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. <div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-66392350995849434002014-08-17T21:10:00.000-04:002014-08-17T21:10:19.008-04:00Borne this wayI 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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
God...does that resistance stoke the flames in my mind.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-31765986862284111272011-06-05T08:59:00.000-04:002011-06-05T10:42:20.428-04:00Closing up shopOver the next few weeks, all public vestiges of this persona known as "Deity" will cease to remain active. I will not take down the material already published, but there will be no additional items added to the collections.<br /><br />As i intend to completely abandon this site, and release it into the ether, i will also strip it of links to other sites in my sidebar should those over time cease to exist. The intention is to make this a completely standalone destination. <br /><br />In this day, what gets published on the Internet persists indefinitely, so i do not buy into the illusion that i could take it all down. More importantly, that's not of interest to me. It may continue to serve as an entertaining distraction to those who come upon it organically, and for that reason, i'll seal it in a transparent time capsule as a documentation of a theme and time period that others may find on their own.<br /><br />I've enjoyed my time installed at the helm of this "Deity". It was a good fit for a very long time. I will think of it and the wonderful interactions it has allowed me with fondness. <br /><br />Be well.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-66563980980677508592011-03-13T21:18:00.000-04:002011-03-13T23:23:13.445-04:00Porn: the scapegoatI have battled a great deal of my life with the idea that my sexuality and how i express it has negative social implications - both for myself and my partners, but also, since i started authoring The Lustful Quality, for anyone who might stumble upon the myriad subjects tackled here. These walls that i have occupied for several years have acted as my refuge from the forces who insist my very appetites are damaging to both myself and their targets. Yet, i mislead those who have chosen to read my words if i do not permit the occasional counter point to my own perspective. I have achieved sanctuary under this pseudonym. The numerous entries penned as 'Deity' have allowed me to wrestle with my internal demons, and to put that struggle on display for you, the reader. All of it would lead one to believe that i have achieved immunity from any claims that i cause more harm than good. Unfortunately, such is not the case.<br /><br />I have not recently received any direct rebuke for my expressions, but instead, i continue to encounter articles, well-intended of course, whose sole aim is to arouse alarm and fear. Recently, i came across <a href="http://www.tweenparent.com/articles/view/279">an article</a> written by a college professor that strikes at the very heart of what i feel i'd intelligently (if not a little arrogantly) defended. The author chooses to re-frame an old argument about porn media and the unruly decay it sows, but instead of focusing on the patriarchal subjugation of the female gender portrayed in it, she rushes to the aid of its target: our young men. Many of her points, on face value, resemble the pedestrian no-brainers of soliciting sympathy for our young men as victims (in addition to our young women). However, much of what she seeks to strike down as repugnant pornographic practices superimposes victimhood on our boys rather than actually succeeding in proving her thesis. Instead, as i read her scholarly argument, i found myself brewing with anger over how yet another 'adult' just doesn't understand what it is they are observing in porn's media dominance.<br /><br />I think the best way i can illustrate my argument is to quote entire paragraphs of the article, followed by my counterpoint. I leave it to the reader to decide if i've done what i sought out to do.<br /><br />When she says:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Defenders of porn say that it is just harmless fantasy and anyone who criticizes porn is an anti-sex prude. The reality is that porn, like all media images, has an effect on the way we think about the world, and while it won't turn the average boy or man into a rapist, it will help shape the way he thinks about women, sexuality and intimacy. Indeed, it will impact on how he thinks about his own sexuality. To think for a moment that boys can masturbate to these images and not be affected is to ignore how we, as social beings, learn what it means to be human from the cultural messages that surround us.</span><br /><br />There isn't much immediately that i can take issue with here. I'm not sure what she means by "defenders of porn" because she doesn't offer any further explanation of that term. I can only assume she means the millions of viewers, both male and female, of the various porn outlets one can find on the Internet - but you and i both know that is not what she means. She means the MALE defenders of porn. I am a voracious consumer of pornography. I have been from a very early age, yet i can honestly say the material i have ingested no more shapes the way i think about women than it does the way i think about men. And if porn is the barometer by which both genders must be measured, i would say neither gender fairs well. Pornography as i experienced it wasn't rampantly available in my youth, like it is now, and yet, amongst my peers, i would say that the dark, twisted fantasies that i possess goes further than most men i know. What i mean to say is that the sexuality i developed and that has written every single one of these debaucherous posts arose without the benefit of an endless, at-my-fingertip source of illicit material. Put another way, getting rid of Internet-based porn (which is the main point the author is advocating for) will not make fewer monsters like myself. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">From an early age boys are bombarded with messages about what it means to be a "real man," and any deviation from this leaves a boy open to humiliation and ridicule. As boys get older, there is tremendous peer pressure to look at porn since this is seen as a rite of passage into manhood. Just take a quick look at the enormously popular adolescent boy movies of Judd Apatow, or listen to Howard Stern, or play any bestselling video games, to see how porn use is seamlessly packaged as an integral part of being a man. The end result is that rather than developing a sexual identity that is authentic, affirming, and in keeping with their own developmental time clock, boys are bullied into a sexuality that is created by a bunch of predatory businessmen whose goal is to maximize profits, not nurture the wellbeing of our sons.</span> <br /><br />The first thought i have when i ponder this paragraph is that this author has chosen not to address the myriad options that exist in pornography directed at homosexual males. "...any deviation from this leaves a boy open to humiliation and ridicule." While i do not deny that boys are bombarded with messages that are meant to adhere ones actions to a specific form of masculinity, this author has chosen to imply that the only pornographic path one can take is that of a straight male's interest. Yet, much of what she criticizes as the portrayal of women in porn can be found in a similar role in gay porn: the bottom. You cannot chastise the way women are portrayed in pornography as justification for why an endless supply is harmful if you completely ignore the fact that men play both roles in homosexual theater. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">After twenty years of traveling the country giving lectures on porn, I have spoken to thousands of men and while it is clear that not all are affected in the same way, affected they are. Remember, this is the generation that grew up with Internet porn, and unlike previous generations these boys and men have an unlimited supply to hardcore porn 24 hours a day. </span><br /><br />Twenty years of traveling, and it hasn't occurred to her that our men are being affected by something other than an unlimited supply of hardcore porn? She sounds an awful lot like a reactionary, as someone who idealizes a time that once was. When was this ideal period where men valued women as equals and not as sexual objects to redeem their sexual conquests? In the modern era, women are being given thousands more opportunities to take active, producing roles in the porn that flows into this endless stream. Where is the outrage for the exploitation of women when there were no female producers, directors and owners of pornographic products?