I seek to avoid acknowledgment of a fixation
to the flesh you pass before me;
to the off-white translucent thigh and the
amber shadow that traces between your legs.
And since i cannot claim the strength to turn from
nor deny this attachment, i abandon words for actions.
I find my hands tracing the silky down of your side,
skating along the smooth surface of your skin,
but this delicate dialog is not enough, for soon,
my fingers long for a stronger hit.
They curl around a long, stiff rod that will
strike against your body, extracting a more sincere
outburst from your mouth.
Pounding into you like a starving beast feasts
upon its fresh kill, my mind thinks of nothing else
but this
urge
hunger
ache
I fall off of you, lying next to your unmoving body.
The heat from our communion warms the air around us,
incubating this addiction that will rise to overcome me again.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
His departure
I was up on a ladder, fixing one of our new ceiling fans, when my girl came home. She called out to me, and i told her i was in the bureau.
"Is it true that Michael Jackson died?"
My gut sank. I hadn't heard this.
"Nah, no. It's Farrah Fawcett you're thinking of."
Satisfied with my response, she went into the bathroom to change out of her street gear. I, however, wasn't satisfied. That nausea weighing down my stomach remained. I climbed off the ladder and turned on the computer. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it.
"Baby! You were right! He's dead..."
Over the course of the next 72 hours, i listened to as much of his music and watched as many of his videos as i possibly could. When i walked around my neighborhood, on every street and avenue, his songs poured out of the open windows of passing cars and steamy apartments. Even when i woke up the morning after his death was announced, i still couldn't (nor did i want to) believe it.
I can't speak to Michael Jackson's impact on other people. Even in my own home, my girl's experience with him was different due to her being several years my junior. She couldn't anticipate the amount of grieving i would need to do. In truth, neither could i. There was never a moment where i thought: "What will it be like when Michael Jackson dies?" I was unprepared for the profound impact his passing had upon me.
Some of you might be asking why i felt such a crater from the force of this man's death announcement. In an earlier post, i described how i revisited his video for "Thriller" over and over in my youth. I obsessed over the "cat creature" transformation sequence, catching as many views of it as possible (eventually, i snagged a sloppy transfer of it to VHS, slipping this cassette in my VCR to watch this every few days). I got such a high from watching his incredibly famous face submit to this intense transfiguration, overtaken by the entire beastly character molded over his features. I didn't partake of many illicit substances in my youth, nor did i need to. Simply witnessing a physical metamorphosis like this delivered a euphoria that sank deep into my mental fissures faster than anything else.
In many ways, his music made up the soundtrack of my youth. I owned every single one of his albums (some multiple copies of each as i wore them out from listening to them so many times). I even remember the stores i bought each of them at, including the weather on that day. However, i can't claim to have the same attachment others had to this musician. I never attended any of his concerts, and if i ever had, i wouldn't have been one of the fans screaming their heads off. My fascination was, as far as i can tell, uniquely and quietly mine.
We've all seen how his appearance changed dramatically over the years as a result of dermatologic treatments and plastic surgery. I, however, was not one of the many critics of his pursuit to alter his appearance. I was fascinated by it, and completely comprehended. You can hear it in his words in that Thriller behind the scenes vignette. He thrived on transformation. And for someone who sought perfection in his musical craft, i understand how with unlimited funds he would tinker endlessly. I say this with all seriousness, that when i listened to his music or watched his videos, i viewed him as a kindred spirit, an ally - and yes - a friend.
It's this fact that brought clarity to my mourning. I've since found other like-minded souls (i count most of you who visit amongst that collection), but he was essentially the first. His departure will continue to affect me, but to attain a sense of peace, i've been re-listening to his music and reminiscing about moments where i solidified parts of my identity through a Michael Jackson experience.
One of my favorites: Captain EO
Already a gigantic fan by the time this project was released at Disneyland (also a place i was immensely obsessed about), i couldn't wait to sit in the Magic Eye Theatre and witness the spectacle in 3-D. I remember standing in the winding, serpentine line watching the monitors show the "Making of Captain EO" video when the image of the evil villainess of this romp popped up on the screen.
The confluence of my personal stimuli at that moment was almost too overwhelming: Michael Jackson, Disneyland, prosthetic makeup, and viciously curved, long talons. How humiliated was i to be standing in that line with a pubescent signal of my arousal poking through my shorts. I couldn't get into that dark theatre fast enough (luckily i had a small backpack i could use to conceal my erection). Of course, i was delighted to see that the evil queen (ironically named "Supreme Leader") got a good amount of screentime as the filmmakers made good use of the 3-D technology by sending her clicking, ebony claws out towards our supplanted bodies. In the end, Michael's music transformed everyone in the dingy palace from industrial mongoloids to technicolor flashdancers. I was mildly disappointed with the dispatch of the wicked temptress, having always held a morbid attraction to the heavily made-up goth/dark girl, but nonetheless quite pleased with the experience.
Watching it these many years later, i can see it for its cheesy, overly simple and sentimental ontology but do not appreciate it any less. It played a part as did the rest of this man's creative output into the formation of the man you've come to know as Deity. I, for one, will truly miss him.
"Is it true that Michael Jackson died?"
My gut sank. I hadn't heard this.
"Nah, no. It's Farrah Fawcett you're thinking of."
Satisfied with my response, she went into the bathroom to change out of her street gear. I, however, wasn't satisfied. That nausea weighing down my stomach remained. I climbed off the ladder and turned on the computer. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it.
