Showing posts with label vulnerability. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vulnerability. Show all posts
Monday, October 6, 2014
Monday, September 1, 2014
Tribal mentality
Over the years, i have witnessed many long term partnerships, commitments and marriages crumble. So many times, the explanations given for the dissolution of these relationships focus on money, ambition or political/cultural identities. I think this is hogwash. What we are talking about is a coupling, which at its root is a sexual pursuit. Either out of embarrassment or convention, we do not pinpoint sexual incompatibility when we cite the demise of a relationship. It was:
Sex is how we intimately connect.
And I don't just mean how we connect with our sexual partners. For the extent of my life, I've felt like an outcast. I have a healthy amount of friends, those i'd call my social compadres. All but a very small number know about this site. I have been faced with concealing this side of me to mostly everyone i know. And yet, i have been incredibly blessed to meet people with whom i'm able to share this partition of myself like i share with those of you who visit. Initially, we chatted about our respective engagement in the SM world, and then...our conversations resumed a normal, conventional discourse. In fact, to anyone who observes our interactions from the outside, the conversations we have are incredibly (and perhaps, boringly) normal. However, these people represent the folks with whom i get to be my most authentic self. I get to be my dominant self - no question - but i also get to be my challenged, struggling, uncertain and questioning self in ways that are liberating.
There's a lot of cosmetic manipulation that can make a life pursuing this kind of sexuality sound glamorous and profound, but if we never find those who make up our tribe, it never feels real.
- We didn't see eye-to-eye on money issues
- He was too thrifty/she was too much of a shopaholic
- I couldn't see where he/she had a plan for their future
- Their position on reproductive rights troubled me
Sex is how we intimately connect.
And I don't just mean how we connect with our sexual partners. For the extent of my life, I've felt like an outcast. I have a healthy amount of friends, those i'd call my social compadres. All but a very small number know about this site. I have been faced with concealing this side of me to mostly everyone i know. And yet, i have been incredibly blessed to meet people with whom i'm able to share this partition of myself like i share with those of you who visit. Initially, we chatted about our respective engagement in the SM world, and then...our conversations resumed a normal, conventional discourse. In fact, to anyone who observes our interactions from the outside, the conversations we have are incredibly (and perhaps, boringly) normal. However, these people represent the folks with whom i get to be my most authentic self. I get to be my dominant self - no question - but i also get to be my challenged, struggling, uncertain and questioning self in ways that are liberating.
There's a lot of cosmetic manipulation that can make a life pursuing this kind of sexuality sound glamorous and profound, but if we never find those who make up our tribe, it never feels real.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Porn: the scapegoat
I 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.
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 an article 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.
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.
When she says:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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..."
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?
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."
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.
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"?
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.
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.
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.
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 an article 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.
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.
When she says:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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..."
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?
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."
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.
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"?
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Amanly
What 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.
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, edging 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.
Alas, that is not the case. I love girls. Adore them. Obsess, ache, and even starve for them. But as far as mimicking the behavior of my fellow man, that is where we depart.
***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***
Every regular man i've met, and have spent a reasonable amount of time around, wants to stick his cock into every single "attractive" female 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.
And, this completely escapes and baffles me.
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.
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:
- I'm severely lacking in some serious levels of testosterone that other men just get.
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.
Wait a minute! Doesn't Deity already partake in an assortment of female objectification? Why, good man, you are correct. That objectification, reducing an intelligent, articulate woman into nothing but a vessel is quite different.
Or is it?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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, edging 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.
Alas, that is not the case. I love girls. Adore them. Obsess, ache, and even starve for them. But as far as mimicking the behavior of my fellow man, that is where we depart.
***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***
Every regular man i've met, and have spent a reasonable amount of time around, wants to stick his cock into every single "attractive" female 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.
And, this completely escapes and baffles me.
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.
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:
- I'm severely lacking in some serious levels of testosterone that other men just get.
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.
Wait a minute! Doesn't Deity already partake in an assortment of female objectification? Why, good man, you are correct. That objectification, reducing an intelligent, articulate woman into nothing but a vessel is quite different.