<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">These young men have become so accustomed to porn sex that some are disappointed by their own sexual performance. When they compare themselves to the male porn actors, who can sustain Viagra-fortified erections for long periods of time, the guys I talk to often admit to feeling like sexual losers, and worry that something is wrong with them. Adam grew up watching his father's porn and felt that "porn taught me all I know about sex. My parents never mentioned the word sex at home, and sex ed in school was a ... joke. I had this image of how great sex would be, both of us going at it for hours. So it was kind of a shock the way the real thing turned out..."</span><br /><br />Trust me, even without millions of hours of racy footage displaying the sexual prowess of professional pornstars, boys feel like sexual losers. I do not mean to overlook the disappointment boys must experience when their own exploits do not match up to the virile beasts streaming to them in their bedrooms on their laptops, but this is a very weak argument. How many boys stand at the plate in Little League, having hundreds of hours of videotape of their favorite Major League slugger running through their head, only to strike out and be forced to chew on their own disappointment as they trudge back to the dugout? For all those young men who will never garner a multi-million dollar sports contract, should we protect them by limiting how many games are broadcast?<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">What troubles many of these young men most is that they need to pull up the porn images in their head in order to have an orgasm with their partner. They replay porn scenes in their minds, or think about having sex with their favorite porn star when they are with their partners. Dan was concerned about his sexual performance with women. He told me that "I can't get the pictures ... out of my head when having sex, and I am not really focusing on the girl but on the last scene I watched." I asked him if he thought porn had in any way affected his sexuality. He said, "I don't know. I started looking at porn before I had sex, so porn is pretty much how I learned about sex. It can be a kind of problem to think about porn as much as I do, especially when I'm with my girlfriend. It means I'm not really present with her. My head is somewhere else." </span><br /><br />What troubles me is that this author has no attachment to what is really going on in a young man's head as he conjures up images in order to have an orgasm. We do not force ourselves to be aroused by what we see in pornography. It either touches our buttons or it doesn't. Just because i've seen thousands of scenes of two girls making out, doesn't mean that one day i give into this bombardment and suddenly find myself with a raging erection the next time Britney Spears makes out with Madonna. You either find that erotic or not. <br /><br />She mentions concern for Dan who cites porn as the first and foremost way he learned about sex, but how is that fault of the creators of porn? Where are the parents in this young man's development? Why isn't she thrashing against the poor parenting that has allowed this young man to turn to a polished, for-profit media package for his "education"? <br /><br />Lastly, what really irritates me is the notion that women are treated horribly in all of these hardcore scenarios, and that this only serves to reinforce the endless humiliation and degradation of women. Here's where she really misses the mark. For every scene where a girl is portrayed performing humiliating sexual acts that a boy gets aroused by, the girl is not the only one who is humiliated. There is also a degradation happening with the young man observing this. <br /><br />If there is anything that has served as a single denominator in my sexual experiences, it is that the demons i force upon my willing, female partner are ones i must also grapple with. My bottom wrinkled her brow in consternation as to how anyone could gain pleasure out of divining bruises upon her fleshy buttocks, and i struggled from the opposite side of the same coin. How could i possibly enjoy such culturally-maligned practices? What kind of person does that make me? She was disturbed when my sexual fires got stoked after she pathetically whimpers for leniency. Later, when i paused, i was also troubled by this, and there needed to be a tremendous amount of soul-searching before i found peace. <br /><br />Porn isn't the enemy. Just like any form of mass media, it is a tool that can be used as productively as one wishes. The enemy is an inability to critically question what you encounter. I would hope anyone who reads the posts on this site and takes issue with anything i've said would speak up. Otherwise, nothing i written is worth a single one of its words.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-11257621810577449882010-12-17T09:35:00.002-05:002010-12-20T16:51:39.286-05:00Matters undermindI initially wrote this as a stream of conscious note on my iTouch while riding through the underground tunnels of my adopted hometown. There is part of me that wants to just publish it unedited, as the raw thoughts that streamed into my head during my performance of the socially acceptable role called a "commuter". This way, i can provide a view into my mind during a period of "normalcy" and day-to-day activity. But, i'm not even sure this is something the reader desires, nor do i necessarily think it is all that authentic. <br /><br />Why would the reader really care about my thoughts during a period of routine banality? And even if they did, are these the only representation of my thoughts that i can offer? Admittedly, the forum for the words i publish here takes the shape of one that pursues the boundaries and landscapes of my sexuality, so it makes sense that the subject of any thesis i make should also resemble that same shape. But there are parts of me that wonders if this one-dimensional character has worn its welcome. Perhaps i've lived all i could through this web journal, and the authenticity resides elsewhere inaccessible to my readers. <br /><br />With that said, i present to you the following, with as few edits as i could make to maintain authenticity:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I live a double life. I have two Twitter accounts. I have two separate Gmail accounts. The same with YouTube, DeviantArt, Facebook, Tumblr, MySpace, etc. On one vein, I maintain my public, identity-laced persona, never veering past the deviant line my mind constantly crosses. While the other sprays his sexual/physical avatar all over the place. It is the best example of arrested development I can think of. Yet, I can do little about this truncated existence. Society insists I remain closeted. (is it society's insistence or, perhaps, my own?)<br /><br />Meanwhile, I'm taunted by those who have managed to broadcast a public, kinky representation of themselves and I have to wonder what penalty must they pay?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.fetishkitsch.com/visitors/aboutus.html">FetishKitsch</a> - They are a genuine, intimate couple who have chosen to film their kinky, fetish-laden sexual escapades. For numerous reasons (their genuineness, their attractiveness, their passion, etc.), they have managed to make a living doing this, for the most part. This is not the bit that i covet. I do not wish to turn my play sessions with my girl into a commercial venture. I've made a few photos and one <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2010/10/blog-post.html">video</a>, but have no plans to expand on these efforts. What attracts me to their level of openness is their geography. They do not live in fetish-friendly Germany, or even the tolerant environs of the U.K. (or even Canada). No, in fact, they live in the slow Mid West of the US of A. They have no compunction for revealing not only their sexual tastes, but their faces and their names (assuming they are not pseudonyms). I envy their liberated approach to exposing their sexuality. Some may look at my site and think i've done my own emancipation. However public i've been, you will never find my name/face associated with the identity known as "Deity".