"Baby! You were right! He's dead..."
Over the course of the next 72 hours, i listened to as much of his music and watched as many of his videos as i possibly could. When i walked around my neighborhood, on every street and avenue, his songs poured out of the open windows of passing cars and steamy apartments. Even when i woke up the morning after his death was announced, i still couldn't (nor did i want to) believe it.
I can't speak to Michael Jackson's impact on other people. Even in my own home, my girl's experience with him was different due to her being several years my junior. She couldn't anticipate the amount of grieving i would need to do. In truth, neither could i. There was never a moment where i thought: "What will it be like when Michael Jackson dies?" I was unprepared for the profound impact his passing had upon me.
Some of you might be asking why i felt such a crater from the force of this man's death announcement. In an earlier post, i described how i revisited his video for "Thriller" over and over in my youth. I obsessed over the "cat creature" transformation sequence, catching as many views of it as possible (eventually, i snagged a sloppy transfer of it to VHS, slipping this cassette in my VCR to watch this every few days). I got such a high from watching his incredibly famous face submit to this intense transfiguration, overtaken by the entire beastly character molded over his features. I didn't partake of many illicit substances in my youth, nor did i need to. Simply witnessing a physical metamorphosis like this delivered a euphoria that sank deep into my mental fissures faster than anything else.
In many ways, his music made up the soundtrack of my youth. I owned every single one of his albums (some multiple copies of each as i wore them out from listening to them so many times). I even remember the stores i bought each of them at, including the weather on that day. However, i can't claim to have the same attachment others had to this musician. I never attended any of his concerts, and if i ever had, i wouldn't have been one of the fans screaming their heads off. My fascination was, as far as i can tell, uniquely and quietly mine.
We've all seen how his appearance changed dramatically over the years as a result of dermatologic treatments and plastic surgery. I, however, was not one of the many critics of his pursuit to alter his appearance. I was fascinated by it, and completely comprehended. You can hear it in his words in that Thriller behind the scenes vignette. He thrived on transformation. And for someone who sought perfection in his musical craft, i understand how with unlimited funds he would tinker endlessly. I say this with all seriousness, that when i listened to his music or watched his videos, i viewed him as a kindred spirit, an ally - and yes - a friend.
It's this fact that brought clarity to my mourning. I've since found other like-minded souls (i count most of you who visit amongst that collection), but he was essentially the first. His departure will continue to affect me, but to attain a sense of peace, i've been re-listening to his music and reminiscing about moments where i solidified parts of my identity through a Michael Jackson experience.
One of my favorites: Captain EO
Already a gigantic fan by the time this project was released at Disneyland (also a place i was immensely obsessed about), i couldn't wait to sit in the Magic Eye Theatre and witness the spectacle in 3-D. I remember standing in the winding, serpentine line watching the monitors show the "Making of Captain EO" video when the image of the evil villainess of this romp popped up on the screen.
The confluence of my personal stimuli at that moment was almost too overwhelming: Michael Jackson, Disneyland, prosthetic makeup, and viciously curved, long talons. How humiliated was i to be standing in that line with a pubescent signal of my arousal poking through my shorts. I couldn't get into that dark theatre fast enough (luckily i had a small backpack i could use to conceal my erection). Of course, i was delighted to see that the evil queen (ironically named "Supreme Leader") got a good amount of screentime as the filmmakers made good use of the 3-D technology by sending her clicking, ebony claws out towards our supplanted bodies. In the end, Michael's music transformed everyone in the dingy palace from industrial mongoloids to technicolor flashdancers. I was mildly disappointed with the dispatch of the wicked temptress, having always held a morbid attraction to the heavily made-up goth/dark girl, but nonetheless quite pleased with the experience.
Watching it these many years later, i can see it for its cheesy, overly simple and sentimental ontology but do not appreciate it any less. It played a part as did the rest of this man's creative output into the formation of the man you've come to know as Deity. I, for one, will truly miss him.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Meditation: Body in Parts
The individual components of our anatomy define both who we are and also how we experience as well as impact the world.
Your feet. Your roots. They keep you planted on the ground, connected to the Earth. Along with your legs, they make up the majority of your height which alone serves as a powerful indicator of how you are perceived. They perform the Lord's share of your locomotion, carving out the paths and vectors that deliver every experience possible. However, this isn't just a trajectory that brings you in contact with events, it is an object itself, a creation of its own. This is your legacy, your footprints. These limbs define the how and where of your life, and they offer a physical statement to others of your precedence, your existence and a materialized representation of you.
Your hands are sensitive. They perform the physical dialogue your vision wished it could. You greet others with your hands, a touch, a hug, a handshake. You declare your civility with these flippers. They are also the most valuable tool in your chest, as a result, you develop an intimacy with them unlike any other companion in your life. Think of your hands, and you immediately think of you. Look at them - always present before you. When you cannot see them, you still feel them, but you long for their return. In darkness, they are your eyes. Were you to look at yourself in a mirror (where light can be reflected), you will find that looking at your hands in the reflection is a similar experience to looking at the reflection of your eyes. They are known to you, as you are known to them. Your hands prove the reality in the fiction your eyes perceive.
Your mouth, opened or closed, is incredibly versatile. It is your spokesperson, both verbal and non-verbal. You can tell someone that you are happy with words or you can just smile (which actually is a more genuine indicator of how you are). Most energy to feed your body enters through this portal, the central repository for nutrients, which places the mouth at the top of the food chain - it feeds before anyone else. The Alpha gateway broadcasts your voice, the single denominator of your person. Someone can hear your voice without you present, and immediately receive an image of you (the slipperiest and yet most enigmatic part of you) in their mind. You sing songs, praise and erudition through this channel. Your mouth reacts to the world.