Or is it?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Friday, March 20, 2009
The whole she-bang
Forever an inquisitive young fellow, in my youth i was challenged by my father to constantly question "why?". Always. At all times. Always ask why.
In my logic, this led to some rather harrowing internal interrogations wherein (as is my way) i didn't accept a limit to this line of questioning and eventually took aim upon the purpose and justification for the Universe itself. In much the same way, i have done the exact thing here on these pages, having struck the first match of illumination on the theme of my Big Bang in order to try to uncover more about myself.
I didn't stumble upon the URL of TransformHer accidentally. I knew quite well that hanging over my head like a deliciously ripe piece of fruit just out of reach was this insatiable desire to completely change, alter and modify the female form. And like that scrumptious morsel hanging just out of range, offering me the reality that some desires should never be met, i have come to grips with the fact that there are some transformations i will never (nor should ever) accomplish.
The imagery in my mind of what i'd want to do if given "full rein" could never (nor should it ever) be attempted. My desires are endless abysses that once you get to a certain depth no light or life can be sensed. Rather than plunge head first into a blackhole of narcicisstic oblivion, i participate in an exchange with an incredible life force that allows me to slowly alter her (but alter her. nonetheless). Small, individuated steps, instead of speeding light years to a frightening singularity no one has ever seen or lived to experience.
In my logic, this led to some rather harrowing internal interrogations wherein (as is my way) i didn't accept a limit to this line of questioning and eventually took aim upon the purpose and justification for the Universe itself. In much the same way, i have done the exact thing here on these pages, having struck the first match of illumination on the theme of my Big Bang in order to try to uncover more about myself.
I didn't stumble upon the URL of TransformHer accidentally. I knew quite well that hanging over my head like a deliciously ripe piece of fruit just out of reach was this insatiable desire to completely change, alter and modify the female form. And like that scrumptious morsel hanging just out of range, offering me the reality that some desires should never be met, i have come to grips with the fact that there are some transformations i will never (nor should ever) accomplish.
The imagery in my mind of what i'd want to do if given "full rein" could never (nor should it ever) be attempted. My desires are endless abysses that once you get to a certain depth no light or life can be sensed. Rather than plunge head first into a blackhole of narcicisstic oblivion, i participate in an exchange with an incredible life force that allows me to slowly alter her (but alter her. nonetheless). Small, individuated steps, instead of speeding light years to a frightening singularity no one has ever seen or lived to experience.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Morsels
- Recently, my computer of 8 years kicked the bucket. I've amassed and compiled a relatively impressive and valuable amount of porn (read: obscure, sadistic kink). In order to try to recover this store, i was given the advice to purchase a "thumb drive" and manually move all necessary files onto this in order to access it from the new (as of yet purchased) computer. There is something very strange, off-putting and yet humbling holding this tiny little plastic contraption that contains 4 GigaBytes of my catalogued, compartmentalized and still sexuality-impacting life. This is what my thousands of hours culling and searching amounts to? Something the size of a stick of gum? Not sure if i should be comforted or appropriately disturbed.
- I am the lucky victim of a mystery stress fracture in my heel. One day i'm running my usual 4 miles (and later that evening taking care of some other business), the next day i can't walk home from the train station. No trauma, no blunt violence to my limbs. I have been driving this body of mine hard, and perhaps the age of it has caught up with the use. For now and the next handful of weeks, i walk wearing a plastic-reinforced, velcro-strapped boot and a wooden cane (that i picked up at a local antique store for $5). It has led me to think about my vulnerability. I'm not as mobile as i would like to be or am used to being. I must rely on the kindness of others, both strange and known. And i must re-evaluate my own impenetrability, which i frequently fancy as near super-human. Not being able to support my own body weight has had an impact on how i can properly correct my girl or address anything kink-related. It makes the hand-written phrase on the single notecard i have hanging on my wall - that i stare at every single time i sit at my desk in my bureau, like now - all the more relevant:
"what is weakness?"
What is weakness? Indeed. What does it mean to be weak? What are the fall outs from those situations where weakness is avoided at all costs? Do we know whether we profit or suffer when we are weak?
