the courtesy of being truthful to oneself

27 05 2014

Where is my place, if not at Master’s feet?
Where is my pleasure if not in his hands, in the pain that He will gift me.
Where is the path I must travel to be born again, to fullfill my destiny, to find the place that is truly mine?

I have been silent for so much time, for so many weeks and months. for all this time I was lost and alone and with no purpose. I knew what I was missing, every single minute of those days I knew that the time that was passing by would only mean one thing: to get lost even more in the forest of myself.
It is a calm forest the one that surrounds you when you’re lost. The smell is pleasant and the air is fresh, and one have the sensation of light and sun on the skin… a sensation of being maybe not in the right place but that at least the season is right. Such was the illusion of myself, a brothel of beautiful trees, none of them something I would have planted but they seemed there for a reason. They ought to be… for the forest is vast and silent and beaituful and everything is at its place.

But every single branch is a lie. Something inside of you is not right and you know it and time goes by and you kinda understand that the sun is good but not excellent, that the tree are nice but not suitable for this climate, that the path you are walking is not signed on a map.
And as you reach for your compass
You awake.

I am that lost soul in a forest. I am now awake.

The process that awakes you it’s difficult and painful somehow. You must make choices and you’re not made to make choices yet you must choose a course of action to take you out of the cavern. Because now you can see the limit of your life, the limits you imposed on yourself with the stern capability of a masochist, pushing yourself far far away from your own duties, your own pleasure.
Is there something worst than negleting yourself everything? is that something more painful that leaving yourself alone at the mercy of your Super Ego, enslaved by your own Internal Judge?
Suddenly you see the things for what they are: your masochims playing with you for the last time, the last time of a long list – I must admit that to myself.

Why on hell did I come here?
Why did I put myself again in this situation where I am blocked, stucked by beauty and simplicity and a good level of borgeouis life?
What am I scared of?

This last question is the one. While asking myself this question someone contact me on Recon and asks me what am I doing so late in the night.
I state I am trying to understand the reasons of my masochism.

Because I have beaten myself another time, without realizing.
As usual.
I’ve failed myself so many time.

This is me tring to get on my feet again.

Please help me.

Without you I can be something I am not intented to be.
With you I am nothing. As it should be.


On Virtues and limits – vivisection of an epiphany

23 05 2013

I lack the virtue of moderation. This is all and everything about me. You don’t need to know more.
The truth, pure and simple: in my core I am boundless, I cannot be contained. Like a wild animal, like a river, I am bold and exaggerated in everything I do.

This whole is the point from where everything originated, especially my way to deal with what needs to be done and what shouldn’t be done.
Having no moderation means that sometimes I do silly things because my drive is to go above and behind, I am a traveler of deep space where the goal is the unknown, I like to break rules maybe – especially if nobody punishes me.
So, again, this is the core of my behavior being boundless, unconsidered. If I eat I will eat all, if I read I read it all, if I fuck I want to fuck it all, if I buy I buy everything if I spend I spend. Nothing else has interest for me.
I cannot understand or cope with mediocrity. Every single thing I see and feel is so special and weird that I cannot understand how people can be mediocre or mean. Everything could be so beautiful.
But this comes with a price and that price is harsh to pay… therefore I learnt in the past to be sensible, to don’t do silly things, to stop myself.
But this is all wrong.
I shouldn’t stop myself, I should be “stopped” by someone, like a wild animal in a cage somehow – the beauty I have is all in my intensity and if I try alone to castrate my intensity, I will become something sad and dry… but if someone cultivates this intensity – making it blossom, suddenly it makes sense.
I could go deeper in me, release my true self, because I would know I would always have someone who is capable of stopping me when I would go too far. This is the reason I am a slave, I want to be free.



But freedom is extreme.

Find me where-ever I hide

1 05 2013

Today is a strange day. A very strange day. Today is a day for epiphanies so I guess some writing should be in order. I said I would write more, but I didn’t exactly gave myself a goal. I think that so far two posts a week would be enough, two posts on anything that crosses my mind, not only BDSM but also games and philosophy and other stuff.

