Maybe Maimed but Never Harmed

Saturday, October 4, 2008

Safely fucking anonymous johns with inspiration from TCP/IP

Category labels: BDSM psychology, BDSM safety, BDSM techniques, Bisexuality, Communication, D/s dynamics, Fantasy, Male sexuality, Professional BDSM, Sex, Technology

I can still remember the day when Eileen said to me, somewhat dismayed, “Sometimes it feels like every kinky girl who’s even close to being classically attractive decides to become a pro-domme sooner or later. Why am I the only one who doesn’t?” And of course, when she was offered a job as a pro-domme at Rapture she naturally briefly considered the opportunity. I mean, why wouldn’t she? I would have considered it if I were in her shoes, and I would have done so for a number of reasons.

The most interesting reason why I would have considered it, though, is because the thought of being a sex worker (and a sex worker is what a pro-domme is) feeds a fantasy of mine: sexual expression in exchange for money. The thought of having sex with or—even hotter—to be made to have sex with people I didn’t really know very well has long been an undeniably arousing thought. That fantasy is, to this day, one of the very few role play scenarios I can somewhat comfortably get invested in. I vividly remember the pounding of my own arousal the night Eileen came home with her half of the month’s rent in cash, pushed me onto the floor, tied me up, fucked me with a knife at my throat, and then threw the cash in my face.

Like most fantasies, the fantasy itself would probably be very different from the reality of the situation. Getting tied up in someone’s home who I didn’t know just so that I could make a few bucks is so ridiculously unsafe that I’ve purposefully avoided even getting near the possibility of doing it. Nevertheless, this sex-for-money fantasy is a rather frequent one for me, and in fact it’s pretty common among others, too. I think it’s so strongly rooted in the sexual psyches of so many people that it’s one of the most common reasons why I see bottom-ish and submissive-leaning women become sex workers, such as pro-dommes.

But that’s not what this post is about. (I could talk about inverted power dynamics of (many) pro-domme and client relationships for ages, but I won’t since there are lots of places where that’s discussed already.) This post is about the idea of the sex-for-money fantasy in general, what makes it hot for me, and some (geek-inspired) ideas I have about how to go about realizing it safely.

Perhaps it was Tristan Taormino who best explains why the sex-for-money fantasy is so hot. She recently wrote this in the Village Voice about the brothel-themed sex room at Dark Odyssey, affectionately known as “sex camp” among the attendees.

People don’t tire of the sex-for-money fantasy. Actually, there is no one fantasy, but multiple scenarios, dynamics, and roles possible within the brothel setting. I talked to a bunch of this year’s whores (who included men, women, transfolk, and cross-dressers) about what they got out of their experiences. Some said they like being a whore because it’s taboo, naughty, and transgressive; the fact that it’s illegal prevents them from pursuing it in real life. For others, being a sex worker is a longtime fantasy[…].

Playing this role can trigger other turn-ons, like having sex with strangers, no strings attached, and no pretense of romance.

[…]

A sex-worker fantasy can also fulfill a desire to be used for sex, objectified, forced, pimped out, or made to perform. Many of the whores had pimps who collected their money or made them work. There are so many power dynamics to play with. “I am turned on by the power exchange involved,” explained Ellie, a phone-sex operator in real life who’s never done sex work with physical contact. “To some extent, the worker is fully in control of the sexual encounter and can create seemingly arbitrary boundaries or limits without being expected to explain them to a partner. On the other hand, the worker is acting in service to the client, and is expected to please and satisfy them. The tension between the dominant and submissive roles in these sorts of exchanges is interesting to me.”

These excerpts showcase a couple of points. First, it confirms (yet again) that different people have the same sorts of fantasies due to a variety of different motivations. Second, when Tristan mentions that playing the role of a whore can trigger other turn-ons, she’s talking about how enacting one fantasy be a catalyst that often fulfills multiple impulses at the same time.

For me personally, ultimately the fantasy of sex for money boils down to expressions of control, just as most other fantasies do. Fantasizing about whoring is about my desire to be objectified, pimped out, and made to perform, to use Tristan’s words. Now, these aren’t things that I necessarily find directly pleasurable—theoretically I could be made to do something I didn’t really want to do—but it’s not always direct pleasure I’m after. Rather, it’s the derived pleasure I get by being controlled by my “pimp” that I find so hot, even and sometimes especially if that exertion of control is tormenting me.