I ask these questions of myself everyday, and now, as i hobble around the city that i live in, i wonder if weakness is found in my hobbling or in my inability to accept that it is my current lot.
- Christmas approaches, and instead of doing our customary "naughty Xmas" gift exchange, my girl and i are trying to put something aside for these tough economic times ahead. It's very difficult to justify putting money towards more material and admittedly unnecessary items when what faces all of us is uncertain and unknown. I can't help but feel like a brat to be miffed we're not upholding this tradition, but there are too many uncertainties that need flexibility and patience to endure.
- I am the lucky victim of a mystery stress fracture in my heel. One day i'm running my usual 4 miles (and later that evening taking care of some other business), the next day i can't walk home from the train station. No trauma, no blunt violence to my limbs. I have been driving this body of mine hard, and perhaps the age of it has caught up with the use. For now and the next handful of weeks, i walk wearing a plastic-reinforced, velcro-strapped boot and a wooden cane (that i picked up at a local antique store for $5). It has led me to think about my vulnerability. I'm not as mobile as i would like to be or am used to being. I must rely on the kindness of others, both strange and known. And i must re-evaluate my own impenetrability, which i frequently fancy as near super-human. Not being able to support my own body weight has had an impact on how i can properly correct my girl or address anything kink-related. It makes the hand-written phrase on the single notecard i have hanging on my wall - that i stare at every single time i sit at my desk in my bureau, like now - all the more relevant:
"what is weakness?"
What is weakness? Indeed. What does it mean to be weak? What are the fall outs from those situations where weakness is avoided at all costs? Do we know whether we profit or suffer when we are weak?
I ask these questions of myself everyday, and now, as i hobble around the city that i live in, i wonder if weakness is found in my hobbling or in my inability to accept that it is my current lot.
- Christmas approaches, and instead of doing our customary "naughty Xmas" gift exchange, my girl and i are trying to put something aside for these tough economic times ahead. It's very difficult to justify putting money towards more material and admittedly unnecessary items when what faces all of us is uncertain and unknown. I can't help but feel like a brat to be miffed we're not upholding this tradition, but there are too many uncertainties that need flexibility and patience to endure.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Revealer
I traveled with my girl over last weekend, leaving the city to celebrate a chum's birthday with a few hundred of his friends and relatives. The interesting thing about this gentleman, as is the case with a good number of relationships in my life, is that there is no rational reason for why we have such strong camaraderie. We are polar opposites. He is the East coast to my Western Mountain boy. But, somehow, we get along incredibly well. Most of the time we spend in eachother's company occurs one on one or with our respective partners. On the occasions that either of us have a gathering that involves our autonomous and separate collection of friends, an invitation will get extended to the other. Should the person accept the invite, they will come into a situation where they are surrounded by people they don't know, and largely cannot relate to. Such is the case this past weekend.
My girl, dressed in her newest vintage red polka-dot halter dress, and i arrived at the party and realized we did not know a solitary soul, minus the birthday boy (and his wife). We mingled. We chit-chatted. We jabbed. All of it completely meaningless. Anyone could've played my head-nodding part in the conversations i partook because the subjects never rose above the level of small talk. An hour passed, and i found myself exhausted (from the effort it took for me to show i cared about the stress this person experienced from maintaining his second home in the Berkshires) , and completely disinterested in pursuing any vein of dialogue. Only until the last guests left, and i had exquisite solitude with my host, did i find my spirits fueled and firing.
On the ride back into the city, i gave this much reflection. Was it snobbery on my part? Was it elitism? I didn't think so. I've had conversations with complete strangers on the subway that washed my soul with warmth. The solitary unifier amongst all of my most profound relationships is my ability to find a comfort at revealing and living out some aspect of myself. If i am clammed up, disconnected from myself, or conceal my basic properties, i grow numb to the exchange.