Today I speak of myself though, and I speak of a peculiar place where I found myself the other day and I need to explore. This will be a long post, because I have so much in my mind and I need to write it down. I hope my few and patient readers will be forgiving as usual.

Everything started when at a cash desk a sales assistant recognized me as a customer that made some fuss about something a month ago. We work for the same company so when I approached to pay and she made some funny remarks, I thought she was joking.
She wasn’t. She hates me. She hates me because in her memories I made a big mess in her corner of the shop, while in the end I just wanted a bag from a mannequin but we found the bag somewhere else and I bought it.
In her mind, her version of me and of that episode, was of a mad customer – while in my mind I was merely joking about taking it from the mannequin and in the end nothing wrong happened. She told me that I am an egomaniac of some sort – to which I politely stopped talking after I realized to my horror she was NOT joking.
Beside the simple and easy solution that she was not paying attentions to facts but only to her impressions and my erratic behavior  what I found fascinating is something I already tried to learn from: the imagine we have of ourselves vs the imagine others have of ourselves.
A week before, something similar happened at work and I found out that my behavior is interpreted in a very malicious way.
There will always be haters, there will always be backstabbers, I know. I am merely not fitted to cope with them because most of the time I assume that everyone say and does what they like and believe, which is something of such an absurd and naive epicness that I should probably put myself in a mental asylum and threw away the key.
I do though, as much as possible, try to live by a rule of truth and simplicity. I try not to complicate what is already complicated, I try to find a common ground with everybody because I firmly believe we are all human beings and we should behave in a logical and responsible way. I know that my words and my actions have consequences and I expect the same from someone that speaks with me.
Such is not the case. I felt very bad last week because of this, because I could see how much hypocrisy is involved in social interactions, how many lies and how easily the reality of things is distorted.
What eludes me is though the reason why I can’t see this coming, never ever and why I keep trying to find the best in everyone.
For being a depressing and erratic personality, I seem too eager to give the patent of easy-going to everyone, basically doing the same fucking error of applying my way of thinking to everyone. Which is not the case.

I must remember myself I am peculiar. I must remember I am growing to be more and more INTENSE and PASSIONATE about what I like and believe and that my believes and my thoughts are not the ones of the majority. Otherwise the world would be pretty fucked up I guess.
I must constantly remind myself, every time I speak with someone, that they will be prone to misinterpret everything I say, or must I live my life by my rules and don’t give a fuck about people.
How can I make sure that the idea that I have of me – of a smart, easy-going, sometimes depressed, painstakingly ironic geek with intense passions – is reaching out my every day audience?
Am I so different from them?

In all this I still want cock so badly. I want to be punished badly too. I want to be owned. I want to scream to the world I am a fucking faggot and a wannabe slave and I want to live my life as INTENSE as it needs to be. I don’t want anyone to mess with my INTENSITY and my PASSIONS. These are all the beauty I am.

the real question though is:

In the meanwhile, porn is the answer. and music too.

layer after layer

7 04 2013

So here we are, again. I cannot stay away from this place as much as I can’t stay away from my place, that place on the floor, at Master’s feet, that place I long and search but I cannot find anywhere.

I am still here because I want to understand what leads me to those dark places of pleasure and pain, here to understand what is inside me that makes my cock drip so much when I obey, when I ask permission, when I am treated the way I should be treated. I don’t always understand what ticks in me, but like a Swiss clock here I am, with a hard-on, imagining myself begging someone to be ruthless and strict and to put me in my place with his firm hands and a belt maybe. Yes a belt, to bruise my white skin, to hurt me when I am a bad boi and to hurt me when it’s needed.

I remember suddenly the joy of giving up, the harsh and surprising pain of a belt on my hard cock, wanting always more and harder until I reach that please where my head is light and I am only pleasure for the Master, for anyone. What I hide is what I am, constructed of layers and layers, hiding myself under so many masks and depriving myself of my ultimate aim because I don’t trust anyone, never ever.

I am locked away, chased by desires and fantasies which I deny myself in a mock substitute of an owner I still have to find. I don’t trust anyone because I don’t trust myself first, because I know where I can go and those dark places scare me out… a lot.