Your eyes are the first location anyone will seek in order to intuit your emotions. Your eyes hold a lofty and somewhat snobbishly dominant position in your appearance. They effectuate your experience, porting it to the here, now, real. Through them, all light must pass, otherwise fall under deep suspicion and scrutiny. They tell your mind a story of the world around you - listen to them preach the brightest shimmers to the darkest shadows. They are so powerful and fragile that they are the only thing you hide when you fall into slumber. Everything else remains revealed and exposed. You have a different experience, rather dramatic actually, when you use both as opposed to just one of them - the world moves from flat and narrow to alive and full of depth in complete visual binary stereo. Your eyes are greedy, striving to possess and consume an object, memorizing every fine microscopic detail. Images last in your mind long after the last savory taste of a 5-course meal expires from your palette.
Your ears are your sidekicks. They are perpendicular neighbors to your mighty eyes, pointing in complete right angles to your activity, behaviors and observations - never taking any of it on directly. Your ears deceptively lead you to believe they play a more active, engaged role in your experiences, but rather offer everything you do a crucial harmony. They are passive, the only passive appendage you have, not producing any single output. Strictly absorbing, taking in, standing by, your ears placate the more domineering parts. Despite this, your ears are not mere stepping stones to perception, but in fact the final statement. Once they contribute to the interaction, little can refute their authority.
Your genitalia prescribes the most wicked, torturous and explosive impact on your life, acting as the single most important and symbolic aspect of your body. Without it, you do not get to weigh in on the quality of the human race. They are your singularity, defining your biologic (which comes before your social and cultural) role. Uncontrollable appetites dictate their behavior that none of your other appendages can simulate. They are the greediest (yes, more than even then primordial mouth) of your fractionals, and if customs didn't prevail, you would use them far more than you do now. Due to this heavily-weighted limitation on their purpose, they cause the most vulnerability and struggle. We hide them. We ignore them. We chastise them. We're endlessly fascinated with them. We want to play with them. We want to play with others (we do not have this fixation to play with someone else's eyes, mouth, hands, feet). We drive towards their fulfillment, slowly, quickly, repeatedly, shamefully, boisterously, primally - at our peril, pleasure or pain. They are the only parts that can change shape (and must in order to accomplish their function) without any risk to you. They will come in far less contact with others than any of your other fixtures. They also act as the exit passage for your body's waste, yet, despite the importance of this function, it feels completely secondary. The word genitalia is imbued with erotic, sensual/sexual connotations, sought for by society to contradictorally reinforce and weaken the power they command over us. Your genitalia has been more responsible than anything else for your time spent at this site. The same exact goes for me.
Your feet. Your roots. They keep you planted on the ground, connected to the Earth. Along with your legs, they make up the majority of your height which alone serves as a powerful indicator of how you are perceived. They perform the Lord's share of your locomotion, carving out the paths and vectors that deliver every experience possible. However, this isn't just a trajectory that brings you in contact with events, it is an object itself, a creation of its own. This is your legacy, your footprints. These limbs define the how and where of your life, and they offer a physical statement to others of your precedence, your existence and a materialized representation of you.
Your hands are sensitive. They perform the physical dialogue your vision wished it could. You greet others with your hands, a touch, a hug, a handshake. You declare your civility with these flippers. They are also the most valuable tool in your chest, as a result, you develop an intimacy with them unlike any other companion in your life. Think of your hands, and you immediately think of you. Look at them - always present before you. When you cannot see them, you still feel them, but you long for their return. In darkness, they are your eyes. Were you to look at yourself in a mirror (where light can be reflected), you will find that looking at your hands in the reflection is a similar experience to looking at the reflection of your eyes. They are known to you, as you are known to them. Your hands prove the reality in the fiction your eyes perceive.
Your mouth, opened or closed, is incredibly versatile. It is your spokesperson, both verbal and non-verbal. You can tell someone that you are happy with words or you can just smile (which actually is a more genuine indicator of how you are). Most energy to feed your body enters through this portal, the central repository for nutrients, which places the mouth at the top of the food chain - it feeds before anyone else. The Alpha gateway broadcasts your voice, the single denominator of your person. Someone can hear your voice without you present, and immediately receive an image of you (the slipperiest and yet most enigmatic part of you) in their mind. You sing songs, praise and erudition through this channel. Your mouth reacts to the world.
Your eyes are the first location anyone will seek in order to intuit your emotions. Your eyes hold a lofty and somewhat snobbishly dominant position in your appearance. They effectuate your experience, porting it to the here, now, real. Through them, all light must pass, otherwise fall under deep suspicion and scrutiny. They tell your mind a story of the world around you - listen to them preach the brightest shimmers to the darkest shadows. They are so powerful and fragile that they are the only thing you hide when you fall into slumber. Everything else remains revealed and exposed. You have a different experience, rather dramatic actually, when you use both as opposed to just one of them - the world moves from flat and narrow to alive and full of depth in complete visual binary stereo. Your eyes are greedy, striving to possess and consume an object, memorizing every fine microscopic detail. Images last in your mind long after the last savory taste of a 5-course meal expires from your palette.