<br /><br /><a href="http://myfetishlife.net/">Darenzia</a> - She is a bona fide fetish model. She's stunning. She's modeled with some amazing beauties and for some amazing photographers. I adored her as skin candy through the various websites and periodicals i explored. It wasn't until i found her on <a href="http://twitter.com/darenzia">Twitter</a> that i developed an intellectual crush on her. I cannot recall how i came across her Twitter feed, but it has been an absolute thrill to behold. She has a rapier, sarcastic wit that doesn't quite fit the graceful elegance of her beauty - and that's what makes her all the more interesting. She talks shit about everyone. She knows how to use the medium of 140 characters to add pizazz into the world, all the while wishing you could personally witness the life she leads. In the time that i've been following her (as myself, not Deity), there has been no less than 40 times i've wanted to reply to something she posted. I recognize i run a little bit of a risk for my "professional" self to publicly declaring through the list of those i follow on Twitter that i keep track of the comings and goings of a riske, fetish model. The only explanation i can offer as to why i do it is that i've grown weary. <br /><br />I'm tired of putting one face forward while concealing another. Next year will present me with my fourth year of authoring content through this site, via this Deity persona. There is a great deal of frustration in only being able to interact with a virtual audience, meanwhile living a life as someone my closest associates only know to a certain depth. I look at FetishKitsch and Darenzia and wonder what it would be like if i melded the two spheres. Would it turn out to be what i wanted, or were all the risks i drew up in my brain factual and not exaggerations. <br /><br />Am I too safe? Too cautious? Perhaps too self-important. It's very hard to determine when to play it safe and when to let go.<br /><br />Constantly hiding sucks. Especially if it's just rote and unnecessary. Should I risk it and put me and my girl's likeness out there just to say "Fuck this, I'm sick of hiding."? Or should I not take the bait and stay veiled?<br /><br />I do not have so much hubris to believe my little web journal gets anywhere near the notice or traffic that FetishKitsch and Darenzia get, so it may not be all that much of a risk were i to take away the masks i keep on both my girl and i. <br /><br />Lately however, those have not been the questions i've been pondering. As i face the end of another year, and think forward about the year to come, i wonder how much longer i will continue to give this persona and these black walls any more of my energy. <br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-28476728303472358562010-09-04T14:20:00.000-04:002010-09-04T16:03:26.342-04:00Dominating the conversationRecently, i was lucky enough to have fallen into a tidy sum of money that i wasn't at all expecting. I'm not a wealthy individual, nor am i poor. I make a reasonable salary, and our home is one of a few, but blessed comforts. What this all means is that this money served as an extraneous, imposing presence that couldn't simply be ignored. <br /><br />I immediately called up my young nieces, asking them what it was they wanted most of all, right there, right now. One giddily shrieked "an iPod!!!", while the other shyly offered that she might like to have a brand new bike. Done, i told them. They squealed with their girlish delight. What next? I carved out a sizable sum and sent it off to one of my girl's favorite charities. Still left with a meritorious amount, i asked my girl if her dress code accoutrement needed any refreshing. How were her corsets? Fine? Hmmmm. What about her heels? Any pair in desperate need of replacement? No, all perfectly suitable. Stockings? Yes, yes, there are definitely a few pairs that she could retire and put out of their misery. However, that only ate up a few simoleons. What to do?<br /><br />And then, suddenly, the thought occurred to me: I might be able to retire a number of items from off of my <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2007/11/ill-assume-im-on-naughty-list.html">fetish wish list</a>. <br /><br />I exercised restraint (although not much) and hastily ordered some items that i have personally been lusting over for easily a decade's time. But here's the rub, since placing the order, i have been unable to think of little else, pondering the workshop where these items would be made, the shelves on which they sat, ready to be shipped to me, waiting, prolonging their arrival. And it has been killing me. <br /><br />I have written very little explicitly about my status as a fetishist. In fact, of the 300+ posts i've penned for this site, only five <span style="font-style:italic;">contain</span> the word "fetishist". Only 25 carry the label of <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/search/label/fetish">"fetish"</a>, as if it weren't all that an important facet of my sexuality, when in fact it makes up the bold lion's share. It plays such a large role in how i verbalize my sexual desire, that sometimes it makes me question how "dominant" i actually am.<br /><br /><a href="http://littlegirlyone.wordpress.com/">lg</a> comes to mind when i make a statement like that, because she has recently revealed her own <a href="http://littlegirlyone.wordpress.com/2010/06/01/ask-the-little-girl-beginning-dominance/">fluidity with the power roles she plays</a> in her relationship with her Daddy. She has always represented herself publicly as a submissive girl, looking to be controlled and contained. However, she uncovered a desire to take charge, and demand worship. I applaud her exploration and discovery. This isn't <span style="font-style:italic;">exactly</span> what i'm referring to, however.<br /><br />I have no interests in acting like the submissive bottom in my dynamic with my girl. I am absolutely the Top, but i'm not so certain how "dominant" i am due to the ways in which my various fetishes can immediately take control over me. I could be in complete command of my persona, walking along the city streets, confident, bee-lining to every corner, and <span style="font-weight:bold;">*BAM!!!*</span> out of the blue, a cute girl with long, fake nails could wander into my view. All other thoughts evacuate from my single rail mind, and all i can do is stare, salivate and pant after this display of manicured perfection. Am i in control in this situation? Absolutely not. My body has an involuntary reaction to such a sight. The same goes with a gal lacing into a corset, sliding on a latex garment, or pulling on a pair of fully-fashioned thigh highs. I cannot control the instant arousal that overflows my body.<br /><br />I will say it right here that having fetishes is not exactly a wonderful thing. To be instantly upturned the moment the fetishized object comes into view not only makes for some awkward public moments, but once someone learns about your fetish, depending on the character of the person, they'll attempt to either control you with it or embarrass you. Neither situation is enjoyable. I'm not ashamed nor distraught that i have these highly developed fetishes, but they do serve as a limitation, which is precisely the same impetus that a submissive might encounter when boundaries and rules for themselves have been defined by their Dominant. <br /><br />The longer i live my life in this so-called realm of SM, the more i find myself turning away from prescriptive words such as "Dominant" and "submissive". They don't fit the reality of my experience. Because, as someone who deals with myriad fetishes, even though my girl goes and gets her nails done every two weeks exactly as i require (a "Dominant" decision), their appearance in my day interrupts whatever it was i happened to be doing at the time (an act of submission, if i ever saw one). They pester me. They demand my attention. And once they get it, all i can do is sit transfixed, succumbing to the overflowing desire to rapidly reach an orgasm.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-27720573343585482192010-08-28T07:28:00.002-04:002010-08-28T07:37:13.317-04:00In response to "Amanly"This <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2010/08/amanly.html">post</a> continues to be something that i visit in my head as i try to contemplate what it means. Thus, when i tried to respond to the comments it got, i tended to ramble on and on, and apparently, Blogger thought i spoke too freely. The system refused to publish my response to all the great comments the post got.<br /><br />So instead, i will publish my response in a post. I believe the discussion to be very, very fruitful.<br /><br />goodgirl,<br />What implications/outcomes do you believe stem out from a biological system where the male side of the species is constantly looking to spread its seed and the female side is constantly protecting its eggs? If indeed this is the system we operate under, there has to be some codified mechanisms that arise. I'd find a discussion that explores these mechanisms fascinating.<br /><br />Anon,<br />But, as a woman, do you feel these men constantly evaluating how much they'd like to use your body for their purposes? And if so, how does that feel? Or, do you tune it out?