Yet, the very few times I decide to allow myself an orgasm, it’s always with the company of something hard and humiliating, a slave punished for its Master’s pleasure, a boi flogged and muffled, a mouth that kisses beautiful feet… and it’s always in this position I find myself jerking off, on my knees like a dog, with my legs spread apart, offering my body to absent whips.

And all I would like to say is: Please take me and hurt me and make of me your boi, your slave, your pleasure.

But then reality kicks in and I run from my desires. The journey is not over still. I am scared and lonely and hopeless. But I am here to confront my fear and to become the beautiful animal I want to be.

How and when and for whom is not up to me to decide. Will you help me in this path to my ultimate freedom?

And the body will follow

21 12 2011

I spent months here speaking of myself, of my feelings. I am lost into them like in this labyrinth I created, a realm where I am the owner of my own mind space, a king in a land of emptiness. Still though I find myself on my knees, suddenly, only because of the need to answer a series of simple personal questions, drowned again by the river of thoughts I always seems to have in my soul. Will you be able to help me in getting rid of this coating? this thick layer of dust that piled up upon a more deeper and true sense of self? These are the usual questions that are filling my mouth during the weird dreams of this week… because I never dreamed so much like this week and so vividly. I welcome sleep not like a blessing but like an adventure.
So my mind wonders and I find myself in difficulty, again. Why is so difficult to understand and find out what I like? Is that because of my rigid mind, where everything need to have an explanation and a reason? Or is it maybe because again my inner judge is so much stronger than I thought, taking pieces of myself as trophies for his reign of methodical madness? And how does fit in all this the perpetual chaos that lies in my room, where I wouldn’t even want to live but I force myself to survive?
Surely one answer is because I am scared that I might not like what I like. If I had an owner this would make much more sense, but somehow has a meaning even without that. It’s simply the intense fear of being rejected, the irrational feeling of loss… one would like to know and understand in order to please and serve perfectly, in doing so getting rid of the possibility of that rejection so many times experienced and introjected.
Also is quite difficult to discern because one thing is  what I like and another think is what I need… can I make this choice by myself? Am I allowed, as a would be slave, to make a statement as this?
It’s a funny place the mind of a sub, I swear. There are things that we love, things that we hate, things that we get some pleasure from and thing that we adore to be denied or rules we want to follow, certain menial tasks that remind us what we are… most of the time I simply love to ask permission and that is because sometimes I expect a no.  In asking permission I am giving the power to a “you”.  I am delegating a decision to someone else. This is quite important in a slave psyche I suppose too, a simple dynamic of giving up our own control, a gift we are pleased and happy to give away, sometimes a way too lightly.
Also sometimes one doesn’t want to fix a course of action. To name is to block in the process of thought our memories about that specific item. How can I be sure what what you mean is what I mean? My memories are mine only, my meanings are my secret garden.
But funny enough, I’ve always been very bad in putting stuff in order of preference or give them a value. Why is so? Fear to decide? Even the most simple stuff sometimes puts me in a panic state. And that is why I stutter sometimes, because my mind goes too quick and my mouth cannot follow, stuck as it is in trying to elaborate something I consciously know is a mere meaning of a concept I will never be able to explain.
For we are lonely beasts. Were the mind goes the body will follow, with asynchronous grace.

But where my mind goes, right now, I don’t know.
I need a leash for it. I need thicker restraints.

(Waking Life – if you’ve never seen it, please do. You might understand why I can’t speak sometimes)