Your ears are your sidekicks. They are perpendicular neighbors to your mighty eyes, pointing in complete right angles to your activity, behaviors and observations - never taking any of it on directly. Your ears deceptively lead you to believe they play a more active, engaged role in your experiences, but rather offer everything you do a crucial harmony. They are passive, the only passive appendage you have, not producing any single output. Strictly absorbing, taking in, standing by, your ears placate the more domineering parts. Despite this, your ears are not mere stepping stones to perception, but in fact the final statement. Once they contribute to the interaction, little can refute their authority.
Your genitalia prescribes the most wicked, torturous and explosive impact on your life, acting as the single most important and symbolic aspect of your body. Without it, you do not get to weigh in on the quality of the human race. They are your singularity, defining your biologic (which comes before your social and cultural) role. Uncontrollable appetites dictate their behavior that none of your other appendages can simulate. They are the greediest (yes, more than even then primordial mouth) of your fractionals, and if customs didn't prevail, you would use them far more than you do now. Due to this heavily-weighted limitation on their purpose, they cause the most vulnerability and struggle. We hide them. We ignore them. We chastise them. We're endlessly fascinated with them. We want to play with them. We want to play with others (we do not have this fixation to play with someone else's eyes, mouth, hands, feet). We drive towards their fulfillment, slowly, quickly, repeatedly, shamefully, boisterously, primally - at our peril, pleasure or pain. They are the only parts that can change shape (and must in order to accomplish their function) without any risk to you. They will come in far less contact with others than any of your other fixtures. They also act as the exit passage for your body's waste, yet, despite the importance of this function, it feels completely secondary. The word genitalia is imbued with erotic, sensual/sexual connotations, sought for by society to contradictorally reinforce and weaken the power they command over us. Your genitalia has been more responsible than anything else for your time spent at this site. The same exact goes for me.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Cherrypicker
The Cherrypicker-
He awoke, every morning, to the sounds of the roaring creek outside his window. The streaming waters rushed by with more volume at the beginning of the day, as if to wash away the previous one's ills and miscalculations. That this sound re-introduced him daily to the world imprinted on his thoughts and perceptions. Instead of gathering at a single point to observe then move on, his mind flowed constantly from one idea to the next. He didn't think much about the past or even the present. When in constant motion, neither exist. There is only before you, near you and under you. For most of us, the future seems abstract, as if we sometimes didn't expect it to happen. Not the case for him. He knew he would encounter the future because he existed right at its precipice, constantly speeding away from past events, heading, bobbing, swimming towards what lay ahead.
He took to his tasks with the same qualities. His calling was the thousands of cherry trees growing in the orchard just outside his door. He didn't see the empty pails waiting to be filled with the sweet, red morsels. Nor did he see trees teeming with ripe fruit, ready for his gathering. Instead, he saw only individual cherries popping from the tree into his hand. Each garnet, with its rosy skin and firm, yet curved rump received his undivided attention. His thumb would smooth over the shiny reddened surface, aware of the plumpness of its meat just beneath. After spending several seconds with each plucked cordial, bringing it to his nose where he ingested its delicious ripe perfume, he would carefully drop it into the wooden bucket hanging from his belt. He arose in the morning only for the purpose of receiving the visual kiss from each delectable cherry he selected. And so it went everyday, and everyday it went so.
Come Winter, his task changed from assembling to caretaking. Again, instead of the endless numbers of dormant trees, he saw only the cradles where the new fruit would blossom in the Spring. He pruned and groomed every branch and trunk, taking great care to remove any detritus that had amassed over the year, ensuring his longed for companions would have no obstacles to their bountiful arrival.
And yet, even though they were absent during the long, cold gray months, he steeled himself by visiting each and every blushing, burgundy buttocks in his mind, always with the understanding that they would return.
So it went everyday, and everyday it went so.
He awoke, every morning, to the sounds of the roaring creek outside his window. The streaming waters rushed by with more volume at the beginning of the day, as if to wash away the previous one's ills and miscalculations. That this sound re-introduced him daily to the world imprinted on his thoughts and perceptions. Instead of gathering at a single point to observe then move on, his mind flowed constantly from one idea to the next. He didn't think much about the past or even the present. When in constant motion, neither exist. There is only before you, near you and under you. For most of us, the future seems abstract, as if we sometimes didn't expect it to happen. Not the case for him. He knew he would encounter the future because he existed right at its precipice, constantly speeding away from past events, heading, bobbing, swimming towards what lay ahead.
He took to his tasks with the same qualities. His calling was the thousands of cherry trees growing in the orchard just outside his door. He didn't see the empty pails waiting to be filled with the sweet, red morsels. Nor did he see trees teeming with ripe fruit, ready for his gathering. Instead, he saw only individual cherries popping from the tree into his hand. Each garnet, with its rosy skin and firm, yet curved rump received his undivided attention. His thumb would smooth over the shiny reddened surface, aware of the plumpness of its meat just beneath. After spending several seconds with each plucked cordial, bringing it to his nose where he ingested its delicious ripe perfume, he would carefully drop it into the wooden bucket hanging from his belt. He arose in the morning only for the purpose of receiving the visual kiss from each delectable cherry he selected. And so it went everyday, and everyday it went so.
Come Winter, his task changed from assembling to caretaking. Again, instead of the endless numbers of dormant trees, he saw only the cradles where the new fruit would blossom in the Spring. He pruned and groomed every branch and trunk, taking great care to remove any detritus that had amassed over the year, ensuring his longed for companions would have no obstacles to their bountiful arrival.
And yet, even though they were absent during the long, cold gray months, he steeled himself by visiting each and every blushing, burgundy buttocks in his mind, always with the understanding that they would return.