<br /><br />Sexperts,<br />Here's the thing that i'd love to hear your husband's take on it:<br /><br />I don't think of having sex with other women - EVER<br /><br />It's not that i don't allow myself to think of it out of ethical morals, it's that i do not desire sex with women. I desire to control and mold and shape them. So my interaction with strange women is instead of evaluating them on how fuckable they are, i tend to think of how much can i seduce/manipulate them to have them do what i want them to. <br /><br />(There's a boatload of psychology raw material there, for sure)<br /><br />For the record, i've spoken about this with other men, and the universal response to me telling them that i have no desire to have sex with random, beautiful women, is that i'm full of crap. That i'm merely holding a position that is different than others just to be contrarian. That isn't the case, unfortunately. <br /><br />shape shifter,<br />I accept that the media holds a great deal of influence over the typical male's behavior (as it does the female's). But then, if that is the case, how did i escape that influence?<br /><br />Vesta,<br />Well, i certainly don't exhibit high levels like i see in other men. Other men don't like to talk about problems they are having, emotions, etc. Whereas i can't STOP talking about those things - all of which is frequently categorized as a female/estrogen-laden activity.<br /><br />arielmorgan,<br />Fair enough, social/group dynamics are at play, but why do those pressures not fall onto me? <br /><br />Honestly, think about the number of movies that are out there of the young, coming-of-age boy who will toss everything away just to lose his virginity. He'll sleep with absolutely anyone who'll give it to him. I find - as much as we must allow the media influence us, we also must allow that the media are a reflection of us - that this attitude is quite prevalent amongst young men.<br /><br />Here's the rub: I was in NO RUSH to lose my virginity. I turned down offers to give it away. They weren't right or desirable. <br /><br />What's at play there?<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-22000258120529764472010-08-14T09:15:00.001-04:002010-08-14T09:38:22.453-04:00AmanlyWhat a funny word. Doesn't quite look right, does it? Almost looks like a name, but alas, it is intentional. I'm about to embark on what i hope will be a therapeutic bloodletting, so please bear with me. <br /><br />I'm not a man. At least, not based on the examples that i encounter on a daily basis. I'm something that approximates a man, <span style="font-style:italic;">edging</span> towards one, but i fall quite short of the standard. I'm a fresh-faced, bright eyed man-child. Were those of you who read me on a semi-regular basis to meet me, you would find it hard to believe that the gender i choose for sexual copulation is that of the female. I've got fine features. I'm not demonstrably tall (in fact, without knowing why, i come off as a "small individual", even though i'm an average height for an adult man) and i'm athletically slim. I've an incredibly youthful appearance and my gesticulations tend to be passionate, overdone and loud - all of these accumulated traits have branded me with a character sketch, to those i encounter, as one who is a latent homosexual. Sadly, it would be easier in some respects if i were gay, because at least i might find myself beginning to fit into some well-defined world with rules and expectations. <br /><br />Alas, that is not the case. I love girls. <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2007/09/on-looking.html">Adore them</a>. <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2009/07/lynchfetish.html">Obsess</a>, ache, and even <a href="http://transformher.tumblr.com/post/877256570/i-can-remember-the-anxious-feeling-in-my-stomach">starve for them</a>. But as far as mimicking the behavior of my fellow man, that is where we depart. <br /><br /><br /><br />***DISCLAIMER ALERT - WHAT FOLLOWS IS AN EXPOSURE OF THE WAYS MEN ACTUALLY BEHAVE. LEAVE THESE PAGES NOW IF YOU CARE NOT TO LEARN A TRUE SIDE OF MEN***<br /><br /><br /><br />Every regular man i've met, and have spent a reasonable amount of time around, wants to stick his cock into <span style="font-style:italic;">every single "attractive" female</span> he encounters. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. They evaluate complete female strangers based on which "hole" they'd likely use, and what measures they would need to install in order to conceal the unattractive features that might make their conquest less enjoyable. I cannot stress how widespread and prevalent this attitude towards women is. Men who catcall, men who oggle, men who undress you in the five seconds it takes for you to walk by them - they all want to hump every single one of you.<br /><br />And, this completely escapes and baffles me.<br /><br />As a man, i get to witness the average male's true and honest behavior. But, rather than paint this behavior as abhorrent, i'd prefer to focus more on the difference it represents to my own. As far as i can remember, i've never seen another, unacquainted woman and want to take her to my/her bed (or behind the counter) - or even for that matter, women i know. Now, before this descends into the easy "Deity is a gentleman and a polite individual" track, i'd like to say that i'm not exactly sure why i don't have this normal reaction. I've been in situations where a typically benign, business meeting suddenly turns into an evaluation of the top 5 most attractive girls in the office, and who would each most likely fuck. I witness these assessments with a certain degree of awe, because these men are speaking in tongues in which i am not fluent. When the prattle makes its way around, and it's my turn to select which female officemate i'd like to put over the desk, i might as well be trying to explain to a French librarian what Danish cookbook i'm trying to locate - all the while speaking Japanese. <br /><br />Like i said, this isn't a dissertation on how other men suck and Deity is the bestest of them all. Instead, it's a self-evaluation in the hopes of understanding what i'm lacking, and what they have versus what i don't got. I've discussed this with a few people, and most of them say that the majority of men learn this behavior - to mark any and all females as potential receptacles for their seed. That some imperative individual in their development explained to them that women - all women - are to be evaluated for their ability to get you off. But, honestly, i don't buy it. Surveying the cavalcade of men in my life who act in this fashion, i see that many of them did not grow up with a dedicated male role model (i.e dad was absent, uncles insufficient, etc.), which i think rules out cultural implications into this male norm. Therefore, with all the (unscientifically-derived) data facing me, i'm prepared to make a diagnosis:<br /><br />- I'm severely lacking in some serious levels of testosterone that other men just get.<br /><br />If this were true (which i'm sad to admit, it's likely not - this mystery will continue to go unsolved), simply ingesting a handful of supplements would set me on the right track to female objectification.<br /><br />Wait a minute! Doesn't Deity already partake in an <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/search/label/objectification">assortment</a> of female objectification? Why, good man, you are correct. That objectification, reducing an intelligent, articulate woman into nothing but a vessel is quite different. <br /><br />Or is it?<br /><br />I ask this a bit rhetorically, but also a touch pejoratively. These behaviors my fellow men demonstrate cannot be seen as negative when you allow yourself to believe they are acting purely on instinct. And remember, they are only acting verbally, among other men. Most are not carrying out these behaviors they present as their desires.<br /><br />I too have instincts or vices that do not appear socially acceptable. I have a skill for fabricating the truth - or to the layman - lying. From a very young age i realized that i could present someone with a false fact or tale quickly and believably. More importantly, i had no reservations pulling this off. No remorse. Whereas most people feel deeply guilty after doing this. <br /><br />I have an innate talent for stealing. Also, from an early age, i realized i'm very good with my hands, and can conceal an object in them incredibly well. I also have strong observational skills, so i can examine my surroundings, determine if anyone is watching, and carefully make my way from somewhere with my loot even in plain sight.<br /><br />Now, neither of these are all that attractive traits, and i'd be in an awful lot of trouble if i acted on them regularly. However, i have a way to dampen their impact on my daily behavior. I also didn't learn these behaviors. They came naturally to me. They are, for all intents and purposes, instincts. And just like the average male's instinct to mentally turn every pretty girl into a sex slave, they too aren't criminals for solely thinking this way.<br /><br />I simply can't think like most men. And this fact makes living in a world as a man incredibly taxing and alienating from time to time. Because, let's face it, men suck, but thank goodness, so do women.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-66726507873051893752010-08-05T22:39:00.003-04:002010-08-05T22:54:24.002-04:00This maskThere is this mask.