les cheveux

I was shelving old anthologies of ragtime sheet music, when i first caught glimpse of her. In this tony and bland music library, her appearance clashed with the surroundings like a single golden leaf on an otherwise empty sidewalk. As quick as i could, i abruptly slammed the dusty collections in my hands to the floor and bolted into the aisle, only to see her turn the corner towards the exit. I conjured up some reason why i needed to run outside, tossing it at my manager as i sped by. Once outside on the street, i scanned the horizons to my left and right, finally seeing her 50 feet up the pathway towards the Arts and Sciences campus. I instantly took up the pursuit.

As i made up ground between us, i tried to think of what i'd say to spark a conversation:

"You dropped this..." - but i wouldn't have anything that she'd dropped
"Hi. I noticed you were in the traditional music section. I happen to be an expert in the field, and thought i'd offer you my assistance." - too trite and a bit on the creepy side
"Pardon me. But i saw you in the library, and just knew i had to say hello or regret it for a very long time." - much better, but still too wordy
"Excuse me. I just saw you in the library, i felt compelled to tell you how beautiful your hair is."

I hadn't actually seen her face, or even much of her figure as she passed me in the library stacks. What caught my eye - what always catches my eye - was her hair. Her rich chestnut locks cascaded all the way to the lower mid part of her back, with several pieces pulled over her face and shoulders. It responded to her body's turns with reciprocal flips and sashays. And every single locomotive quality enticed me. The deep dark color, however, pushed into my gut, awakening a hunger. I instantly imagined my nose sifting through it, pummeled by the perfume of her shampoo and natural oils from her scalp. I felt it curled around my fingers, as i raked through its abundance, the silk strong and tender.

Just as i reached her, she flipped her hair over her ear with her right hand, stroking the torture of her beautiful appearance. We ended up having a wonderful conversation that day. I won't say for how long, or whether it ever ended. But i will say, all these years, she's never cut her gorgeous hair.

Lynch/fetish

From the first moment i heard the opening, tragic notes of this song, i was hooked. I wanted to escape to this world of simple, forest-inhabiting, cherry pie-ingesting, supernatural people. Each stroke of the cascading six tones, rising then falling, like the chest of an innocent child stopping to catch their breath amidst a game of hide and seek hypnotized me, putting me in a euphoric trance. It all seemed so innocent, the pristine woodland creatures, tumbling waterfalls, soft amber colors. And of course, there were the girls of Twin Peaks. Every single one of them angelic heartbreakers, with pin-up looks and well-concealed darker sides that threatened to burst at any moment. This world represented a place where the fulfillment of my appetites could occur - the rigid capture of romantic beauty - i just didn't realize how much this hunger would affect me or how frequently i'd need to satisfy it.

My favorite of all the girls was Audrey, played by the gorgeous actress Sherilyn Fenn:


This image of Ms. Fenn is an exact copy of one i stared at for many, many hours. I'm not sure what i hoped would happen by these lengthy staring sessions. Her mouth invited a kiss. Her hands at her neck spoke of surrender, as well as one lost in lust. Her eyes, the delicately slanted whispers, bore into you, challenging you to muster up the courage to even be near her. The mountainous, ebony tendrils of her curly hair gave her a regal look, but also made her look like she was falling - away from you, urging you to save her, to catch her.

Hours.

I had to know everything about this actress, the man who composed this music and the other people behind this show. Everything. Eventually, i learned all of the actresses names. And eventually i learned the man who created this dreamy world: David Lynch

It's been (and i can't believe this) almost 20 years since David Lynch first brought us his world of Twin Peaks. Since that time, i have obsessively sought out his entire ouevre. He has imagined very diverse, incredibly surreal landscapes. From Victorian freaks of nature, to a senior citizen taking a jaunt on a riding lawnmower in the Heartland. From a futuristic desert landscape to a neverending highway of nightmares. There has been one theme that has consistently materialized in his work, that of devestatingly gorgeous feminine beauty. Without saying the word, Mr. Lynch, in his cinema, has paraded a world of his spiritual and sexual fetishes. The women have curves as if they belonged in a museum of ancient Roman vases, and the perfection of their faces certainly worthy of heavenly Goddesses.

Recently, i became aware of a collaboration between the cinematic visionary David Lynch and the footwear fantastico Christian Louboutin. Now, i'm a little embarassed to say that this partnership happened back in 2008. How i could've missed this exhibit, i'll never know, but i hope that it escaped my clutches doesn't harm my reputation as kink aficionado with you, my readers.