So it went everyday, and everyday it went so.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Time
It's come.
I'm having less and less of it.
Or, i'm not finding the reasons to make enough of it.
This site has become something i never thought it would become:
Work
When i started The Lustful Quality, it was a thrill for me. The interaction, the sharing of my words, the feedback - all of it was very enjoyable. Back then, i never thought i'd see it through as far as i have.
Early on, i dedicated myself to it, with a strict discipline of posting frequently. I've manned these pages for over two years, and have consistently published (or my host writers) a new post on average of one every three days. That, as i've seen, is a rarity. But it hasn't come without its cost.
I've mentioned my ennui before. Actually, many times before.
I'm not proud of the evolution i allowed of the reasons i continued to publish here. At first it was to share, but ever so gradually, i started to get worked up over the number of visitors i received. I felt that proved my relevance. And when i'd see those numbers cease to climb - and worse, reverse - i'd lose motivation. That lack of motivation can be seen in some of my posts. I'm aware of it, and i'm certain my readers were too, but out of politeness (or intimidation) they chose not to mention it. One telling indicator to me is that not a single post that i've written in the last 5 months have found it's way under the tag Deity's favorites. I tried to create new challenges to reinvigorate my interest, and they would, but only briefly. Soon my attachment to the site would return to where it was - loosely.
Unfortunately, as a result of this shift, the purpose of TransformHer got lost. I couldn't find evidence that i was making the impact that i wanted when i first started here in the list of anonymous web visitors that i religiously checked every single day (and several times throughout that day). That became more and more aggravating, and the choice i needed to consider became very clear. I don't do many things in my life without an exceedingly large amount of passion, and that was what precisely was missing - passion. For that reason, it became more and more unappealing to attach my name to what i felt had diminished to mediocrity.
I'm not taking the site down. I'll leave it up. I'm going to step away from it for awhile, and see if after some time i'll begin to miss it (which i almost certainly will). I can't promise i'll be back, but i can say that if indeed i do decide to turn it off, i'll pen a farewell.
This is not something i enjoy contemplating, and it's not a decision that's easy to make. But i know, taking a step away is the right decision.
It's time.
I'm having less and less of it.
Or, i'm not finding the reasons to make enough of it.
This site has become something i never thought it would become:
Work
When i started The Lustful Quality, it was a thrill for me. The interaction, the sharing of my words, the feedback - all of it was very enjoyable. Back then, i never thought i'd see it through as far as i have.
Early on, i dedicated myself to it, with a strict discipline of posting frequently. I've manned these pages for over two years, and have consistently published (or my host writers) a new post on average of one every three days. That, as i've seen, is a rarity. But it hasn't come without its cost.
I've mentioned my ennui before. Actually, many times before.
I'm not proud of the evolution i allowed of the reasons i continued to publish here. At first it was to share, but ever so gradually, i started to get worked up over the number of visitors i received. I felt that proved my relevance. And when i'd see those numbers cease to climb - and worse, reverse - i'd lose motivation. That lack of motivation can be seen in some of my posts. I'm aware of it, and i'm certain my readers were too, but out of politeness (or intimidation) they chose not to mention it. One telling indicator to me is that not a single post that i've written in the last 5 months have found it's way under the tag Deity's favorites. I tried to create new challenges to reinvigorate my interest, and they would, but only briefly. Soon my attachment to the site would return to where it was - loosely.
Unfortunately, as a result of this shift, the purpose of TransformHer got lost. I couldn't find evidence that i was making the impact that i wanted when i first started here in the list of anonymous web visitors that i religiously checked every single day (and several times throughout that day). That became more and more aggravating, and the choice i needed to consider became very clear. I don't do many things in my life without an exceedingly large amount of passion, and that was what precisely was missing - passion. For that reason, it became more and more unappealing to attach my name to what i felt had diminished to mediocrity.
I'm not taking the site down. I'll leave it up. I'm going to step away from it for awhile, and see if after some time i'll begin to miss it (which i almost certainly will). I can't promise i'll be back, but i can say that if indeed i do decide to turn it off, i'll pen a farewell.
This is not something i enjoy contemplating, and it's not a decision that's easy to make. But i know, taking a step away is the right decision.
It's time.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The Saddle
It would not be a wrong assumption that my recent trip to a mountainous environ would involve taking in the powdery slopes of some ski resort. However, even though this recreation is native to my home state, it is not something i usually engage in, due largely to my fascination with exploring the outdoors. Whenever i travel back, i like to fill my time with walks, drives, hikes, rock-climbing, and on a rare treat, horseback riding.
I have stated before my experience with horses, but i haven't really mentioned much about my girl's. Through a perfectly lucky coincidence, she and i have a similar affection for horses and riding, with a few differences. Her experience came through summer camps where she would be paired with an animal, taught how to care for it entirely as well as ride it, which has led her to romanticize these great creatures to the point of girlish glee whenever she sees one. Whereas, my interaction with horses served as more of a functional, work-related symbiosis. While i enjoy their presence i still see them as a means of transport, just like my feet, a car and my hands might also facilitate my exploration of the terrain.
Prior to leaving for our trip, my girl arranged for us to have a couple of hours of private riding with a guide. She could hardly contain her excitement for this opportunity to sit in a saddle once again. The entire time leading up to it, she kept telling everyone who'd listen about her time with horses and how much she was looking forward to this time.