While at times these desires manifest in a prostitution fantasy, at other times they fit nicely into slave, harem, or even prisoner fantasies. In some of the more extreme ones, I’m made to perform not merely for my livelihood, but for my very life. This can be very intense, but that’s because it’s this intensity of control that I lust for.

Of course, realizing such intensity in reality just isn’t practically safe. Moreover, if any of the life-or-death fantasies were to become real, they’d pretty much have to be one-offs for the obvious and very unsexy mortality issue; sometimes in my fantasies I’m killed, but that’s only sexy in the fantasy, not reality. In no way do I actually want to be in an unsafe life-threatening situation like that, and it’s a fact that there are enormous risks associated with thoughtlessly enacting these sorts of fantasies in real life.

This brings me back to the first part of the title of this post: barring one’s attendance at an event such as Dark Odyssey—which I am even more intent on attending after reading Tristan’s article about it than I already was—how can one go about experiencing the thrill, nervousness, and excitement of this fantasy in a way that isn’t insanely unsafe? As it turns out, some of the best advice I’ve found on this topic came from one of Dan Savage’s Savage Love articles, in which he writes to a bisexual man who has similar fantasies as I do. (No, it wasn’t me writing in!) Dan said:

[T]he only way to safely realize this fantasy […] is by sharing it with your most adventurous [Friend With Benefits] and enlisting his help. After you tell all, ask your FWB if he would be willing to facilitate the realization of this sexual fantasy. In other words, ask him to pimp your ass out. It would be his job to find and recruit a guy you don’t know, a guy who’s trustworthy and safe but just a little freaky, a guy that he knows you would find attractive. Then your FWB/pimp tells you what corner you need stand on what night and you wait there until your pre-screened, pre-selected john drives up and rolls down his window. Be his ho, be safe (the real pros all use condoms), get paid, and run home to your pimp and hand the money over to him. Everybody wins.

I think this is sound advice, but it could be better, which is where the second (nerdier) part of the title of this post comes into play. What Dan’s advice is missing is a certain measure of protection against selective forgery attacks.

What I mean is that if I were to follow Dan’s advice to the letter there’s no way for me to be assured that the john who drives up to me and rolls down his (or her; women aren’t always relegated to the prostitute’s role in my fantasies!) window is the same john that my partner had selected for me ahead of time. Although this may be perfectly acceptable for some people, while the excitement of the fantasy would certainly be heart-pumpingly, penis-hardeningly awesome, without this added level of assurance obsessively detailed people like me would still feel an unacceptable twinge of apprehension.

Therefore, after reading Dan’s advice, I came up with a way to ascertain that the john who might (theoretically…) roll down his window in front of my slutty ass standing on the street corner was, in fact, the pre-selected person while still maintaining the fantasy’s mirage of anonymity. Since I’m an utter nerd, the inspiration of the solution came from the TCP computer networking protocol.

Here’s how the revised scenario would play out. For the purposes of this example, I’ll call my john, well, John, and we’ll assume that Eileen is my pimp (because that would be hot).

After discussing this fantasy and building up the courage to actually follow through with it, Eileen would search for and pre-screen a john for me. She picks “John” and she tells me to go stand on a specific street corner at a specific date and time. She also tells me to expect a specific pick-up phrase, for instance, “Hey, pretty boy. How much for a fierce ride?” The phrase is specific enough so that it’s unlikely to be typical (but really, I have no idea what a typical line to pick up a prostitute would be). Finally, she also picks a specific amount of money that I should be whoring myself out for. (After all, she knows how much my ass is worth on the streets.)
I wait at the appointed place at the appointed time (possibly wearing the appointed slutty outfit) and when John rolls his window down, I listen for the pre-scripted phrase. This step is analogous to the TCP SYN packet that computers send to initiate a connection. It’s useful because at this point I’d know whether or not this john is really my John.
Assuming the phrase I hear is correct, even though I know who he is, he still doesn’t know if I’m his pre-selected ho for the night (though I suppose he could be given a picture ahead of time) so now he waits for me to respond with another, pre-scripted statement. Furthermore, this gives me the opportunity to bail if I needed to for whatever reason. If I decide not to bail, my pre-scripted response, maybe something like, “For you I could be $75. $50 if you only want my mouth,” is analogous to the SYN/ACK packet used to acknowledge a successful connection.
At this point, everything is set up and we’re both reasonably confident things are going as planned, so one last pre-scripted response (”I’ve got $150, so I want all your holes, and more than once. Get in.”) from him could be used to signal the end of the pick-up precautions and start the scene, which is analogous to the final ACK in the TCP connection establishment phase.