<br /><br />This mask.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.libidex.com/html/cart/prod.asp?PID=330&CID=10008&SID=&pg=1&item=Hoods">This one</a>.<br /><br />This mask that i put on her.<br /><br />And she disappears.<br /><br />Disappears.<br /><br />Completely.<br /><br />I produce it out of our toy chest, and she accepts its application.<br /><br />It is baby pink - because i know what effect that color has on her.<br /><br />I relish the slow closing of the long zipper, sealing her inside.<br /><br />I don't need to do anything. Suddenly, <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2007/07/playing-with-my-barbie.html">Barbie</a> emerges.<br /><br />My dolly. My fucktoy. My slutty lil thing cums out. <br /><br />I cannot express how thrilled i am with her emergence. It not only fulfills me. It imprints on me a permanent impression of joy, peace and intense pleasure.<br /><br />I feel its influence. I feel its strength. I feel its power. <br /><br />And.<br /><br />I.<br /><br />Succumb.<br /><br />#ThereislittlemuchIcandotostopmyselffromthinkingaboutthispinklatexrubberhood#<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-9767985089085189712010-07-18T13:25:00.001-04:002010-07-18T13:39:36.348-04:00ContextThis goes without saying seeing as where it is being said, however, this whole game of SM goes nowhere without context. <br /><br />It's not that you want someone to pull your hair, just out of the blue. That would be rather painful, and incredibly infuriating. You do not walk the streets hoping some complete stranger would yank on your submissive/masochistic chain (already!). Nor do you wish that random strangers would call you slut as you passed by. There must exist a framework through which you are open to these activities, otherwise, these scary, edgy activities we partake in would really be scary. This is my concern with all of the SM-laced torture porn you see in movies like <a href="http://nymag.com/movies/features/15622/">Saw and Hostel</a>. It has the potential to normalize acting without that context, taking steps to treat someone in these brutal ways without establishing that critical framework. And <span style="font-weight:bold;">that</span> is the really scary thing.<br /><br />With the advent of free or pirated porn on the Internet significantly increasing the amount of sexual material consumed, there are many folks who are concerned with how the female porn star look seems to creep ever more and more into normal society. This is certainly supported by the media outlets that do nothing but cover the <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/01/20/heidi-montag-tries-to-mov_n_429456.html">myopic obsession</a> female "celebrities" have with going under the knife. I have equal concerns as i browse through <a href="http://transformher.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> and i encounter captions that seem to indicate every girl in every situation should be viewed as a "slut" "whore" or "slave". I might be a bit too alarming in this paragraph, but do believe it is worth mentioning. It takes a very specific, carefully crafted environment for those sort of terms to have an erotic effect on me, and most photos i see in tumblr do not achieve it.<br /><br />But just as i have concerns about what these materials might say about any girl who would be interested in assuming the role of a submissive bottom, i'm equally concerned about what it seems to say about the dominant Top. If we took our cue from the torture porn movies, sadistic Tops are mentally unstable. We have some serious bone to pick with young women, and our lust for revenge is greater than our lust for our "victim". <br /><br />I do not seek to spank every bottom that i encounter. I do not hanker to wrap my hands in every girl's hair and pull them to their knees. I do not wish to impose my dress code and manner of behavior on the entirety of femalehood. That would be psychopathic. <br /><br />The summarizing point of all this is to say both me and my girl worked our asses off to design, establish and construct this context that allows us to operate the way we do. I don't want that diminished by someone who minimizes its importance because they don't understand, but more aptly, i don't want to see it made extinct.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-38258197963472515612010-06-22T20:03:00.001-04:002010-06-22T20:05:27.914-04:00AmpleI 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. <br /><br />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?<br /><br />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 enlivens 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. <br /><br />Turning your naked ass away will not accomplish what you think it will. I will hold you firmer. I will pin you down. And then, i will bite again. I will chew your girly flesh, grind it between my teeth. Suck on it. Pull it into my mouth. Kicking your feet into the mattress will only rile me up. Thrashing will only drive the urge deeper.<br /><br />The urge to pull you inside of me. The urge to force myself all over you. The urge to make this - us - one, by coercive penetration of your cries, your ears, your mouth, your holes. <br /><br />It's morning. Peaceful. Early. We've got ample amounts of time. And we've only just started.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-77012217821128078912010-05-24T23:30:00.002-04:002010-05-26T14:10:10.501-04:00Spank me, already!This is a lesson in "be careful what you ask for."<br /><br />My recent <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2010/05/alone-again-naturally.html">birthday</a> had passed, and still no commemorative spankings. First a day or two, and then some more. We were creeping up on almost a week gone by, and not even something as much as a swat had materialized. My girl, apparently flummoxed (but not physically, as we've established) came to me.<br /><br />"Why haven't we done your birthday spankings yet?"<br /><br />"We haven't? Are you sure?"<br /><br />"Stop...seriously, when are we going to attend to them?"<br /><br />"Sounds like someone is rather wound up with excitement."<br /><br />"No, not really. I'd just rather get them over with."<br /><br />To the attending audience, this is NOT the tone in which you want to leave your dominant when it comes to presenting your perception of a celebratory ritual. You want your Top to believe you are excited, enthralled, rapt with enthusiasm. You do NOT want him to hear you approach the upcoming spectacle with a detached "get on with it" attitude. That sounds diffused, lacking emotion. It's likely he'll do something to reinvigorate the bottom. And that is precisely what i did.<br /><br />A few days after her initial cross-examinating questions, i stationed myself into the bedroom and laid out several implements. I called her into the bedroom (a routine that hasn't, perhaps surprisingly, grown tiresome). Spread across the bed was a hairbrush, a rattan cane, and the floor hockey stick from my youth.<br /><br />"You get to eliminate one of these. The other two will administer my birthday spankings."<br /><br />Predictably (pssst...the game is and has always been rigged), she eliminated the hockey stick. This didn't surprise me. I knew how much she hated that device. And frankly, i relished the notion of even presenting it as a possible tool for her to choose to slap the back of her prone ass. However, tactically, she chose to endure the flat wooden hairbrush, and the thin wisp of the rattan cane.<br /><br />Ladies and gentleman of the jury, i present to you the evidence that shows the defendant was fully aware of how many strokes were to be administered across her backside. She knew that i had progressed another year, and that this number which was to be articulated in blows upon her ass was a number much higher than her weekly maintenance spankings. Yet, she still chose two implements that would impart upon her flesh the most damage, and subsequent corporal markings. I ask you, the gallant jury, if she knew what the outcome would be, why would she choose the hair brush and the cane?