This principle comes shining through in my interactions with my friend K. When we gather, i will note the commencement of our appointment, and then four hours later, i will again glance at my watch as perplexion overcomes me at the expanse of time. We converse on so many subjects (most recently his purchase of a leather hood for his girl) that draw out of me a ribbon of stimulation for me to constantly chew on, i find i lose my perception of passing time. In fact, when you establish a profound connection with someone, when you reveal and offer yourself, you momentarily slip out of the gulf stream of time. In that instant, you feel connected to the universe.
That's what "The Lustful Quality" accomplishes for me. At any moment, when i face a vapid suction of beauty that this world so frequently presents, i gain comfort in knowing, that coming here, i can allow the mechanisms that i've formed inside of me to affect my civilized reaction to the ugliness a reprieve. Instead, i'm able to express myself while tuning into the harmony that runs through all of us (and that is so frequently distorted and overshadowed by all the noise our psyches endure).
We all, at the end of our line, want to feel connected. The sensation of connectedness gives us value, like we serve a purpose in all of this screaming, dryer-tumbling chaos. Like our life isn't just a meaningless passage of time. No one, after all, wants to feel meaningless.
My girl, dressed in her newest vintage red polka-dot halter dress, and i arrived at the party and realized we did not know a solitary soul, minus the birthday boy (and his wife). We mingled. We chit-chatted. We jabbed. All of it completely meaningless. Anyone could've played my head-nodding part in the conversations i partook because the subjects never rose above the level of small talk. An hour passed, and i found myself exhausted (from the effort it took for me to show i cared about the stress this person experienced from maintaining his second home in the Berkshires) , and completely disinterested in pursuing any vein of dialogue. Only until the last guests left, and i had exquisite solitude with my host, did i find my spirits fueled and firing.
On the ride back into the city, i gave this much reflection. Was it snobbery on my part? Was it elitism? I didn't think so. I've had conversations with complete strangers on the subway that washed my soul with warmth. The solitary unifier amongst all of my most profound relationships is my ability to find a comfort at revealing and living out some aspect of myself. If i am clammed up, disconnected from myself, or conceal my basic properties, i grow numb to the exchange.
This principle comes shining through in my interactions with my friend K. When we gather, i will note the commencement of our appointment, and then four hours later, i will again glance at my watch as perplexion overcomes me at the expanse of time. We converse on so many subjects (most recently his purchase of a leather hood for his girl) that draw out of me a ribbon of stimulation for me to constantly chew on, i find i lose my perception of passing time. In fact, when you establish a profound connection with someone, when you reveal and offer yourself, you momentarily slip out of the gulf stream of time. In that instant, you feel connected to the universe.
That's what "The Lustful Quality" accomplishes for me. At any moment, when i face a vapid suction of beauty that this world so frequently presents, i gain comfort in knowing, that coming here, i can allow the mechanisms that i've formed inside of me to affect my civilized reaction to the ugliness a reprieve. Instead, i'm able to express myself while tuning into the harmony that runs through all of us (and that is so frequently distorted and overshadowed by all the noise our psyches endure).
We all, at the end of our line, want to feel connected. The sensation of connectedness gives us value, like we serve a purpose in all of this screaming, dryer-tumbling chaos. Like our life isn't just a meaningless passage of time. No one, after all, wants to feel meaningless.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
I like to keep her in suspense, pt. 3
A man and his tools.
There is a very precise and precious relationship between the two. The first few items he acquires are usually found, inherited or errantly purchased just to satisfy his immediate needs. But that does not diminish the man's connection to them. He uses them to craft, to tinker, to fix and repair. And he does this mostly in solitude - A man alone with his tools, jointly focused on the object to which they are applied. Over the years, he will acquire new additions, retiring old ones, finetuning his collection which serves as a non-vocal expression of himself.
A man rarely thinks about how he may appear to others amidst the use of his instruments. They sometimes take on the status of a secret mistress, where the man doesn't act the same way around them as he does around his friends. I myself witnessed this with a chum of mine i'd known for over a decade. One day, he invited me to his woodshop for the first time, to work on a project of my own design. When he first greeted me, he looked the same as he always had, but once set in front of the racks of tools hanging from his shop's walls, his appearance changed. He took on more the likeness of a little boy, with a gleam in his eye, as he greeted the numerous implements in his collection and contemplated their potential to create an object out of raw, uncut materials. He had no idea he'd come off differently, but he later offered that it was strange, almost difficult sharing that experience with me. He wasn't prepared for the vulnerability he felt inviting someone into his shed to view his intimate connection with his utensils.