In computing, this is known as a three-way handshake. Its purpose is to initiate a connection between two parties, and because there is a round-trip before a connection is formally established, it’s resistant to spoofing. That’s exactly the protection which is needed in any fantasy involving sex with so-called “strangers,” so it seems to me as though something like this, which could be thought of as an extension on the concept of safe-words, is just what the ~~doctor~~pimp ordered.

Then, hopefully, this mysterious stranger, who would appreciate me in all my sexy nerdy glory, would proceed to treat me like the slut I am, and we’d go to a cheap motel and fuck like bunnies.

Comments (3)

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Call for participation: Hyperfiction and Hypertextual Porn

Category labels: Community, Erotica and pornography, Fantasy, Fetish, Sex, Technology, Writing and blogging

A few weeks ago I was geeking out about “web stuff” to Eileen, who was sitting across the café table from me sipping her gigantic flat white coffee. I was talking to her about iterative development processes, and how that matches how I think. Small bits, loosely structured, eventually coalesce and create something very refined, piece by piece, polish by polish. Somehow, in between all the geeking out, she remarked on a really great idea.

“Why don’t you write hypertextual porn, then?” Of course, leave it to us to turn a conversation that geeky into a conversation about sex—but still. It’s a really great idea: leverage the power of today’s Web to explore the creative potential of story telling. I started to do some research on the matter when I got home that night. Turns out, this idea is hardly new.

Indeed, this idea even has a name: hyperfiction, or hypertextual fiction. Nevertheless, there aren’t any really good sites out there that have compelling, engaging hyperfiction content.

Why not? I think it’s because hypertextual media is, by its nature, social. It’s social in the same way sex is social. For it to be really engaging, well, you have to engage other people. You have to link to other people. You have to share, and share-alike. You have to be social.

I know this because I tried to start a web site about hypertextual erotic literature. Well, okay, hypertextual porn—or htporn for short (and for funny geek references which I sincerely hope some of you will get). It’s in my playground. However, for the reasons above, it’s become clear to me that the way to successfully create this kind of content is not to do so alone. Besides, I don’t have anywhere near the amount of required cycles (free time) to really get a project like this—one whose direction is still undetermined and whose purpose is still largely an experiment—off the ground by myself.

So, consider this my Call For Participation. I’ve set up an introduction to the theory of htporn and a handful of other stuff on the web site. I’ve also set up a mailing list website with a specific hyperfiction discussion list that I encourage you to join—just send an email introducing yourself and your interest in writing (or reading, or whatever) htporn.

I’m not-so-secretly hoping lots of people will express interest in this idea and put forth their ideas. Right now, this project is really just an infant. It needs a bit of TLC and attention from folks like me and you. It also needs a bit of guidance and (dare I say it) discipline so it can grow up big and strong, knowing what it is and what it’s doing. And, along the way, there are going to be questions we’ll need to answer for it.

Even though I’m hosting this project, I don’t want to be the sole driver. I just really want to see this happen. That’s why I’m asking for your participation. Won’t you please come play with us?

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Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Fantasy Worlds

Category labels: BDSM psychology, D/s dynamics, Emotions, Fantasy, Femdom, Personal experience, Relationship, Uncategorized, Vanilla life

One of my severe failings is my notorious inability to “take the bad with the good,” or to “just be okay,” or to do that thing that so many people seem so capable of doing with such relative ease that makes them, by and large, happier more often than I am. Regardless of the freedoms or the privileges they may or may not have, some of these people are simply really good at synthesizing happiness. It’s been my mental illness, bipolar disorder, that has been the scapegoat and the whipping boy for much of these failings of my character, yet—ironically, in keeping with my character—I’ve always rejected the notion that such a simplistic, restricting explanation as mental illness is the full answer.

Nevertheless, the fact remains that I lack the refinement of a necessary skill that would give me a lot more peace with the cold, hard, real hardships I’m facing. Though I’m getting better at this with time and hard work, no one has been affected more severely by this struggle of mine than Eileen, for obvious reasons. These reasons include physical proximity, emotional closeness, shared love, and of course, an obvious disparity of some very personally painful privileges.