It's not exactly clear what the full exhibit consisted of, but i gather that David Lynch took the photos of models wearing shoes that Christian Louboutin designed specifically for this project. With all high-minded intellectualism, i can sense a woundedness that each model expresses, that they are trapped by an insanely demanding ideal of femininity which truly only values their parts rather than the sum of them. However, one look at the shoes in this photo, and the fetishist in me completely starts to lose composure. These extreme heels are totally unwalkable - to someone who has a fetish for female objectification, having your doll mobile rarely seems to be a necessity.

This gallery shows the spectrum of shots and shoes these two created.

This has a video that shows the gallery space, and a bit more examples of Louboutin's creations.

I'm not surprised that David Lynch at this point in his career is being more outwardly obvious with his own kinky bents. The arc of his career has been a gradually ascending dialog on this subject. It's comforting, somehow, to have an artist that i've followed and adored for two decades "come out", even though all along, when i first encountered his vision of a sleepy logging town in the Pacific Northwest, i had my suspicions.

Marking what is mine

"Absolutely not!"

I have to admit. My girl was so cute in her refusal. It was very early in the development of our dynamic, very early in our coupling, just, very early. I had made my demand that she let me mark her by piercing each of her nipples with a 10-gauge, steel ring. She labeled this as a hard limit.

The grey, crescent-shaped impression right in the middle of the girl's tit that pressed through the tight, cotton material of her t-shirt caught my eye. Before that afternoon many years ago on the outdoor pedestrian mall, i'd never seen a nipple piercing. Technically, i hadn't seen it this time, either, but i'd seen enough. I was hooked. The idea of a girl piercing metal through a part of her body that i had such a desire to wrap my lips around mixed up a devious mental pudding in my mind. I immediately thought of this piercing, above all others that i'd seen littering the young, feral faces of the opposite sex, as the true calling card of the kinkster. I looked for as many images as possible online, finding my way eventually to BMEZine. What i gleaned as i scanned the not-quite-as-vast archives of this site was that i liked the idea of using the piercing as a way to signify someone's submissiveness to me. I also liked the idea of infecting a girl, taking a blank canvas, clean of any piercings, and slowly warping her body so that she would look like the kinksters i assumed these other girls were.

I respect my girl's hard limits. I truly do. Most of them actually coincide with my own. There are, however, those interests of mine that live in the frightening darkness beyond the borders of her horizon. Having had years of experience examining, exploring and engaging in my own kink, my girl came to me as a relative novice. She'd had fantasies and a few rougher moments with past lovers, but never any formal indulgence in SM. Therefore, i've taken some of her limits as expressions of uncertainty, and look at them as ways we can gain intimacy by overcoming them.

One way i broached the subject of piercing was to assure her that i didn't have a desire to blot her face and entire body with metal threaded through her flesh. I've always stated that i want my girl to look classy, and a heavily pierced visage tends not to look that way. The nipple piercings would be a discrete notion that only her and i would know about, except those times she was to appear nude in a play party setting (or in front of her doctor - a potentially humiliating scenario i relished thinking about). I could feel ground starting to give on this matter.

Marking the one you are intimate with as yours comes off as a very brutal and violent gesture. I understand that's part of its thrill, but it is something that only those of us who seek this dynamic care to allow. The notion of possession outside a power exchange causes so much friction, especially if it is deemed one way and not reciprocal. I do not seek to wear a mark that indicates i am owned, nor do i feel that it is appropriate that i wear something that tells others i have possessions. As many of us know, it is not easy finding a consenting partner who will submit to the status of an object, and at least for me, i have the desire to mark my girl to signal to anyone else that should encounter her, but more importantly to herself, that she is taken. Plucked. Reserved. And in a way that a ring on her finger doesn't communicate.

Against the signal, we were crossing the intersection of Lafayette and Great Jones one evening when she declared,"I'd like to do this for you." Imagine a wide-angle lens shot zooming into her face. Stopping in the crosswalk, I double, triple, google take at her. This, as i stated. was a hard limit for her. I remember feeling like Joshua standing at the crumbled walls of Jericho. And then i realized the horn blaring in my ears was that of a yellow taxi cab leaning on its horn. I gathered my girl - with pride - and escorted her to the other side of the street.

I've had other submissives pierced. Some quite dramatically. But that was just for the mechanical application of metal through flesh, for the sole purpose of pursuing the excitement of body modification. One former submissive ("4girl") who continues to check in with me every once in awhile was pierced (rather dramatically) over 50 times, each hole receiving a certain labor of stretching or skin-punching. The pleasure of applying my physical tug on 4girl's cunt lips, nipples, and ear lobes satisfied the urge to dominate her flesh. But what must be mentioned is knowing what only her and i know: the 4girl who once was versus the submissive-to-her-own-modified-body that is now. When i first met her, 4girl had two piercings, the conventional earlobes done by a piercing gun at a suburban mall earring shop. By the time our dynamic had lived its fullest and passed on, 4girl was permanently altered, not resembling the once curious creature that had crept into my saloon.