<br /><br />Here's where the scenario gets an added injection of predicament. I had recently purchased for her a delectable penis-shaped gag. Knowing her proclivity for oral release, i thought it prudent and helpful that her mouth get outfitted with this newest obstruction. Perceptibly beneficial for her, she would have something to channel the energy she incurs when i rain blows upon her ass, and benefiting me, i would be able to think about her mouth stuffed with rigid, rubber cock while i thrashed her. The defendant and the prosecutor both win. One thing about this new penis gag is that it wasn't the most expensive, and thus not the best designed gag, so in order to keep it firmly set in her mouth, removing the ability for her to spit the gag out (which she <span style="font-style:italic;">loves</span> doing just to get my grit). To compensate for its design flaw, i had to latch it to the tightest possible belt hole. I didn't expect her to try to use her hands to undo, but just to be safe, i threaded one of her brass padlocks we use on her collar through the accompanying locking ring, securing it firm and deep into her mouth (when it was finally removed, a trail of teethmarks had been cut into it by how tightly she bit into it for relief). <br /><br />What followed has been told <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2009/08/routine.html">many</a> <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2008/06/routine-maintenance.html">times</a> on this site (if we're going by "spanking" as a label, it has been applied 36 times), so you'll forgive me if i attempt to not avoid redundancy. <br /><br />More importantly, actually, is not what happened during the spankings. Although, they were brutal, and there was at one point where the reddened flesh of her backside did start to bleed a tiny amount, what <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> more important is the beautiful bruising that blossomed across her cheeks. <br /><br />If i had to pick a favorite part of my birthday spankings, the application of them would definitely be up there, but wouldn't win the top accolade. That honor would fall upon the markings and the evolution they make over time. My girl takes a great deal of pride in the physical evidence of what she endured, and being a former cutter, she gains peace from watching how her body heals itself. To me, as i get to see clear, vivid and bold stripes morph into a flowing cloud of dark, violet coloration, ringed with a hue of amber shading, i'm touched by the meaningfulness of this symbol. This is our union, our intimacy. Our love and trust gets set with a vivid stroke, and over time, as we pass through life, in and out of physical contact, that love and trust transforms. This spot where i've touched her with a calculated firmness at first expressed a flash sensation, but over time, it becomes merely tender - this too represents our love and intimacy. We are very tender towards eachother, despite what it may sound like through the writing on this black background. We have some very flashy, kinky and outrageous moments, but the baseline of our relationship and our dynamic is our mutual tenderness.<br /><br />By now, you might be wondering "Uhm, where's the part where Deity demonstrates how this is an example of being careful what you wish for?". Yes. Sorry about that. I'll get right on it.<br /><br />It just so happens that three days after the administration of the birthday spankings, my girl had a burlesque gig. Coincidentally, the bruising following such a beating reaches its <span style="font-weight:bold;">peak</span> exactly three days after. On the day of her gig, she came to me in the morning, and asked if i'd take a look at her ass. Members of the jury, you don't need to ask me to do that, i do it all of the time - but i digress...<br /><br />"Looks great, darlin. Those are coming along nicely."<br /><br />"That's not why i wanted you to look."<br /><br />"Then why <span style="font-style:italic;">did</span> you, sugarpuss?"<br /><br />"Because i'm dancing tonight, and there's no way i can cover this up!"<br /><br />"But don't you have that body makeup stuff? That should do the trick."<br /><br />She looked at me for a moment, stunned by my complete lack of concern at her position. Then stomped off. The day passed, and the evening arrived. We transported her gear to the bar where she was performing. I kissed her and wished her good luck, then found a seat inside the small auditorium, in order to watch the show.<br /><br />When it finally came time for her performance, i was very excited because she had been working very hard on this number, and had made an assortment of adjustments to it that i think the audience was going to go crazy for. She looked gorgeous, and her stripping and choreography did in fact get the crowd going. All the hooting and hollering was exciting. The music reached the point where she pulled off one of her naughtiest reveals - basically, she turns her back to the audience, and with her feather fans, slowly flutters them up to reveal her beautiful, alabaster backside. <br /><br />The audience went mad.<br /><br />I, however, had a very different and unexpected reaction. She was absolutely correct, the body makeup didn't do the trick, and staring me right in the eyes were the two sizable, oval bruises stretched across her buttocks. And for some reason, i turned red. I can't really explain why. No one in the audience necessarily knew i was her man, and it isn't certain they connected the contusions with any brutal act. Nonetheless, i felt a twinge of guilt.<br /><br />After the show, i congratulated her on her wonderful performance, and asked why she didn't use the body makeup.<br /><br />"I <span style="font-weight:bold;">DID</span> use it. I applied three coats!"<br /><br />Perhaps that's the amount i should've applied to <span style="font-style:italic;">my</span> own previously reddened cheeks.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-4028920176794498922010-05-06T22:29:00.008-04:002010-05-08T19:48:43.628-04:00Alone again, naturallyI wouldn't call it a malaise. Nor would i categorize it as a depression. More accurately, it could be labeled a disconnection. I had allowed myself to step away from a hard-earned, annual tradition of complete self-involvement, only to fool myself to accept normal conventions as the way to connect and stay in contact with the world.<br /><br />Some highfalutin' language that signifies nothing? Understood. Essentially what i'm trying to offer you, the reader, is that recently i endured an annual, somewhat taxing episode, but one that shouldn't ultimately have been so taxing.<br /><br />I celebrated a birthday.<br /><br />I turned another year older. I aged. I advanced my years on this rock. And before any of you think that it is the superficial click on the aging odometer that troubles me, i assure you the advancing years excites me. I look forward to the days i'm 80 and i have decades of experience and knowledge under my belt that i can wield, flaunt and offer to others. My conflict with the occasion of my birthday is an existential one that has been trotted out on these pages <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2007/11/in-eye-of-beholder.html">before</a>.<br /><br />I'm rabidly anti-materialistic. I'm so opposed to rampant, errant consumption just for the sole reason that one in the affluent Western world can, that sometimes i experience heavily crippling periods when the invitation/encouragement to massively inhale material goods falls specifically and festively on my chest. Such is the case with my birthday.<br /><br />On this day, everyone conventionally wishes that you get spoiled on your happy, unique, special day (aka. rained upon by material excess) and that all your dreams and wishes are fulfilled (aka. you get every meaningless trinket you've been coveting over the last six months). These folks are not to blame, for in the Western world, this is how they've been taught to celebrate their birthdays from the earliest stages of their life. As fortunate inhabitants of the affluent hemispheres, we grow accustomed to having lavish parties tossed in commemoration of us having made it from the harrowing age of six to the exacting age of seven. During these parties, we are the center of attention, and not just the foci, but in fact the target of numerous piles of toys and presents as if to say "This is your reward - these plastic tchotkes - for enduring that difficult (yet sheltered) life of your childhood."<br /><br />At a very early age, i realized that this mode of celebration didn't fit me at all. In fact, my entire relationship with my birthday caused a great deal of discombobulation with my social compatriots. As each year passed, i found myself wanting to conceal the actual day i was born from those i knew. I took great care in obscuring the date when it came up in conversation, because i truly didn't want the prescribed manner that one celebrates the day of their birth applied to mine. I wanted to be left alone. I didn't want to be spoiled, and i didn't want a bunch of semi-sincere well wishers patsying me with their aplomb.<br /><br />What i wanted was to be alone. Here is the root of my life's philosophy. We ARE alone. All of us. This is not meant in a way to shock and stir the senses. It is merely my attempt to label the reality we all live. Being alone is neither good nor bad. It just...<a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2008/11/again-and-again.html">is</a>. No matter how close i feel to anyone - my girl, my dearest friends, my family - my experiences and how i perceive the world is solely mine. I cannot know what an apple tastes like to you as you crunch your teeth into the chunky, juicy flesh, nor can you ever know how that same apple tastes like to me. All of this is my own provenance.