Right now, as I write this, it’s precisely that thought racing through my head: remember that it will be okay. We’ve recently had a very harsh day. Ordinarily, despite the fact that I reference Eileen a lot in my blog, I don’t often talk about her. When I do, it’s more because I’m talking about me, and even that’s guarded, for both our sakes; navigating the waters between being out and being private is very important to both of us. But right now, I want to write about my night with her.

It’s a night I don’t ever want to forget.

As I said, the day was harsh, a roller-coaster ride of ups and downs. The early hours swung wildly between comfortable laxness and debilitating pain. By the end of the day, we had found a more even keel.

Unfortunately, I began feeling ill a while earlier. It was a mild but unpleasant upset stomach that hit me first, followed by a familiar stab of pain in my feet as I walked. Later, back at home, exhaustion hit me full force and I was soon collapsed on our bed.

“What’s wrong?” Eileen asked me from her computer chair.

“I feel bad…,” I groaned.

“Bad how?” she asked.

“Physically,” I said.

She put her computer back on her desk and pushed herself out from under it in order to come give me a hug. With the painful tension in my body spreading, her hug hurt and I covered my head with the blankets and crawled to the wall. It was clear that I was feeling quite a bit worse than just “bad.”

She paused a moment and then left the bed. “I’m going to run you a bath. The water will relax you, it’ll do you good.”

“No, it’s filthy,” I said.

“Then I’ll clean it,” she said. “When I come back in this room I expect you to be naked, got it?”

I very rarely argue with beautiful dominant women who demand that I strip, so of course I agreed and quickly disrobed, tossing my clothes over the side of the bed and cocooning myself in the folds of the blankets. I heard the water going, heard Eileen shuffling about, but was too far gone to really take notice of very much.

“Where are our matches?” Eileen asked suddenly appearing at my side.

“What? I don’t know.”

“You used one to light the incense the other day, didn’t you? Where’d you put them?”

“Actually, I used the stove,” I told her.

More shuffling from her, more dizzied motionlessness from me. Then I heard a chain rattling.

A while ago, for the June 2007 Gay Pride Parade, Eileen and I bought ourselves a six-foot length of chain. It’s nothing fancy, just a regular old length of chain from our hardware store and a set of four keyed-alike padlocks. In total, it cost us under twenty dollars, and it’s one of the most versatile, often-used, and enjoyable toys in our entire bedroom.

I love heavy metal bondage, chain, and that chain specifically. It’s just like ropes, but the practicality chain and locks offer is unsurpassed, not to mention hugely psychologically impressive. When Eileen picked up that chain and I heard it rattling by the window, my mind immediately started to race towards fantasies and memories, which is arguably a very stupid thing to do.

Oh, forget about it, I chided myself. She’s just moving the chain out of the way.

She wasn’t, though, and the next thing I knew the blankets were pulled off of me and Eileen had one end of the chain looped around my collar and had it padlocked shut. She began pulling gently. “Come on,” she said as she lead me towards the bath tub.

It was mere seconds from the bed to the bathroom, but even before arriving at the bathroom my cock was as hard as the steel Eileen was pulling with. She smiled knowingly at me, and I smiled helplessly back. Then I saw the bathroom, and I nearly melted from glee.

The bathroom light was off. The room was illuminated by eleven candles, ten tea-lights and one large cylindrical candle (I counted them later). Inside the cylindrical candle was the stick of incense I had pushed into the wax the week before, lit and smoking. On the closed toilet seat within arms reach from the tub, a wine glass rimmed with rock salt held a drink—a margarita, my favorite! The bathtub was filled a quarter way with running water, and not a single smudge of dirt or grime was visible on the white porcelain.

The small room smelled of steam and spice. As I stood at the doorway, not quite knowing what to do, I could feel the warm air touching my naked skin, making the finer hairs on my body stand on end. It made me feel suddenly chilly, but it was a welcoming sort of temperature, like the feeling one might get upon seeing hot chocolate and a roaring fire after just spending an hour playing in the snow. I was so happy.

“Go on,” Eileen said, motioning through the bathroom doorway with a nod of her head. “Get in the bath.”