Our last installment on the evening between me, my girl, K and his had us just at the beginning of our use of a newly ordered supply of jute rope. It wasn't until i was walking back to the living room with the rope-filled bag that i realized i felt odd, perhaps a little bare. Hundreds of times, i'd grabbed this satchel, digging in it for the precise equipment i required. In many ways, this sack represented a physical manifestation of my imagination, the ladder to the next level in my imaginary world. Once i stepped into the warm light of the den that cast on my girl and our guests, i would be exposing a very delicate entrance to my internals.
I undid the latch, and began to disembowel the case of its ropey entrails. Bundle after bundle of khaki coils piled up on the coffee table, wafting a sweet and rich aroma of seaweed and leather into the air. I called my girl to me, and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her as close as possible. Her proximity brought me comfort. I kissed her on the lips, then instructed her to disrobe. I didn't pay close attention to the other couple, but in my periphery, i could see a tender exchange of caresses and movements that eventually had K's girl in the same naked state as mine. I looked to K for his lead for what should take place next. I've bound my girl dozens of times, even leaving her tied for hours with confidence that my self-educated rope skills would satisfy the purpose. That night's activity, however, would require a level of acumen i didn't possess, and for that reason, K served (nobly, patiently and graciously) as my guide.
He grabbed a 7 meter coil and with it methodically bound the hands of his girl behind her back, starting what would become a basic but sturdy torso harness. I mimicked each tug and turn of the malleable jute, arranging my girl's limbs to resemble her counterpart's. I loved the friction of the rope's fibers across my flesh, leaving a slight trail of burn between my fingers and thumb. The detail-obsessed demon inside me found ample opportunity to commandeer the rigging, as it took meticulous care to make sure the rope lay beautifully across her skin, both lining it up and coiling it in a perfectly eye-pleasing way. In very short time, we had both girl's arms immobilized, as well as their naked tits bound tightly by the interweave of sea foam-colored rope.
At this point, K excused he and i from the bound bottoms in order to go examine the pull-up bar as well as provide a little more tutorial. The apex of the evening as we had planned it would culminate in my girl's inaugural suspension. Nervous but confident in my tutor, i reworked his oral instruction over and over in my head standing beneath the rigid rail that extended between the door frame of my study. When we returned, the strangest but loveliest of spectacles met our eyes. As we left them, constricted, topless and armless, the girls had found seats and taken up a conversation they'd started some hours before as if the configuration of their limbs were normal and warranted. This touched me for some reason. I believe it spoke to the level of comfort established by us all in that atmosphere, but also the pure peace each girl sank into when bound as such.
K led his bottom into my study and quickly anchored another length of rope to the back of the rigid harness trussed around her frame. Every inch of movement or action he took, he dictated to me the methods he employed, ensuring i understood why the rope was attached at that exact location or how to protect the submissive from being whipped in the face by the rapidly yanked lariat. In what seemed like an instant, he was ready to hoist his girl into the air. She'd mentally retracted inside of herself (or it could be seen as opening herself to everything and anything), that when he tugged on the lever that he'd created, lifting her from the ground, she responded as if that was the natural location her body was to occupy for the next few moments of time. He asked me if i caught all of that. I had not. He asked again, firmly, but patiently. Again, i indicated that some of it had been lost on me. With exquisite confidence, he then lowered her and raised her several times, until my mind captured the mechanics of the winch, allowing me to transfer the instructions to my hands that held tightly to my excited but uncertain girl.
K finally let his girl hang for a few minutes with her legs wiggling beneath her, giving her the pleasure of suspension, before he released her. Rather than immediately attend to me, as i awaited to repeat this effect with my girl, he ministered to his roped submissive, quickly checking to see if she was in order before proceeding. As he did this, i continued to replay in my head the step-by-step instructions he gave me, trying to implant my girl into the pictographic illustrations. When it came time to perform, i felt a sensation of calm firmly in my grip.
