I think of reading when I look at it, don’t you? The innocent merely see a stunning chaise.

There is iron and there are magnets. I’m not sure which is which in this scenario – suffice to say I have spent some time as a quiet admirer of the incomparable Sadistinatrix. Fortune recently smiled on me with a mutual acquaintance and here is the result.

For some reason, I keep getting notes from submissive men. Gentlemen, here is your chance to get what you want while I get what I want. Doubtless Katrina will get everything she wants.

There is one other like her I still have not dared approach. That is a story for another day.

Pity it’s come to my attention so late.

Not an interest of mine. I refuse to break my sexuality into bullet points. Besides, every patron will be different. My responses to each will be different. This is a chance to explore new dimensions; not restrict myself to where I’ve already been.

As I’ve said before, I don’t consider myself a professional submissive. I’m not sure what proper category I fit into. Categories seem important when describing one’s self to prospective patrons, not so important when face-to-face and time stops.

My nature encompasses many, many things. Some fall under the banner of submissive or masochist, many do not. All of me responds to masculine power. This blurs the lines between the more intense assignations and those of mere companionship. The line has been blurred my whole life. It’s certainly there to exploit should a patron wish.

And when he does, it won’t follow a list.

Not my intention.

I discovered my fundamental difference in second grade. After that dream, I understood my other classmates did not feel the world the same as I did. They did not hunger for the same type of interaction with others.

It was simple and devastating. I accepted it because it was true. Because I awoke tingling and alive, ashamed to meet the eyes of the boy I dreamed of, wondering if he shared the same dream. Crushed he most likely did not.

the dream

I was standing in a department store near the top of the escalators. It was a familiar store, one my family had been in several times. I don’t know why I picked it, something about it fascinated me (probably the coin-operated horse around the other side of the escalator).

There were people going by because the store was open. I can’t remember if I was naked; probably.

A boy from school whom I liked (and still do) was with me. He bade me be still and went down in front of me, his mouth where my legs joined. He looked up at me and his face looked like a skull.

I was scared repulsed fascinated excited. The people passing by and looking at me were humiliating; the skull grinning up at me was terrifying; malice and decay behind his black eyes. I did not want to miss whatever it was he would do to me. I was in love.

and ever after

My lifelong push/pull of fear and desire, repulsion and thrall was consciously acknowledged that night. The dream served its purpose as a messenger.

At the time, I had no knowledge of sex. What I felt was much more basic, deeper, older and strangely pure – unfiltered by adult knowledge. Though my dreams intensified in violence and became more explicit, none of them had the effect of this one simple act.

My schoolmate’s grinning skull, preparing to perpetrate unsanctified acts, told me I was different.

That did not get the effect I expected and nearly ruined the moment.

The next night I kept my mouth shut and let body language work. It turned out not to be my own imaginings, but a mutual want I’d been picking up from my patron. This time we happily came to an agreement.

I am learning to care less about what is proper. To care more about following my instincts of the moment. The connection I speak of creating is not a marketing ploy or fantasy.

I ordered this book on a whim while Googling a particular phrase. My instincts were on target, as the intro alone is the more concise in explaining the true nature of some of us than my fumbling attempts (not to be posted). Though I would love to reprint the intro in its entirety here, I recommend previewing the book on Lulu. Better yet, buy a copy and help support a fellow deviant.

This is not a BDSM handbook; I’ve had enough of those, thank you very much. It is a book about the soul of sexual violence — the connection between the physical and heart/mind/spirit. The expectation to kneel, by the right person in the right way, can affect in a way an hour of tedious paddling cannot. Without the connection, the physical only leads to soreness and mental irritation.

The book goes into a number of mental techniques to be used. In the end, isn’t it all mindfuck? There’s no point, otherwise.

the search

I realized my true nature through a dream in second grade (I might post that). I’ve been adding to my knowledge since. Privately, personally, with very few people. And now I’m in a stage of life where I’m quite free of personal commitments and entanglements. There is something I’ve long wanted to try…

I’m seeking a particular patron — of which there are probably few. The offered experience is one they won’t often find in typical “scene” play-parties and probably not through professional submissives working in a dungeon.

From my perspective all my assignations have a darker tinge to them (vanilla patrons never know). It’s how I’m built. Though I go on about this other exploration of mine, it’s certainly not my only focus, it’s simply a part of me I’ve lived with all my life.

But this side of my nature requiries the most explanation. It’s not easily put into words or understood by most people. Even with those who do respond to me — so much depends on our chemistry as individuals. I don’t have some sort of set “menu” as on a professional submissive’s site (not that I consider myself a pro-sub). As stated before, I am simply myself. I see what I do as a circle bounding me from the outside world to allow certain freedoms within. The circles are different for every patron, as it should be since every relationship is unique. The boundaries are reset with every individual as mutually necessary.

I have few patrons and follow no script – high volume is required in order to form one in the first place.

terrible sacraments*

The only path to transcendence seemingly open to me is this. It has been with me all my life. I’ve pursued my nature as well as I can, with some pursuits more successful than others. I’m curious to see what I can achieve with the proverbial stranger, as opposed to someone with whom I’ve had a long relationship. I have an inkling this novel element will provide new avenues of exploration missing in a comfortable relationship.

For some of us — only in pain, debasement, servitude, humiliation and craven abandon can the core be unlocked and the divine approached. To be torn from ourselves is the only way of becoming whole, and more for a moment. The severe joys render us speechless.

* Another genius phrase from The Forked Tongue.

The solution is simple.

Remove self-imposed barriers with patrons. Why not? I have a better chemistry with them than awkward one-night stands where I feel I should be paid simply because I got little or nothing out of it on a personal level.

The few patrons I’ve had have given me much on a personal level. There is an enormous freedom in the unspoken rules of an assignation. Real life is messy and seeps into the bedroom, unwanted. Assignations shut the door firmly on real life – so patrons and I are free.

Paradoxical and goes against conventional wisdom about relationships. Conventional wisdom also suggests I should not make the changes I’m about to make, either.

I’ve often said I like to gamble with the intangibles.