I’m pretty sure I said something at this point, but for the life of me I can’t remember what it was. I might have said, “Yes, ma’am,” with a smile on my face that stretched from ear to ear, or I might have just stood there agape. I was simply so pleasantly surprised at the scene that I wished I could play the moments in slow-motion.

The water in the bathtub was a touch hotter than what was comfortable, because I had to step out of it briefly after immersing my foot in the water. Eileen waited patiently as I took a moment to adjust the water temperature, and then slowly seated myself in the tub.

When I was sitting down, Eileen took the free-standing end of the chain and circled it around the piping behind the toilet. I heard a click as she padlocked it shut. The sound sent a shrill jolt of excitement through me: she’s chaining me in the bath! I knew the chain was long enough that I could probably stand on the outside of the bathroom door if I wanted or needed to, but the sight of the room combined with the feel of the chain’s presence itself was enough to fuel my fantastical imagination.

I was a harem slave, pampered and cared for so long as I obeyed my Mistress and her underlings. Or I was a simple villager caught up in some conflict and now found myself a spoil of war, being prepped for her enjoyment that she’d no doubt partake of in just a moment. Or I was a beloved human pet, spoiled rotten with expensive liqueur and kept at my owner’s whim for fun. I was all of these things, and so many others!

“Now,” she started as she straightened up, “relax and feel better,” she said. “And drink your margarita! Oh, and you can masturbate if you want to,” she added with a smile, producing our pump-bottle of Babe Lube in an instant and placing it next to the margarita.

“Yes’m,” I mumbled through an impossible smile.

Eileen took a step forward and bent down to look over me. “Yes what?” she asked, grinning at me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said again, this time with what was evidently satisfactory volume.

“Good boy,” she said, and moved to kiss me. I dissolved into her kiss.

Sadly, the kiss was too brief. She pulled away and told me that she’d check on me, and that I’d better relax and behave. I lusted after her when she turned to go, my eyes nearly molten with liquid, my cock involuntarily splashing at the water’s surface as though it were some ecstatic child. The feeling was simply indescribable.

I took a moment to look around again when she closed the door behind her. Our bathroom, whose walls Eileen had painted with a strip of silver and blue mermaids years ago and which were now flickering in the candlelight, looked like a small washroom in some palace somewhere. The walls themselves, which are made of white, coated brick, added to the illusion. The faint gray trails from the burning incense made a single winding column of smoke that stretched halfway to the ceiling.

The hot water was, indeed, relaxing. It was soothing my muscles and washing my stress down the drain.

So much water, my fantasy narrator was talking in my head. There’s only a funnel at the drain, so all of this running water, every drop, is being spent on me. (Now, I have to laugh at my inner environmentalist who knows this was horrible.)

That fantasy narrator kept going, melding real and imagined thoughts, feelings, and sensations together.

I wonder what she wants from me. Is she going to hurt me? This is all…so nice…but why the chain?

At the thought of the chain I melted again, curling up on my side and letting the fantasy reel keep playing in my head. Every so often Eileen would appear at the door, checking up on me. She never looked sexier to me than she did from that vantage point in the bath.

Unfortunately, my stomach soon began feeling upset and my limbs could no longer find a comfortable resting position. I was feeling ill again and had to stop the water. I sat up, slouched over, holding an arm over my belly. Hearing the water stop running, Eileen came back to check on me.

“I think I need some water,” I could barely croak the words.

“Okay,” she said, and she went to get some, bringing it back in a hurry. I drank.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t drink the drink,” I said. And I’m so sorry my body isn’t playing along with this amazing, incredible creation you’ve made for me, I thought.

“It’s okay, I’ll drink the rest” she said as reassuringly as she could, “I think you should go to sleep.”

Disappointed, I had to agree.

“Will you be okay for just another minute?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Good,” she said, and went about clearing the margarita and the lube from the bathroom, preparing our bed and turning out the bedroom lights. A minute later she was back with the keys to my chain leash and had unlocked it from the back of the toilet. “Can you stand?”

I could, and did, and she helped me out of the tub and gave me our big beach towel. I dried myself off as she led me by the chain leash, still locked to my collar, back to the bed.

“Drop it,” she said of the towel, “and get in bed.”

I did as I was told and was greeted by the warmth of several layers of blankets being pulled over me. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. I heard the chain rattling against our window’s security grate.