As part of an entire evening dedicated to the splendor of overcome obstacles (including where we both ordered dishes we typically had avoided at an exotic Peruvian restaurant), i escorted my girl to the piercing salon. I explained to the bejeweled and begraffitied technician what i wanted. I chose not to force the boundaries of our power exchange around him, and took a somewhat subdued tact with his professional, albeit overly cautious, recommendations. Somehow i got talked into the smaller 12 gauge instead of the 10. Fine. It was a detail i didn't really care to parse, especially since i could see every minute i negotiated only prolonged the torment my incredibly patient and brave girl was having to endure.

I love her nipple rings, her "bits" as i like to call them. I've since increased the gauge of her rings and changed out the jewelry a couple of times. I don't foresee going outrageously big, because she has such delicate-looking nipples and anything too large will just appear grotesque. What this has accomplished, besides providing a semi-permanent place to latch something onto her, is an opening of frontiers. In time, i will seek a true permanent mark, and because we ventured into this new territory together and no one got hurt (i swear all she got was a pin prick), we've grown even closer.

What sites have you memorized?

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Sugasm #81

Sugasm #81

The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #82? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form.

This Week’s Picks
Do / Do Not (lafillemariee.blogspot.com…)“Do – stop in the hallway to kiss and fondle me before even getting to the room.”

The Red Cross of Fucking (perverselypoly.blogspot.com…)“They can pay her a “finder’s fee,” and everybody will be happier.”

Review: The Amputee’s Guide to Sex (www.radicalvixen.com…)“When he first mentioned it he turned his disability into a fetish.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Meet Lin Chong, Dong Assistant (sugarbank.com…)

Editor’s Choice
Mothers day 3 (joeheather.blogspot.com…)

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday (Fleshbot.com)

BDSM & Fetish
Art, human condition and spanking (www.spankingwriters.com…)
Darkness (transformher.blogspot.com…)

Darkness

The Dark Lord.

He occupied a deep cavern in my mind from a very early age. I was raised Roman Catholic. The concept of the Devil played a large part in my grasp of right and wrong. Whenever i would commit a foul of some sort, as a way to rein me in, my mother used to tell me that the floor was going to open up and Satan's red, clawed hand would come through it and pull me to Hell. Seeing that this discipline method was not appropriate for discussion when we had company over, my mother developed a hand gesture that she would shyly employ to halt my straying to the netherland of misbehaving. Her hand would curl into a claw, and she would slowly raise it in the air mimicking the clutch of Satan onto my legs, making sure to keep this out of sight of anyone except me. I would immediately clam up.

The deity of my nightmares was Satan. Almost every one i can remember ended with me falling down into His fiery dominion. I couldn't even escape the rattle of this scenario while watching my afternoon cartoons. By the end of the Tom and Jerry episode "Heavenly Puss", i was cowering behind my father's lounger, afraid to even peek at the television as it transitioned to a benign commercial. I, like Tom, was fearful that neverending escalator to Heaven would suddenly turn off, sending me plummeting through the hatch in the floor, delivering me straight to the Devil.

Flash forward a few years to my early teens. I remember sitting on the floor of my parent's bedroom, with my hand on the channel dial (yes, you kids, we used to have to manually switch between channels by turning a dial on the set) ready, at the first sound of footsteps, to flip it back to the hockey game i told them that i was going to watch. I'd seen a promo for the broadcast premiere of the movie "Legend" earlier that day, and, in it they showed a glimpse of the Dark Lord, swishing across the screen. Just enough for my mind to immediately identify the spector that for most of my childhood had haunted me, but, instead of trying to avoid an encounter, i wanted to see His celluloid form. This intense desire to watch this movie resided in this newfound appetite that i had not been able to satisfy through my stomach. What i glimpsed as i covertly watched this movie (my parents would absolutely not approve me seeing a film laced with violence and "satanic" allusions) formulated the anatomy of my entire sexual identity.


Princess Lily (played by the heavenly Mia Sara).

Her eyes drew you to look at her as if they themselves would deliver you to Paradise. Her nose curled up at the tip in an elfish way that made her appear make-believe. From the moment she appeared on the screen, i was captivated. It didn't hurt that she happened to sport the look that i had assembled in my head as the ideal beauty. Dark hair. Big, bright eyes. Lips that blossomed in a plump but confined way. In fact, i think her look actually contributed to the deep impact this film had on my sexuality. Had she been blonde, i'm not sure i would've been so drawn to her outcome. As the story progressed, and she revealed a flawed character that led her to sully the virginity of the unicorn, i found myself even more attracted to her. She'd shown the compensity for bad. I didn't know it at the time, but i was allured by her potential for evil, the very same flaw that had seen me as a child regularly receive the threat of a schism in the ground opening up.