Without much intercedence, K observed as i used the rope to craft a halyard to my girl's harness. I stopped a few times to allow him to inspect, but otherwise, i could sense a momentum building in my hands. I squatted a little as i held the tackled rope, and placed my shoulder into the cavity of my girl's chest. I spoke quietly to her.
"Ready?"
She breathlessly indicated her affirmative, and i pulled, simultaneously lifting her with the rope while supporting her with my body. Once i was certain the suspension would hold, that the principles of Archimedes would indeed do all of the work, i held firmly to the working end of the line, and stepped out from underneath my hovering girl, leaving her hanging completely freely for the very first time in her life.
I was amazed at how little strain there was in the length of jute i held in my hand, yet the arrangement i crafted from the instructions i received looked suspiciously too simple. My darling submissive dangled in mid-air, completely unable to free herself from this predicament. Her skin sung a song of rosy awareness, while her cunt moistened her twin, exposed petals. I swung the girl-sack that hovered above me back and forth, snickering to myself at how vulnerable this item was in this position. A few minutes passed when, finally, i could detect a change in the composure of her physiognomy. It was time to come down.
As my nose picked up the effluvium of the not yet consumed, hearty soup drenching the air from the kitchen, i recognized that our evening was drawing to a close. I could sense how hungry my girl had become, and i accepted the fact that her time off the ground had ended. I knew she was done, there was not much more that i could purchase from her body. It was time to feed her and our guests the meal i'd been preparing all day. After all, i'd kept her in suspense quite long enough.
There is a very precise and precious relationship between the two. The first few items he acquires are usually found, inherited or errantly purchased just to satisfy his immediate needs. But that does not diminish the man's connection to them. He uses them to craft, to tinker, to fix and repair. And he does this mostly in solitude - A man alone with his tools, jointly focused on the object to which they are applied. Over the years, he will acquire new additions, retiring old ones, finetuning his collection which serves as a non-vocal expression of himself.
A man rarely thinks about how he may appear to others amidst the use of his instruments. They sometimes take on the status of a secret mistress, where the man doesn't act the same way around them as he does around his friends. I myself witnessed this with a chum of mine i'd known for over a decade. One day, he invited me to his woodshop for the first time, to work on a project of my own design. When he first greeted me, he looked the same as he always had, but once set in front of the racks of tools hanging from his shop's walls, his appearance changed. He took on more the likeness of a little boy, with a gleam in his eye, as he greeted the numerous implements in his collection and contemplated their potential to create an object out of raw, uncut materials. He had no idea he'd come off differently, but he later offered that it was strange, almost difficult sharing that experience with me. He wasn't prepared for the vulnerability he felt inviting someone into his shed to view his intimate connection with his utensils.
Our last installment on the evening between me, my girl, K and his had us just at the beginning of our use of a newly ordered supply of jute rope. It wasn't until i was walking back to the living room with the rope-filled bag that i realized i felt odd, perhaps a little bare. Hundreds of times, i'd grabbed this satchel, digging in it for the precise equipment i required. In many ways, this sack represented a physical manifestation of my imagination, the ladder to the next level in my imaginary world. Once i stepped into the warm light of the den that cast on my girl and our guests, i would be exposing a very delicate entrance to my internals.
I undid the latch, and began to disembowel the case of its ropey entrails. Bundle after bundle of khaki coils piled up on the coffee table, wafting a sweet and rich aroma of seaweed and leather into the air. I called my girl to me, and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her as close as possible. Her proximity brought me comfort. I kissed her on the lips, then instructed her to disrobe. I didn't pay close attention to the other couple, but in my periphery, i could see a tender exchange of caresses and movements that eventually had K's girl in the same naked state as mine. I looked to K for his lead for what should take place next. I've bound my girl dozens of times, even leaving her tied for hours with confidence that my self-educated rope skills would satisfy the purpose. That night's activity, however, would require a level of acumen i didn't possess, and for that reason, K served (nobly, patiently and graciously) as my guide.