Our guide picked us up at an arranged location in the middle of the small mountain town. Within the first sentence he spoke, you could tell how genuine this man was as the purveyor of a dozen horses. This man was a cowboy. An old cowboy, one who had seen many changes across the West, and most of them from off the top of a horse. He ferried us in his "bukkit uh bolts" to his horse corral, where he had three steads waiting for us, ready to ride. My girl chose "Rascal" - who proved to live up to his billing - which left me with ole "Burly". Walking up to Burly, i could tell that like our cowboy guide, he too had seen many a years, but i had no problem trusting him and lifted myself atop his saddle. Our guide took us up a trail that raised our elevation by 1,500 feet in less than 20 minutes. My horse was gulping big lungfuls of air by the time we summited to the vast open mesa - always a strange experience to feel that coming from something you're straddling.
It felt good to be back on a horse. The land on the plateau we explored was so vast, i had several opportunities to wander off and let my horse out into a gallop. This is an experience that is hard to describe to those who've never done it. Galloping a horse is very unlike riding in a speeding car or on a roller coaster. While there is speed, the excitement isn't just unique to the rider in the saddle. Horses are evolutionarily made to run, and more than that, they love to run. So, holding onto the reins as this animal charges underneath you, hurtling you at frantic speeds, it's both a thrill for you AND your horse.
When we'd finished, my girl and i got to speak a little about the experience. While i had a blast, my girl had what could be described as a near spiritual experience. I wanted to learn more about what made it so profound. The thing, she said, that really grabs her is that it's very similar to a Dominance and submission relationship. The horse must submit to her commands, but she is dominant only because this 2-ton animal lets her. There must be consent, or else she'll be tossed from off its back. And that allowance, that willingness to consent to guidance and command really affects and fulfills her.
I knew exactly what she meant.
--------------------------------------------
I'd like to thank Vesta for her always impressive stewardship of this site in my absence. I do hope you enjoyed her perspective. I know i did as she always serves to enlighten me about some detail in a past post i hadn't thought of before.
I have stated before my experience with horses, but i haven't really mentioned much about my girl's. Through a perfectly lucky coincidence, she and i have a similar affection for horses and riding, with a few differences. Her experience came through summer camps where she would be paired with an animal, taught how to care for it entirely as well as ride it, which has led her to romanticize these great creatures to the point of girlish glee whenever she sees one. Whereas, my interaction with horses served as more of a functional, work-related symbiosis. While i enjoy their presence i still see them as a means of transport, just like my feet, a car and my hands might also facilitate my exploration of the terrain.
Prior to leaving for our trip, my girl arranged for us to have a couple of hours of private riding with a guide. She could hardly contain her excitement for this opportunity to sit in a saddle once again. The entire time leading up to it, she kept telling everyone who'd listen about her time with horses and how much she was looking forward to this time.
Our guide picked us up at an arranged location in the middle of the small mountain town. Within the first sentence he spoke, you could tell how genuine this man was as the purveyor of a dozen horses. This man was a cowboy. An old cowboy, one who had seen many changes across the West, and most of them from off the top of a horse. He ferried us in his "bukkit uh bolts" to his horse corral, where he had three steads waiting for us, ready to ride. My girl chose "Rascal" - who proved to live up to his billing - which left me with ole "Burly". Walking up to Burly, i could tell that like our cowboy guide, he too had seen many a years, but i had no problem trusting him and lifted myself atop his saddle. Our guide took us up a trail that raised our elevation by 1,500 feet in less than 20 minutes. My horse was gulping big lungfuls of air by the time we summited to the vast open mesa - always a strange experience to feel that coming from something you're straddling.
It felt good to be back on a horse. The land on the plateau we explored was so vast, i had several opportunities to wander off and let my horse out into a gallop. This is an experience that is hard to describe to those who've never done it. Galloping a horse is very unlike riding in a speeding car or on a roller coaster. While there is speed, the excitement isn't just unique to the rider in the saddle. Horses are evolutionarily made to run, and more than that, they love to run. So, holding onto the reins as this animal charges underneath you, hurtling you at frantic speeds, it's both a thrill for you AND your horse.
When we'd finished, my girl and i got to speak a little about the experience. While i had a blast, my girl had what could be described as a near spiritual experience. I wanted to learn more about what made it so profound. The thing, she said, that really grabs her is that it's very similar to a Dominance and submission relationship. The horse must submit to her commands, but she is dominant only because this 2-ton animal lets her. There must be consent, or else she'll be tossed from off its back. And that allowance, that willingness to consent to guidance and command really affects and fulfills her.
I knew exactly what she meant.
--------------------------------------------
I'd like to thank Vesta for her always impressive stewardship of this site in my absence. I do hope you enjoyed her perspective. I know i did as she always serves to enlighten me about some detail in a past post i hadn't thought of before.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Balancing Act
When Deity asked me to take care of these pages until his return, I wrote back to say that I would be happy to write two or three pieces over the week. It will come as no surprise to readers that he wrote back to say that it pleased him that I had agreed to write three pieces whilst he was away. I suppose some might say that my negotiation skills need some work!
With two pieces of writing ‘in the bag’, for some reason I was vacillating about a topic for the final piece for him. I thought about writing about ‘discipline’ as it applied to dress code. I mentioned the idea to Deity and I could feel him squirming in his seat. He wanted to trust me and yet, old pal Vesta hadn’t exactly embraced latex as yet, had she? His reply about my choice was not exactly exuberant.