<br /><br />I realized this in my college years, and i was able to self-prescribe the proper medication to handle my birthdays: for 24 hours, i would vanish. I would disappear. Be nowhere near a phone, or a computer. I would only be with myself. The first year i followed through with this, i got on a bus, whose destination i didn't know, and 16 hours later found myself in another state with no idea how i'd get back. The next year, i spent the entire day in a bathtub in one of those pay-by-the-hour motels, occasionally adding hot water to the mix. The following year - easily my favorite - i walked 35 miles along a two lane country highway. There is nothing like being on a darkened road at 3AM, just walking, by yourself. I can still vividly remember my encounter with the amazing sensation of mist sizzling on the high-tension power lines overhead, stopping to look up at this sight, buzzed from the abstract reality of it all.<br /><br />Somehow, in recent years, i got away from this practice. It's largely my girl's fault. She was the first person i'd ever met who i actually didn't mind spending time with on my birthday. The more of them we celebrated together, the further i moved away from this model of pure isolation. Unfortunately, this year it caught up with me. My psyche had grown thirsty, and needed severe re-hydration. Even the promise of our traditional administration of a number of strokes* across my girl's backside to correspond with the age i turned that year wasn't enough to keep at bay those severe anti-materialistic demons. Thankfully, i remembered how to get back to that place where it was just me, by myself, isolated, on my birthday.<br /><br />I'm <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2009/09/difference-being.html">not normal</a>, i understand that. Who has such a convoluted, existential struggle about something as simple as one's birthday? It's just one day out of the year, just go get some cake, blow out the candles, and open your presents. It doesn't need to be so difficult. I understand this perspective, and i have faced many perplexing questions all around the theme of "Why do you have to be so weird?", followed by my favorite "Why do you have to take things so seriously?". <br /><br />The answer to both questions is the same: because that is who i am.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;">*Stay tuned for my post where i go into more details about that spanking my girl endured, and the unforeseen consequences...</span><div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-56427214786372756202010-04-25T16:53:00.000-04:002010-04-25T17:32:52.916-04:00SustenanceAs i layered over her cellophane-wrapped fists with black duct tape, i contemplated how much of a sadistic jerk i fancied being that night. <br /><br />We'd just spent a wonderful weekend day together in the city, exploring the freshly blossoming public gardens on a pristine spring afternoon. Once we arrived home from our outing, she nestled herself onto our couch in hopes of winding down, aided by her book and a curled up feline. I attended to some incomplete matters in my bureau, fully aware of what i would find back on the couch in 20 minutes time. I looked in on her, as i moved my activity to the kitchen, preparing to start the evening's repas. There she was, collapsed into a sleeping ball of beauty, her pretty mouth pursed partially open. Her breath hummed into the solemn air, its peaceful buzz reaching my ears. But alas, were it seeking some noble fraternity with my thoughts, it would feel betrayed. Instead, it would've found a twisted, malevolent factory, rapidly churning out the perverted designs i would later use to torment this slumbering angel.<br /><br />Accomplishing what i needed to in the kitchen and setting the slow simmer into motion, i retreated to the bedroom and began to lay out the numerous apparatuses that i would employ. Now, there may be some of you out there who envision the delicate slumber i was about to interrupt and think my behavior selfish - and you wouldn't be wrong to think that. The part that's even more wicked is that i didn't care. By the time i'd placed the last item on the bed, my mind buzzed with electricity and that familiar, rich flavor flooded in my mouth. <br /><br />"Sweetheart...it's time to wake up."<br /><br />"Mmmmm...wha...what?"<br /><br />"Come with me back into the bedroom."<br /><br />There are those who have a parent that gave them a look when they were a child wherein they could immediately identify what was coming next. Over the years of our relationship, my girl has learned that when i summon her to the bedroom, she's not entering the chamber where she sleeps in the evening, but instead the dungeon i've constructed. <br /><br />I grabbed her tiny, delicate hands and fashioned them into tight balls. I took her left hand and wound several layers of tight cellophane around it, encapsulating her digits. I then tore off long strips of black duct tape, smoothing each over her clubbed mitt, making sure no plastic wrap showed through. I asked her to try to wiggle out of it, but she confirmed what i already knew - trapped. I repeated the same procedure with her right hand, and then retrieved <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2008/11/christmas-came-earlyor-late.html">the patent leather hood and neck corset</a> from its stand. I snickered to myself as i loosened the hood's laces, pondering the next 60 minutes. After properly positioning the hood and hitching up the neck corset, i said goodbye to my girl, then latched the matching blindfold over the now completed toy's head. <br /><br />I took some time to enjoy the spectacle of my fucktoy. This doll who sat before me, naked, speechless, shiny black head concealing all of her features, with matching shiny immobilized hands was no longer the sleeping beauty who'd just ten minutes before been resting on the couch. This was Barbie. And Barbie needed shoes.<br /><br />"Stick out Barbie's feet."<br /><br />I slid the <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2010/02/theyre-here.html">latest addition</a> to Barbie's wardrobe onto her pointed legs, gliding the zipper to the top. My goodness, the shininess of these boots still managed to amaze me. I positioned my dolly onto the bed, on her belly, legs spread open. I latched a locking leather cuff around each of the doll's wrists, and then fastened these up onto the headboard. I grabbed the <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2009/04/wandher.html">Hitachi</a> and laid it in a supine position in between the fucktoy's legs. I placed the dormant head right against Barbie's cuntlips so that she would know it sat right there.<br /><br />"Okay. Now be a good little toy and keep those legs spread. I'll be back in a bit."<br /><br />Barbie grunted, indicating frustration that the magic wand wasn't animated before i departed. I scooted off to the kitchen, checking in on the meal. Everything was as i expected. After about ten minutes of additional prep work, i returned to the bedroom.<br /><br />Greeting me, like a good little toy, was Barbie's glistening pussycunt, aimed upwards in the air. I grabbed the wand and turned it on, and pressed it to my dolly's naked thigh.<br /><br />"Is this where Barbie wants this?"<br /><br />"MMMMmmmmppph!"<br /><br />"Oh? Barbie wants it higher?"<br /><br />"MMMmmmmmmmmmmmmm-hmmmmmmmm."<br /><br />I brought the gyrating knob within millimeters of the swollen cuntlips, holding it right there.<br /><br />"Does Barbie want to feel the wand?"<br /><br />"MMMMMMMM! MMMMMMM!"<br /><br />"Beg, Barbie, beg."<br /><br />"Mmmmmm-mmmm-mmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!!!"<br /><br />I pressed the wand against the fucktoy's lips, and immediately Barbie began to feverishly grind against the implement. I held it securely in place, as the dolly's hips thrashed against the white, silicon head. Four, maybe six minutes of this, i could begin to see the glowing crimson color of an oncoming orgasm building in the toy's cunt flesh. <br /><br />"Does Barbie want me to turn the wand to high?"<br /><br />"mmmmmmmmmmmMMMMmmmmmmmm..." This was a deeper sound, scraping off whatever intonation the toy found on its vocal chords.<br /><br />I responded by deepening my own voice, and when i spoke, i could feel the devilish grin painted all over my mouth.<br /><br />"Beg. Beg, Barbie. Show me how badly the toy wants more."<br /><br />Barbie thrashed on the bed, trying to shove as much of the toy's pussycunt onto the vibrating wand. <br /><br />"Mmmmmmmm-MMM-MMM-MMM-MMM!!!!"<br /><br />I easily interpreted this as wanting more and flipped the switch to 'high'. Immediately, hums poured out of Barbie, constantly flooding the room with sexual purrs. In my head, i counted downward from fifteen, and when i reached zero, i flipped the wand off. <br /><br />"gggghhhhhhhggghghh!!!ggghh!!!"