Generation aftercare

16 10 2011

I started quite an intriguing  book ( you can find title and an excerpt here> ) after a friend suggestion.
The story per see is nothing exceptional, t’s a simple and understated biography of a Dom… a self-proclaimed Leather Man and it’s supposed to be from a top perspective.
And this is extremely interesting and thrilling to read both because I can see through the eyes of a Top – although it’s restricted to the author view – and reflect on the bottom role.
But there is something even more interesting in what I read: nothing of that exists anymore. Or maybe I wasn’t lucky enough to find it.
I just started the book  but the perspective I am reading and enjoying it something I never meet, something I never experienced so far. It seems there is a psychology and spirituality behind the Master/slave dynamic… and I didn’t use those words lightly. It seems there is a sort of integrity, a profound respect and an understanding and it’s striking me as beautiful and impossible.
As a sub, I know where I came from but sometimes I forget my need. I forget that what I crave is not only to serve and please but also to let myself go, to share myself, my insecurities, my fears, my believes, my experiences, my dreams, to be open finally.
We all know what it is that we look for at the end of the whip, but sometimes we forget for a very simple reason: we are lost in a world without care, a world without aftercare. A world where everything is expected and nothing is given. How may times I stepped out of a scene for this or the other reasons – most of the time my own fears or panic – and I’ve been approached in a positive manner and not dismissed? How many times? Zero. Yes, zero. I didn’t realize at the beginning, I thought I was weird and that it was my own problem to solve my emotional issues – and indeed it is – but reading of aftercare after a scene made me somehow glitch, I saw the white elephant and I understood that what I am looking for is a step behind me,  a step higher.
It’s even more difficult now to reach it but it has a name… is a sort of mixture of pride and self-assurance, it’s understanding your own needs and wishes. It’s willing to be from myself.

Spirituality is the key. Because there is something strong and powerful in giving up oneself completely to be just a toy, to be only pleasure. There are too many underlying dynamics and so much energies and the place we could visit through them are so far and distant that it all seems like a different world. When I am there and the belt is coming on me, the second before I slip inside that space where everything is calm and flowing and so deeply perfect… that second is made of magic, is made of all the words I don’t have to explain it to you. But it’s there and it’s vibrant and it calls me because I know its taste, I know its color.
Could I talk about this with all the tops/Doms I served in the past years? No, not too all of them… probably only one or two could understand what I am writing and saying. Most of them will dismiss this as simply the blubbering of a demented child.
Because here we have arrived, because scenes are served on a massive scale and when you enter you’re just meat. You’re not a boy, you’re not a toy, you’re not property.
Property. What a funny little silly word this is… property. You go at his place, you’re his property for a couple of hours then you’re dismissed, off you go. You’re just meat on the altar for the simultaneity of this era.
We are meat, we are constantly  asked to say yes always and more than always too. But is this the right way to play? Isn’t the slave supreme choice – the one to complete surrender – the one and only most wonderful thing we should have to give? So why pretend we can give it freely, without knowing the scene, without knowing  the boundaries, without contracting the steps to indulge in?

What I seek it’s my pleasure and it’s yours too. Your pleasure is to have me and use me and show me places where I’ve never been. Your pleasure is to seek that pain I can give you the right to inflict on me because I want to, because I need to find my place in the fabric of reality.
But these days we have forgotten this little fact: it’s a game with two players, it’s a dynamic. It’s me and you giving shape to something that we can’t do alone.

So now I wonder why I can’t find you. Why I am not able to satisfy my hunger with just a night of passion and whipping. Maybe you are out there, matching my hunger with a mirrored taste.
My boundaries lie behind and underneath yours. I am the pillar where you can build your palace.
Because I am the meat that screams and says “Thank you Sir” and begs for more.

So go on, follow the path. I couldn’t care less. If you don’t see me, if you don’t see what I am and what we could be, you’re not that I can give myself completely too.
You’re one of the thousands in this world of blind people. And I seek the one who has an eye. I seek the King.

You can’t stop me.
I fly higher than you.
(Link to the book’s review: )

This makes for quite a depressing read indeed.

4 10 2011

I am sad, there is no denying it. I am deeply sad. The vague reasons for this sadness have been explored earlier in different posts so let’s not go there again.
There is though a central core of emotion that is extremely strong and very deeply disturbing and that’s the one  have to drag with me every single minute of my life… you know what it is? Simple as it sound: eagerness to serve.
I don’t know if many Doms or Masters realize how deep this might run down in a slave soul. I cannot imagine what being a Master is so I can’t make assumptions, but I would like to explain this sentiment and the deepness of it and how it affect my daily life and my thoughts, both my normal thoughts and my horny ones. I think I spoke of it already but, hey, repetita iuvant.