I was not prepared for the appearance of Darkness. When He finally arrived on the screen, my hand jerked, quickly switching the channels. I flipped back to see His sinister smile, and instead of recoil in fear, i eyed Him with awe. In fact, any scene without Him seemed dull. When they would flash to the fairy-esque Tom Cruise trying to arrange some way to save the Princess, i wished they'd return to the crescent-colored creature. The shine of His wicked horns that shot out of His forehead, curling into menacingly sharp tips. His yellow eyes with animalistic-slitted irises. His long, grotesque chin, jutting out and lengthening His grin. Why did i not fear this, i wondered? Why, instead, was i coveting this?

I sat riveted by the scenes where he converses with the Princess. She acts disgusted by His appearance, by His lair, by His supposition that she would become His. Despite her protests, He is unwavered in His pursuit. This too excited me. His confidence that He would have her, and have her how He wanted, rang a tone of accordance inside of me.

Eventually, a female dervish comes out, dancing and twirling around the chamber. She is wearing a long black dress, with her face completely cloaked in a skin tight black silk hood. A high collar that extends well above her crown frames this faceless feminine head. The dancing nymph picks up the Princess' hand and pulls her from her chair. The Princess reluctantly follows, trying to resist, but she is tumbling into a trance. The dancing draws the Princess deeper, evident by her movements as they begin to sway to the macabre tune all on their own. Her body accepts the urges, breathlessly responding to the desire it wells up. A montage of images alternates between the faceless demoness and the princess, both twirling around and around, until finally, a metamorphosis occurs.


The Princess has become the Dark Lord's bride.

The next image you see of the Princess is the one at right. Her lips are now darkened. Her flesh pale and uniform, showing the communion to the creatures of the deep. Her eyes are heavily lined, reducing the brightness they boasted with above ground. She slithers in her movements, moving her body in the new sensual way it has been taught. She wears the dress of the faceless demoness. She has become the demoness. Even her voice is deeper, rich with lust and lasciviousness. She comes to the Dark Lord transformed, and He welcomes her with open arms.

If anyone had come up the stairs, my ruse would've been discovered. I couldn't move. I hadn't seen the female form tarnished in such an appetizing way. I watched the Princess slip from her primrose beauty to this sinful creature happy to do her new Master's bidding. My mind had been opened to the possibility that such a dynamic could exist. Over and over, this conversion would be redrawn in my head when i needed to satisfy my erotic appetites.

I had grown up fearing the temptation that the Devil had wielded on my every behavior, only to come to find that this was misplaced. I was made to fear Darkness as a child, but when i was left to uncover the truth of my nature on my own, i realized i didn't need to be afraid of being delivered to Him.

I was exactly like Him.

Working back to the Big Bang

I was never drawn to the shy, meek female. The ones that grabbed my attention were the most popular girls who had a loyal following despite their unhindered bitchiness. And if it wasn't the icy cheerleader, it was the exceedingly independent "dark" girl who was writing on her tattered jeans words like "death" and "destroy".

Now, i start this tabloid about my sexual journey somewhere in the mid-point. The cheerleader and dark girl were only characters i encountered once i started Junior High school. At some point i plan on expanding in all directions from this period of my life (the direction dictated by my and any of my readers' interest). This will serve to illustrate what i believe is the overall anatomy of a man who has grown comfortable with the fact that he enjoys the struggles of a beautiful female (muffled or not), put in a predicament of his choosing.

At the time when my social clique dictated that i stick to the Honor Roll and Speech and Drama club for my teenage romances, i couldn't help but wander to the section of the hallway where the cheerleaders bubbly and viciously convened and the South wall of the rec yard where the dark girls poured over their notebooks filled with poisonous odes. I would linger, take a position that would not expose my observational purpose, and just watch. Occasionally, i'd get called out, by someone who (usually of the opposite sex) noticed i was not with "my flock", but most times, be left alone.

The chapters of my early teenage exploration of the female species consisted of short periods of bored "dating" with nice enough girls who broke the bell curve on tests. But most of it happily resided in this realm of observance of the bitches and the darks. Once my freshman year of high school came around, i had found myself in a few relationships with girls from these two groups.

What surprised me was a universal reality i came to discover about these girls. It wasn't a universal quality they all shared, but my uniform reaction once we started dating.

I wanted to transform every single one of them.