<br /><br />Apparently, the fucktoy didn't approve of this. Good thing Barbie was in no position to decide. <br /><br />"I've got to check in on dinner. Be a good toy, and keep those legs spread."<br /><br />Barbie pleaded with me. The dolly wiggled its perky little ass in the air, drawing an illustration of where i should re-apply the fun stick that had just moments before been alive. I wasn't persuaded.<br /><br />The food by now filled the air of our apartment with such robust flavors and perfumes. Stirring the pot, i concluded that we only had a dozen or so minutes before it was completed. I took out the dining china and the corresponding stemware. Meticulously, i set the table, making sure each dish and fork sat the exact distance from each other. I lit the candles for the meal, and corked the wine. I stopped and gave real thought to any details i might've missed. <br /><br />Nothing. Nothing it seems.<br /><br />Barbie, i thought, must be famished.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-64063902685971670622010-04-10T09:13:00.000-04:002010-04-10T09:26:18.733-04:00awakeI want<br />to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.<br />–Pablo Neruda, “Twenty Love Poems: XIV”<br /><br />I want<br />to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.<br /><br />I want <br />to do with you what the soprano does with a melody.<br /><br />I want<br />to do with you what light does with water. <br /><br />I want <br />to do with you what time does with wine.<br /><br />I want <br />to do with you what the explorer does with a map.<br /><br />I want <br />to do with you what voltage does with light bulbs.<br /><br />I want <br />to do with you what wind does with a rock face.<br /><br />I want <br />to do with you what a camera does with a landscape.<br /><br />I want<br />to do with you what a cat does with a purr.<br /><br />I want <br />to do with you what your eyes do with my stomach.<br /><br />I want<br />to do with you what the spring does with the cherry trees.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8804250895155919596.post-73145068557216671502010-03-20T12:07:00.010-04:002010-03-23T08:16:53.485-04:00AppliquéI assume that those of you who make the trek to TransformHer, do so in part out of an affection for obsession. Witnessing the material that emerges from someone's obsession is one of my all time pursuits. I adore the poets who are so fixated upon a single word that they use it in numerous poems, re-use it, repeat it, dissect it, and string it together in an endless train of circuitous discovery (see Gertrude Stein's <a href="http://www.english.upenn.edu/~jenglish/Courses/Spring02/104/steinpicasso.html">exposition</a> on 'full', 'exactly' and 'he'). <br /><br />One of my biggest thrills when i first moved to my adopted hometown was the regular trip to the Guggenheim Museum where the most comprehensive collection of Kandinsky art exists. My initial encounter with Wassily's art had me react with revolt at the possibility that someone might've plagiarized my own drawings. I wasn't aware of the time period this man had created his artistic embellishments, so my hubris allowed me to believe my own geometric sketches wherein i explored, expunged and evaporated the circular shape had been completely original. Learning that he'd trotted out his own obsession with the curvaceous geometry nearly 100 years before me not only put my mind at ease, but a distant connection with a foreign, long-passed stranger developed in my heart, so that when i first was able to see <a href="http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/collections/collection-online/show-full/piece/?search=Vasily%20Kandinsky&page=2&f=People&cr=12">his work hanging in the gorgeous air of the Guggenheim</a>, i reached out to it, as if it were the output of a dearly departed friend. <br /><br />To say that i've been obsessed with the <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2010/02/theyre-here.html">ballet boots</a> i purchased for my girl would be as tame as saying that the Sun is a moderate lighting device. No fewer than 10 times daily, since we've received them, do they enter into my mind. The images of them that i took to post to these pages still sit on my mobile, and as if they were pictures from a nursery, i visit my "babies" regularly throughout the day. As in the past, when i've acquired <a href="http://transformher.blogspot.com/2008/11/christmas-came-earlyor-late.html">new kinky accoutrements</a>, i remain wary of "blowing my load" prematurely by too frequently implementing the latest device in my toy chest. Truth be told, this is an academic understanding. Inwardly, i don't care one bit. <br /><br />The first evening we had them, i made my girl give them an impromptu try. It was scintillating fun watching her slide her naked foot into these black, shiny stallions. I remember that i placed myself on the far end of the couch, restraining myself from grabbing onto her left leg and jerking the other pair on hastily. She could hardly stand in them (which wasn't a surprise), but that didn't matter. They immediately changed the way she looked, the way she thought of her legs, the way <span style="font-style:italic;">i</span> thought of her. In ballet boots, especially knee-high, you cannot look normal. You don't even resemble a human. You've left the terrestrial species once your toes serve as your only contact with the ground. Gushes of erotic energy flooded into my body. So much that even after i'd expended multiple volts of it by fucking her naked-all-but-the-boots body, i buzzed for hours afterward.<br /><br />As days passed, i fantasized about the boots, me putting them on her, my girl wearing them around, as well as the numerous torments i'd put her through as she did. Outwardly, i tried to appear indifferent to this footwear, referencing them only occasionally in conversation with my girl - i didn't want to acknowledge the realistic hold they had over me. However, on the inside, i felt strangely subservient to them. It was almost as if i was no longer in control.<br /><br />And then another Friday came upon us. It was time for some form of correction. The long week had ended and we had both earned this playful moment. In my mind, i conjured up numerous scenarios for us, purposely trying to avoid the bullying presence of those delectable shoes. I wrestled with their influence for awhile before finally relenting. After all their insistence, they would hold a central role in the evening's events. In greeting my girl at the entrance of our apartment, i asked her for her preference.<br /><br />"Which would you prefer: swats or rope?"<br /><br />This game, like all of them with her, was rigged. I knew that neither one posed the most pleasing of experiences for her, but even as she pondered her plight, she definitely did not detect the ace i hid in my hand. At the opportune time, i would slap this on the table.<br /><br />"Swats."<br /><br />I sent her to the bedroom to strip. I viewed the time that existed between this moment and the point in which i would grab the long white box from atop her armoir as if it were a decadent wish about to come true. Long ago, she had grown accustomed to my desire to keep her on her toes. Only now, the literal aspect of this fully realized volition presented itself as an interminable possibility.<br /><br />I retrieved the boots from their case, and handed them to my naked girl. Without skipping a beat, she carefully tugged them onto her feet. I helped her upward and aided her promenade to the end of the bed. She grasped the black iron of the footboard with more industry than she normally did. <br /><br />"Point it out."<br /><br />God, what a site. Her delicious, pale skin pouring over her round cheeks and hips, collecting in the dark, sinister chalice of these boots. Her ass suspended in the air with an agility not typically viewed - i suspected it had to do with the extreme angle of her toes and calves. I viewed her from all angles, marveling at an image of something i'd lusted over only in the professional photographs of others. Because of my salivating lust, her backside received a sensational beating, however, due to the air in the chamber sizzling with arousal, she took each blow with esteem. Uncustomarily, i shortened the duration of her spanking, only because i couldn't hold out any longer.<br /><br />I positioned her in the bed on all fours. The stiletto of the heels pointed at my swollen erection, but before i mounted her, i stopped short and did something i've never done before. A compulsion welled up inside of me, a need to worship her boots. I bent down and with as much passion as if i were embracing my girl, i kissed and licked the shiny, patent leather encasing her legs. My eyes closed for a moment as i did this, opening them again only to continue on with my dream.<div class="blogger-post-footer">© Deity 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2014. All Rights Reserved.</div>Deityhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06171402123131370261noreply@blogger.com7