“Oh but…what if I need to go pee in the middle of the night?” I asked without moving or opening my eyes.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Eileen said to me. “I haven’t locked the other end of the chain to the window, I just used a carabiner.” I opened my eyes in slight surprise and saw her smiling cleverly at me. “But I’ll only do that for emergencies or sicknesses, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” I smiled back and closed my eyes again. I spent a little while trying to fall asleep but couldn’t manage it easily. My body still hurt and my mind wouldn’t quiet. She noticed this and was soon in bed with me. We spooned. She was gently caressing my back and my sides.

After a while, when I still wasn’t able to sleep or chase away the tension in my body, Eileen started whispering in my ear.

“I like to think of you owned by me,” she said. “You, a young farm boy, no one special, though pretty, and me coming with an army to pluck you out of your life and take you away with me. I like to think of how you’d fight, how you’d struggle, how I’d break you. You’d be on your knees, being held down by two strong men, when I first see you. I’d tie you down and put a collar on you, mark you as mine.”

One of her hands found my collar and slowly pulled back on it so I’d feel it against my neck. I was silently moaning at this point in little shallow breaths that dried my mouth completely. I was so turned on, hanging on every word she said.

“You’re property,” she continued, “owned, you belong to me. I like that you breathe when I let you…” she closed a hand over my nose and my mouth, yet I only twitched nervously once, “…that you eat what I give you, that you’re living because I want you to. That’s what I mean when I say you’re mine; that I’ll care for you, that I want you.” She stopped and let the words sink in. I still couldn’t breath, and I was happy to let the fantasy of my fear of her keep me from struggling to get away.

Eventually I couldn’t help but begin to pull away from her. “Shhh…” she cooed, and I tried uselessly to relax. The lack of oxygen was growing insistent in my chest, quicker than it would have been had she not raised my heart rate with such arousal. “Shhh,” she said again, more forcefully this time, pressing her hand against my lips and tightening her fingers’ grasp of my nose even stronger. I did my best to hold still, to let my muscles sink into our mattress and my head rest limply on her arm.

I felt the emptiness in my chest growing. I closed my eyes to help myself stay relaxed. What was at first the small circle of emptiness in the center of my body seemed to expand to fill my lungs, and then began pressing at my ribs. Still I remained motionless, restful. Still the emptiness pressed against my body, growing slightly painful. I drowned it out of my consciousness with arousal as best I could.

Still, she didn’t let me breathe. My cock throbbed with my every heartbeat. I could hear her breathing calmly in my ear, the warm air passing over my earlobe and my cheek.

“Good boy,” she praised me, holding me tightly. I waited longer, longer, and yet longer. I waited longer than I think I’ve ever been able to wait for her permission to breathe, but I waited. And finally she let me, and I gasped and wheezed for breath when she moved her hand.

Her hand moved down my body to my stomach, my hips, my thighs. She touched my cock only enough to check my hardness and to feel my precum leaking from it and then moved on, chuckling softly to herself, relishing my breathless whimpers and slight, weakened writhing. Her hands continued to roam all over my body, which was really hers now, and she continued the narration of our fantasy.

I was so aroused I had forgotten my tense and aching muscles and my upset stomach. And that, really, was the point. Eventually Eileen stopped and she soothingly encouraged me to stay relaxed and go to sleep. I tried but succeeded only in falling into a fitful slumber.

I woke up less than two hours later, aching all over and still feeling slightly nauseous. I tried several times to go back to sleep but ultimately got myself out of bed, unclipping the chain leash from our window and carrying it out of the bedroom with me. The rest of the night was a mix of pain and frustration, trying to sleep but being unable to, and weathering through the aches and pains of my physical illness.

Nearing dawn, still unable to sleep, I started writing this entry. I did so because I was feeling upset, angry at the world for making me ill. Why tonight? I thought, Why now? If it weren’t for this stupid, unfair virus, tonight would have been so much better.

The truth is, that night was spectacular even though I felt pretty bad physically throughout much of it. I need to remember, I keep reminding myself now, that it was good, that everything will be fine, that I should take the good with the bad. That I should just be okay.

This is very important, but this is very hard for me. That night was not the night in my fantasies by any stretch of the imagination. Like many things, the reality of it was very different from the fantasy. That night, with its imperfections and nuisances, obstacles and truly undesired pain and discomfort, is what real sexual experience most often looks like, not the perfect creation you and I see in most pornography, the glossy sex in movies and magazines, and sometimes even in many sex blogs.