Taking the hint, I abandoned that idea for a discussion about ‘control’. I’ve long been fascinated with all the strategies a dom uses to control his girl, from a ‘look’ or ‘hint’, to use of the whip. I was fascinated by Deity’s memory of his control over June. The poor wee thing said that she was unsure about wearing no panties under a short skirt to a restaurant, whereupon she would meet with him. So, what did he say?
Then, there is no reason for us to see each other again.”
Oh, June! You fell for the oldest trick in the book! Mind you, I have fallen for the same trick...but that’s another story for another day. And, let’s be honest here, for I am among readers of ‘like mind’, I loved every minute of it.
The 2007 archives here are scintillating reading. For those who have not read back there, put aside a full Sunday afternoon for that delicious treat. Ultimately, I needed to settle on one post and it is Egalité, and the discussion therein about equality. That morning back in 2007, Deity, by his own admission, pushed his girl too far. He wanted her back into a corset before the weather was appropriately mild for such a garment to be worn with some comfort. He had compared her to her idol in an effort to motivate her. Wrong. When asked for her thoughts she said,
“Why do you insist on us being unequal?”
Here was the response to a much bigger question. It was a question that went to the heart of their power exchange. As fascinating as his discussion is in the post, I was most taken to his response to comments. He suggested to one person who commented that perhaps we should just “enjoy the ebb and flow”. To another, “as I have changed my submissive, so have they changed me.” It was, he said, about finding the “balance” between the two people.
In another favourite post of mine, A convenient side effect Deity has written a list of behaviours and actions relating to his role in his relationship with his girl. One point notes:
“You forcefully point out that she needs to stop criticizing herself...because it will short circuit her impulse to over-analyse, and because she requires the authority of a boss.”
Ah! I relate. In fact, he could have been talking about me. You see, I need to be forcefully reminded to stop criticizing myself. I need to have my impulse to over-analyse short-circuited, and I also need the authority of a boss.
I’ve spoken before about the fact that I took my own sweet time to reveal myself to my husband. I’ve gone through the erotic ecstasies of being asked to be spanked and I’ve also ridden the highs of being asked to be dominated; not just in the bedroom, but all day, every day. In my most recent post here I talked of the fact that I am not at peace with my decision to be in a power exchange relationship every minute of every day. I’ve fought my own nature, and I’ve resisted my dominant’s control and my mentor’s control.
But, the truth is my husband has always led the way for the two of us. He has always expected that I would follow along behind. Why resist his status as ‘the boss’ now, all these years later, and when I finally had what I had always wanted? Some days, I try to push him to be “equal”, whilst he resists the equality sticker with every fibre of his being. It just isn’t going to happen. We are “equals” but our roles are very different; always have been and always will be. In essence, I am wasting my time, and my opportunity to be happy.
My resistance to my ‘place’ is not so much I don’t recognize that I need the authority of a boss, as it is my never ending desire to “over-analyse”. I just so very much want to get this right; to be sure that I should be doing what I am doing. Perhaps, it would have been easier if I had never been educated! Alas, I need to be sure; 100% sure that a power exchange is right, and that I am doing it right.
One day recently, I was speaking to an incredibly patient and tolerant dom. He was allowing me to blither on in a ‘chat’, not offering too much, until finally he decided to take the role of the dominant and see if he couldn’t talk me through my concerns.
“Why is it that you require being made to do something?”
“Well, it's not my choice...It's someone else's choice about my body.”
“But, haven't you given that choice over to me? So you don’t trust me to choose for you?”
“Well, when you put it like that, I don't know what to say.”
“That is the fallacy of ‘submitting is hard.’ You already submitted, you gave me the choice, and then when I make it, you take it back.
“Yes, I totally see your point. I feel quite enlightened.”
“It is like the quietening of the ego.”
“I am happiest when I am most calm.”
“But, getting calm is the challenge. Giving away the choice, and accepting what you get back, is calming. The resistance is the noise.”
It made total sense and yet, I could not embrace the notions with consistency. I needed to find a way to have a power exchange whereby I could ‘quieten my ego’ and at the same time express my thoughts which may not be in agreement with my husband. How did I do that?
In the past few weeks, I have had the great good fortune of becoming dear friends with a submissive woman who was able to answer that question for me. Like me, she and her husband are ‘life partners’. Like me, sometimes she disagrees with a decision her husband is making in their business. She related to my issues and being the darling that she is, she wanted to get this sorted for me, so that I could truly be happy.
“Master often asks my opinion about things, and when He asks my opinion as such, He will get an honest answer. Not what He wants to hear. In the end it is He who will decide, but He will know when i don't agree with His choice. I usually say: yes, do it the way you see is best but you must know that i don't agree with you. And, of course sometimes i feel angry and worried. But it goes away quickly... isn't submission wonderful! We are a team in life. So are you two!”
Finally, I had my answer. Who knows why we finally understand something on one day and not another! But in those words, I realized how to live – as a submissive; a submissive with a voice, and perhaps with a different opinion, but a submissive with a dominant who would make the ultimate decision. He is ‘the boss’, and I am the submissive, and that is what works for us; our version of a ‘power exchange.’
We must all find our “balance”; what works for us. I’m proud to be writing on the blog of a man who has put great effort into ensuring that his girl is as happy as he. And, I believe they are both blissfully happy. If that’s not balance, what is?
With two pieces of writing ‘in the bag’, for some reason I was vacillating about a topic for the final piece for him. I thought about writing about ‘discipline’ as it applied to dress code. I mentioned the idea to Deity and I could feel him squirming in his seat. He wanted to trust me and yet, old pal Vesta hadn’t exactly embraced latex as yet, had she? His reply about my choice was not exactly exuberant.
