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.


Something is better than nothing, I guess

25 04 2013

I have decided to write a bit more. I don’t have always something to write about slavery and S/M but that doesn’t matter I guess… I can talk of what I like and of what I am doing as it is necessary for me to keep track of my thoughts which are, in this very moment, a kaleidoscope of many different colors.
I am resting during holiday at my parent’s house. The mountains here are high and strong, a poetry behind white distand clouds, and I find myself thinking of cock more than usual.
I must say that I really like cock, but it’s more or less seven or eight months that I don’t have sex, so I kinda forget about its smell and its taste.
I find myself curious about why I like cock so much, why I think the best way is to tast it on my knees, on the floor, and what kind of magic it operates on my mind.
What drives me mad is its smell… really. Sometimes it happens in random places I can smell it and I start to think what kind of man could have this smell and what kind of cock could have that man.
I live in a world of smell. I like to sniff and I like perfume and bodily odors, but not of any kind per se. There are special smells, special fragrances the body emanates and it’s those ones that I like and cherish. My memory is involved heavily in smell too, I cant track in my experience that specific smell of that cock or those balls, sometimes more easily than the person’s face per see. I can still remember, for example, that secret moment when I entered in that house, without knowing anything and anyone and a blindfold was placed on my eyes. I never saw him before and suddenly I found myself naked at his feet and I could not see but only sniff his perfume, which was so masculine and hot it gave me an insta-boner.
Then he lifted my blindfold and I saw his balls and they were so beautiful and perfect I feel in love instantly. His cock was majestic too and stuff happened and I was a good boy I remember.
But what I mostly remember is his smell, a deep clean musk that made me drip like a whore, like the whore I am.

Today I am reading Wittgenstein. I found in his words a place where I can rest, where I can understand what are my errors, where the language is lacking the necessary tools to express our thoughts. It reminds me deeply those moments when I cannot explain, I cannot talk, those dark places where I am only sad and nothing can help me – beside maybe a good beating?
In those dark places I find comfort in logic, and the building that Wittgenstein is trying to unravel in me, is a castle not made of certainty or perfection  is a castle made only of consequent thoughts. It’s a sort of mathematical language really.
I wonder what he would think about the fact that his name finished right here, in my blog, after I spoke about cocks.

But this describes me perfectly I think: the love for logic, the love for cock.

I can’t wait to see where all this will bring me.
I want to be born again.

Sorry Ludwig.
You’re a fag hero today. ❤

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?

at last

23 06 2012

It has been a lot of months I don’t write. Today I don’t have a lot to write about but I would like to start again to write here, as a measure to remind of what I am and what I like.

Life caught me unprepared, as it should be. Moving to Milan was interesting but for the moment not really useful. Will I find here what I couldn’t find in London?
I hope so.

Hope is what I have left at the moment. Hope. For I am consumed by the desire of being held strongly and punished, to beg for more belt on my ass and such.
But nothing is happening, mostly due to my own shyness and my doubts.
To me it looks like I somehow fall back to a mind state I was in long time ago. The days of pleasure and chains looks somehow distant, London seems even more far than it actually is. How can I placate my thirst for slaps?
I try to administrate pain to myself, but it’s not the same. Plus it doesn’t feel right. Somehow this state of perpetual negation is a logical complement for a slave nature. But the sweet torture of being denied is much nicer than this absence of sex and orgasms, as it’s me deciding this and not someone deciding it for me – it has a different flavor.

Life is full of pleasures, the touching of a stranger on my tight, the dark eyes of a traveller, the white smile of a perfect mouth, but all distant and dreamlike, impossible to reach wih my hand.
Maybe I am unwilling to follow them to the source.

So I find myself indulging in self-denying, trying to take weird kind of pleasures from every single thing I can. Today holding in pee on the train for much longer than needed, then finally release with a small degree of pleasure, reminds me on when I had to ask to do this things and there was something stronger in that, something deeper. I long for that control over my mind and my body.

I like to think that a slave life should be full of pleasures, in order for the Master to deny them at he sees fit. But what do I know, in the end, of a slave’s life if not the little pieces I gathered during all these years of searching?

Fair enough, the search is not over.
Let’s hope we live in interesting times.

But then in the end a beat catches up my mind. How much and strongly I want to look right, to look perfect, to look what you need, what you want to posses, what you want to destroy to make yours, to recontruct as you want to.

I don’t know who you are though.

Find me, please.
Find me soon.

Holding on
I am a vagabond
It’s always different
I am the one who falls

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)

How intense is my need? How intense is your need?

28 11 2011

There are things one cannot speak of properly. In explaining those subjects what you might lack is simply the words. The universe of feelings is a dire bear, for one cannot be sure we mean the same thing when we speak of the same feeling. Everybody means something different.
Therefore explaining is necessary. A feeling cannot really be explained with word for words are limited to the here and now of a conversation. To feel is to subject your mind to a specific state, to talk of it is merely a collections of memories and hopes.
This is the main reason why I try to talk a lot. It’s not always understood by Masters or Tops but it’s beyond being necessary to me, is vital.
Certainly in my dreams what I look forward is simply someone who can break the chain of thoughts with a face slap or a bite of the whip and then proceed to put me in that state of mind and body that I so much long for. But that ideal situation is just what is it, ideal, it cannot happen. One must ask and explain and answer and then trying. It’s a process of trials and errors and in being so is extremely frustrating.
It’s frustrating for a very simple reason: my desire to serve and please and beg is much bigger than my thoughts. Is beyond my possibilities to express it. It’s scaring for it is so deep and strong that it doesn’t leave space for anything else. I cannot trace the boundaries of that field, is immense. It gave me sensations I didn’t know I could have and pleasures I didn’t know I could experiment. It gives me pains so exquisite that I know I can’t handle them without phasing out of my own mind.
Here is the core, the problem. I much talk about it and I try to put it in practice. But is not possible. It’s a state of mind that doesn’t belong to the usual consciousness of the daily mind, is a shift of paradigm that throw me deep inside a dark place I don’t know about it. Who do I give the keys to this place then? It’s so powerful and strong and beautiful but I can’t unleash unless I feel safe. And that safety is so hard to express and find too.
How can I try to live my sexual life fully if it requires such a degree of trust that can be found only in consumed and strong relationships?
I am puzzled. And frustrated again. I am at that silly stage where vanilla doesn’t really interest me anymore. I might still manage to get hard and even have an orgasm with a normal, vanilla intercourse. But I don’t see the point. It’s somehow a diluted version of what it can be. It’s not the real thing, it doesn’t give me the same pleasure.
I’m scared. I’m really scared. Did I crossed the threshold from an interest to a fetish and then to addiction?
Is my need of submission and humiliation and pain so strong that it took over all my pleasures?
Yes, I fear so. There is a beauty in being frustrated so much and so deeply but it’s a delicate balance on a very thin line. Then the frustration becomes too much and errors might happen and my souls is so open that scars take time to heal. And scars will happen indeed.

I don’t know what to do, I must be honest. I cannot go back where I was, thinking this might just be a phase. I cannot proceed and delve deeply in my depravity for reasons I spoke so much so many time about.

Where is the exit again? Where is my white rabbit?

Am I running up the wrong hill?


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: )