It was up to me in this moment, after it was all said and done, to make it work. Would I choose to remember this night as “if I just weren’t sick…” or would I choose to remember it as “the night Eileen did something absolutely incredible for me”? To make it work, really work, I had to make it work.

Eileen and I, we’re not just the people we write about, and it’s easy to get a wrong impression or miss out on the rest of us from simply reading about us on our blogs. It’s even easier, for that matter, to get the wrong impression about her from reading my blog, as it is about me from reading hers. Neither one of us can really do the other, or ourselves, justice on a sex blog.

That’s why when I say that Eileen is my love, my hero, and my best friend, I don’t think any of that can actually convey all of what I mean. She is all of that, and she is also so much more.

I love you.

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Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Your fantasy is not reality, and you should know better

Category labels: BDSM psychology, Fantasy, Femdom, Personal history, Vanilla life

A major problem many people have is the inability to draw distinctions between one thing and another. This is especially true when the separation between two things are gradated. To simplify the problem, most people resign to black and white distinctions, this or that, tearing things apart that are inherently interwoven together into what they perceive as separate strands. It’s as if they believe doing so will magically reveal all that which created the thing in the first place. But they are misguided, at best, and purposefully destructive at worst.

Many things about me are more than the sum of my parts. While it is certainly possible to break these parts away from one another, doing so reveals information only about my constituent parts in their new, isolated context. I should know; I continually undergo this exercise as part of watching myself growing older.

Possibly the saddest of things to fail to distinguish in my opinion are the emotional paradoxes brought on by sexual fantasy. It creates a situation where most people structure their relationships around their fantasies, when they should be structuring their fantasies around their relationships.

Trinity said it another way:

I was honestly flummoxed (though not surprised) when he didn’t understand. Wouldn’t it be better for someone to accept your service because you’re you than because you’re a boy?

I mean, I get the whole “I’m just one of many, depersonalized, a number in a harem” as sexual fantasy. But the guy in question is so obsessed with asserting he’s not talking about fantasy when he is… that befuddles me.

Fantasy is fine and great, when clearly marked.

As did Richard:

For other men it is just another sort of hot sex fantasy. But they don’t know how to distinguish the source of the thrill from actuality.

A couple of women have based lucrative careers on promoting this: Sutton, Abernathy.

And there is a legion of telephone prodommes who invoke the rhetoric as a means of attracting clients.

Unfortunately, the rhetoric is sexually exciting at first glance and too few people are trained in the skills required to control their own immediate gratification to put thought into their emotions and see the rhetoric’s flaws.

Inequality turns me on. As a result of that, I enjoy fantasies of female superiority over males when I’m feeling like submitting to feminine authorities. Long have I had dreams, like most submissive men, of being objectified and degraded because of pieces of my identity: my gender, my physical attributes.

Some fantasies are quite vivid. I remember one from when I was barely a teenage boy (maybe 13 or so) of being captured by a race of women who kept me bound in a dark cave (where there were other such helpless male victims in abundance) with a substance similar to super powerful spider’s webbing and whose only contact with me would be to feed me food and drink and occasionally come to “collect” my ejaculate. A classic fantasy, really, undoubtedly from the mind of a youth twisting science fiction imagery to suit his preferred sexual expression.

As I grew older, I maintained the same fantasies, but the imagery changed somewhat. Instead of science fiction, I more often used personal experiences as fuel. As I was more-or-less in school at the time, school-grounds were a favorite locale where the girls (and sometimes certain boys) could take sexual advantage of me in all manner of creative ways. The image above has been a favorite source of this kind of fantasy for many years now.

In that way, I enjoyed the fact that I was as skinny as a twig and frightfully anemic. My sexual fantasies of being overpowered actually dissuaded me from taking care of my body and ensuring my own health back then.

That’s the kind of inability to distinguish fantasy from reality that I’m talking about. When it’s so personal, as that is, and when you crave something so much, as I did, you don’t want to let reality get in the way of your fantasies. There’s not anything wrong with trying to live in reality more elements of your fantasies. I do that all the time. But I’m only successful when I take reality into account.

Doing anything else is foolhardy.