He grabbed a 7 meter coil and with it methodically bound the hands of his girl behind her back, starting what would become a basic but sturdy torso harness. I mimicked each tug and turn of the malleable jute, arranging my girl's limbs to resemble her counterpart's. I loved the friction of the rope's fibers across my flesh, leaving a slight trail of burn between my fingers and thumb. The detail-obsessed demon inside me found ample opportunity to commandeer the rigging, as it took meticulous care to make sure the rope lay beautifully across her skin, both lining it up and coiling it in a perfectly eye-pleasing way. In very short time, we had both girl's arms immobilized, as well as their naked tits bound tightly by the interweave of sea foam-colored rope.
At this point, K excused he and i from the bound bottoms in order to go examine the pull-up bar as well as provide a little more tutorial. The apex of the evening as we had planned it would culminate in my girl's inaugural suspension. Nervous but confident in my tutor, i reworked his oral instruction over and over in my head standing beneath the rigid rail that extended between the door frame of my study. When we returned, the strangest but loveliest of spectacles met our eyes. As we left them, constricted, topless and armless, the girls had found seats and taken up a conversation they'd started some hours before as if the configuration of their limbs were normal and warranted. This touched me for some reason. I believe it spoke to the level of comfort established by us all in that atmosphere, but also the pure peace each girl sank into when bound as such.
K led his bottom into my study and quickly anchored another length of rope to the back of the rigid harness trussed around her frame. Every inch of movement or action he took, he dictated to me the methods he employed, ensuring i understood why the rope was attached at that exact location or how to protect the submissive from being whipped in the face by the rapidly yanked lariat. In what seemed like an instant, he was ready to hoist his girl into the air. She'd mentally retracted inside of herself (or it could be seen as opening herself to everything and anything), that when he tugged on the lever that he'd created, lifting her from the ground, she responded as if that was the natural location her body was to occupy for the next few moments of time. He asked me if i caught all of that. I had not. He asked again, firmly, but patiently. Again, i indicated that some of it had been lost on me. With exquisite confidence, he then lowered her and raised her several times, until my mind captured the mechanics of the winch, allowing me to transfer the instructions to my hands that held tightly to my excited but uncertain girl.
K finally let his girl hang for a few minutes with her legs wiggling beneath her, giving her the pleasure of suspension, before he released her. Rather than immediately attend to me, as i awaited to repeat this effect with my girl, he ministered to his roped submissive, quickly checking to see if she was in order before proceeding. As he did this, i continued to replay in my head the step-by-step instructions he gave me, trying to implant my girl into the pictographic illustrations. When it came time to perform, i felt a sensation of calm firmly in my grip.
Without much intercedence, K observed as i used the rope to craft a halyard to my girl's harness. I stopped a few times to allow him to inspect, but otherwise, i could sense a momentum building in my hands. I squatted a little as i held the tackled rope, and placed my shoulder into the cavity of my girl's chest. I spoke quietly to her.
"Ready?"
She breathlessly indicated her affirmative, and i pulled, simultaneously lifting her with the rope while supporting her with my body. Once i was certain the suspension would hold, that the principles of Archimedes would indeed do all of the work, i held firmly to the working end of the line, and stepped out from underneath my hovering girl, leaving her hanging completely freely for the very first time in her life.
I was amazed at how little strain there was in the length of jute i held in my hand, yet the arrangement i crafted from the instructions i received looked suspiciously too simple. My darling submissive dangled in mid-air, completely unable to free herself from this predicament. Her skin sung a song of rosy awareness, while her cunt moistened her twin, exposed petals. I swung the girl-sack that hovered above me back and forth, snickering to myself at how vulnerable this item was in this position. A few minutes passed when, finally, i could detect a change in the composure of her physiognomy. It was time to come down.
As my nose picked up the effluvium of the not yet consumed, hearty soup drenching the air from the kitchen, i recognized that our evening was drawing to a close. I could sense how hungry my girl had become, and i accepted the fact that her time off the ground had ended. I knew she was done, there was not much more that i could purchase from her body. It was time to feed her and our guests the meal i'd been preparing all day. After all, i'd kept her in suspense quite long enough.
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