Taking the hint, I abandoned that idea for a discussion about ‘control’. I’ve long been fascinated with all the strategies a dom uses to control his girl, from a ‘look’ or ‘hint’, to use of the whip. I was fascinated by Deity’s memory of his control over June. The poor wee thing said that she was unsure about wearing no panties under a short skirt to a restaurant, whereupon she would meet with him. So, what did he say?
Then, there is no reason for us to see each other again.”
Oh, June! You fell for the oldest trick in the book! Mind you, I have fallen for the same trick...but that’s another story for another day. And, let’s be honest here, for I am among readers of ‘like mind’, I loved every minute of it.
The 2007 archives here are scintillating reading. For those who have not read back there, put aside a full Sunday afternoon for that delicious treat. Ultimately, I needed to settle on one post and it is Egalité, and the discussion therein about equality. That morning back in 2007, Deity, by his own admission, pushed his girl too far. He wanted her back into a corset before the weather was appropriately mild for such a garment to be worn with some comfort. He had compared her to her idol in an effort to motivate her. Wrong. When asked for her thoughts she said,
“Why do you insist on us being unequal?”
Here was the response to a much bigger question. It was a question that went to the heart of their power exchange. As fascinating as his discussion is in the post, I was most taken to his response to comments. He suggested to one person who commented that perhaps we should just “enjoy the ebb and flow”. To another, “as I have changed my submissive, so have they changed me.” It was, he said, about finding the “balance” between the two people.
In another favourite post of mine, A convenient side effect Deity has written a list of behaviours and actions relating to his role in his relationship with his girl. One point notes:
“You forcefully point out that she needs to stop criticizing herself...because it will short circuit her impulse to over-analyse, and because she requires the authority of a boss.”
Ah! I relate. In fact, he could have been talking about me. You see, I need to be forcefully reminded to stop criticizing myself. I need to have my impulse to over-analyse short-circuited, and I also need the authority of a boss.
I’ve spoken before about the fact that I took my own sweet time to reveal myself to my husband. I’ve gone through the erotic ecstasies of being asked to be spanked and I’ve also ridden the highs of being asked to be dominated; not just in the bedroom, but all day, every day. In my most recent post here I talked of the fact that I am not at peace with my decision to be in a power exchange relationship every minute of every day. I’ve fought my own nature, and I’ve resisted my dominant’s control and my mentor’s control.
But, the truth is my husband has always led the way for the two of us. He has always expected that I would follow along behind. Why resist his status as ‘the boss’ now, all these years later, and when I finally had what I had always wanted? Some days, I try to push him to be “equal”, whilst he resists the equality sticker with every fibre of his being. It just isn’t going to happen. We are “equals” but our roles are very different; always have been and always will be. In essence, I am wasting my time, and my opportunity to be happy.
My resistance to my ‘place’ is not so much I don’t recognize that I need the authority of a boss, as it is my never ending desire to “over-analyse”. I just so very much want to get this right; to be sure that I should be doing what I am doing. Perhaps, it would have been easier if I had never been educated! Alas, I need to be sure; 100% sure that a power exchange is right, and that I am doing it right.
One day recently, I was speaking to an incredibly patient and tolerant dom. He was allowing me to blither on in a ‘chat’, not offering too much, until finally he decided to take the role of the dominant and see if he couldn’t talk me through my concerns.
“Why is it that you require being made to do something?”
“Well, it's not my choice...It's someone else's choice about my body.”
“But, haven't you given that choice over to me? So you don’t trust me to choose for you?”
“Well, when you put it like that, I don't know what to say.”
“That is the fallacy of ‘submitting is hard.’ You already submitted, you gave me the choice, and then when I make it, you take it back.
“Yes, I totally see your point. I feel quite enlightened.”
“It is like the quietening of the ego.”
“I am happiest when I am most calm.”
“But, getting calm is the challenge. Giving away the choice, and accepting what you get back, is calming. The resistance is the noise.”
It made total sense and yet, I could not embrace the notions with consistency. I needed to find a way to have a power exchange whereby I could ‘quieten my ego’ and at the same time express my thoughts which may not be in agreement with my husband. How did I do that?
In the past few weeks, I have had the great good fortune of becoming dear friends with a submissive woman who was able to answer that question for me. Like me, she and her husband are ‘life partners’. Like me, sometimes she disagrees with a decision her husband is making in their business. She related to my issues and being the darling that she is, she wanted to get this sorted for me, so that I could truly be happy.
“Master often asks my opinion about things, and when He asks my opinion as such, He will get an honest answer. Not what He wants to hear. In the end it is He who will decide, but He will know when i don't agree with His choice. I usually say: yes, do it the way you see is best but you must know that i don't agree with you. And, of course sometimes i feel angry and worried. But it goes away quickly... isn't submission wonderful! We are a team in life. So are you two!”
Finally, I had my answer. Who knows why we finally understand something on one day and not another! But in those words, I realized how to live – as a submissive; a submissive with a voice, and perhaps with a different opinion, but a submissive with a dominant who would make the ultimate decision. He is ‘the boss’, and I am the submissive, and that is what works for us; our version of a ‘power exchange.’
We must all find our “balance”; what works for us. I’m proud to be writing on the blog of a man who has put great effort into ensuring that his girl is as happy as he. And, I believe they are both blissfully happy. If that’s not balance, what is?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)