The first and most important thing is the frustration of not being able to express this eagerness, the frustration of not serving. The desire I have to serve is so strong, so potent, that consumes me sometimes, really shadowing my intellect, dampening my logic and self-preservation. Self preservation… yes you got it. There were times in the past when something clicked inside me and my sense of self-preservation somehow disappeared – even briefly – and I could have done anything, anything without even thinking. Like a part of my brain was shut down and something else was in place, wanting more and more and never having to ask to stop. This eagerness is so strong that it led me to make in the past very stupid mistakes. I know now, I try to control it, but should I try to control it? Or these a sort of raw delight in it?
The core of my sadness starts from here, from a lost hope, from the thought that I will never be able to satisfy this ever-famished beast, a certainty that I will find no one to match this bottomless – no pun intended – frustration, someone to give it form and mold it into something else. The frustration is even bigger because I had a glimpse of its beauty, and when I mean beauty I mean Beauty with a capital B. I had a small glimpse of it and I saw how things could be deep and how the emotions would be overwhelming alongside never-experienced pleasures. I saw it, for god’s sake, I can understand it and I can see how marvelous it could be and YET again I can’t have it… because I am blocking myself, because I can’t find someone… the reasons doesn’t really matter here, the fact that matters is that once you’ve been there and you tasted it you want more and more and more. And I’ve been there for a moment and I know how it feels and it makes me feel very bad that I can’t have more of it again. I was there at a certain point, all beaten and horny and helpless and denied and I was feeling so suave – that is a good word for it – that I thought that there could be no coming back, that every moment would be like that. There was fear before but after the point of no return the fear vanished in a pool of moans. I was only pleasure, I was only a yes. I want to go back there so badly and I can’t and the frustration is directly proportional of the strength of that need.
Hence is a hell of a lot of frustration.

But there is more. There is the frustration for wanting and not being able to because I am stopped by my own fears. By the time I meet a Master, usually I already worked out a whole profile of him. I usually spend the time before the session trying to find out a way to not like him in order to made myself  sure it won’t work. Why I do that? Fear. An almost paralyzing fear. Most of the time I react with irony as that is my easier weapon and my stronger shield – not taking myself seriously allows me to not take anyone or anything seriously too. But logic works the same way. I dismantle in order to put aside. Against this weaponry who will conquer the fort? I am the only one able to give the key and yet I can’t find the strength to give it to someone. I know it and it’s frustrating because I want to give it but I can’t.
Someone maybe should simply take it then? Yes – and no. The thought is even more scaring.

Then there is this: the knowledge I am wrong, even for slave standards. It’s not a game, it’s not supposed to be too much of a fair thing, to serve is to serve and is simple as that. Why so often I can’t? Why I can’t give everything. I know I can’t give everything so I don’t give anything at all because in this game I feel one should give either everything or nothing at all, there is no gray area here. So why can’t I do it the simple way: just serving? This is what most Masters expect and this is where I fail them most of the time: I desperately want to be ready but  I am not.

Then there is that I am deeply romantic: I have epiphanies every now and again about my slave side and all I do is being struck with them, leaving them caressing my mind and soul but never really incorporating them, following them, making them true. It’s like I value those moments of clarity but I value them too much. I insult those little epiphanies – like the one I had today and that lead me to write this post – by simply being passive about them, making them somehow just a little piece of a puzzle I cannot solve with the inaction I represent in this moment of my life.

Also there is this brain of mine. It doesn’t shut, it doesn’t stop. Oh please give me a switch, give a moment of rest, please find me a quiet place where to rest and be silent and still. This brain of mine almost always slips in the cracks between things and words and I cannot recover it from there, it’s leaking everywhere. I can’t help it: I see meta-cognitive stuff everywhere. In my words, in my thoughts, in your words, in your gestures. Everything has a double, triple meaning and nobody is here to slap my face and make me stop once or twice or more… for as long as it takes me to make me silent.

And again this irrational fear: I don’t want to be there, I don’t want to feel like that anymore, all conditioned to serve and please and controlled and then the Master disappears and I feel a pain that has no words, that is like a hole in the stomach, like something I never experienced and I never really understood. But at the same time the thought of that kind of strong pain it is so sweet and terrible that it’s shining there with its meaning, inn-corruptible stigma that I am sick beyond normal, that I want myself to suffer both the beauty and the worst of it all.

This is masochism. It’s masochism at its core.

It’s me denying myself of everything. Because I ain’t no good.