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Thursday, March 22, 2007

Thoughts and fantasies on guided masturbation

Category labels: Chastity/Orgasm denial, D/s dynamics, Fantasy, Femdom, Masturbation, Sexual teasing and control

I’m having trouble sleeping tonight for the obvious reasons such as the fact that my life is beginning to turn topsy turvy again, but I’m also spending quite a bit of time exploring new sites and thanks to their content, naturally, masturbating quite a bit. In fact, even though I’m not really masturbating to any unusual degree, I seem to be dripping precum like never before. I’ve already been able to coat my whole shaft with the lubricant it’s provided. This is interesting to me because I’m not typically that drippy a boy. Is it the way I’m masturbating? Is it the fact that my last orgasm was abandoned and perhaps I’m hornier than I would be otherwise? Maybe my body is beginning to get used to producing lots of precum? This would be a wonderful thing, because it might even save me money on buying lube. ;)

(Sidenote: I have a fantasy that Eileen would force me produce a certain amount of precum before I’m given a treat such as being allowed to masturbate to orgasm. Perhaps she only lets me use an eight of a teaspoon of lube and the rest has to be precum, and that’s my “lube ration” for the day or week.)

Whatever it is, it’s sort of besides the point anyway. I got to thinking about masturbation in general and went to go find some corresponding writings. Though I didn’t set out to surf tonight with that goal specifically in mind, I’ve been thinking about it for a few days already because I’ve been away from home and away from Eileen. Interestingly, though I do enjoy the sensations of masturbation, there’s simply nothing that can compare with masturbating in her presence, when she’s present with me. When I’m not around her, I want to masturbate to fantasize about being with her and being controlled by her, but when she is around, I find that I don’t tend to start masturbating unless I ask her for permission first, even though I don’t have to by our rules.

Surfing around, however, sometimes takes a while so tonight I’ve been doing a lot of masturbating and clicking on links. Eventually, the Web did that thing it’s great at doing and I’ve just now been successful in finding a new treasure trove of things to read. The Peter Files is a web site all about male masturbation under female guidance that I’ve been exploring for a little while tonight.

Guided masturbation is an interesting thing. Basically, it’s where one partner masturbates obeying the directions given by another. That’s a sexy thought because there’s an implicit power dynamic embedded in the obeying and giving of directions. This sort of activity is the basis for such forms of pornography as web teases, as can be found extensively at Milovana.com. It makes me wonder why thoughts of guided masturbation is such a turn on for me.

I think one of the major reasons is because, frankly, I’m really good at pleasuring myself. I’ve been practicing for years, and before I gave up control of when, where, and how I orgasmed, I would masturbate myself to several awesome orgasms every day or so. So you know, I’ve had a lot of practice. I think also, just in general, manual masturbation (hand jobs, to put it bluntly) are totally underrated. Sex is good and all, but the lowly hand job is often overlooked as a major part of that. While browsing the Peter Files a bit, I found this excerpt from the Hand Job Manual page that sums up that sentiment nicely:

Sex means more than intercourse; It is also exploring all the different variations that enhances your sex life and keeps it from getting stale. Masturbating your partner can be very exciting for both of you.

But I digress. Hand jobs are one thing, guided masturbation is another. Perhaps, then, it’s the thought that I’m being told what to do that is at the root of the attraction? I certainly like that thought. It reminds me a lot of hypnosis, without the hypnosis. That is, being told certain things, focusing on my dominant’s voice, but instead of being in a trance state I’m in an extremely aroused state. In fact, I wonder what guided masturbation while under hypnosis would be like; certainly a trance state is not mutually exclusive of an extremely aroused state. An interesting twist that I sometimes fantasize about as well would be to be told to masturbate, and then being told to imagine (or perhaps hypnotized to believe?) that the sensations from the masturbation are actually from sex, or from topping a lovely slave girl. (Yes, there’s a streak of toppiness in me sometimes, too!)

I also find guided masturbation to be a possible component of the various games of chance people like to play with orgasm control that I am also interested in. The difference is that games of chance don’t give as much arbitrary control to the dominant, and I rather enjoy the fact that it is Eileen who has ultimate say in what I do. Yes, at times it is sexy to fantasize about her playing the role of a mockingly comforting sweetheart who is simply “playing by the rules,” but I also really enjoy the simple fact that what she says goes.

A few days ago, Eileen asked me if I wished she was “harder” with me. Honestly, I can’t say that I do because I love it when she’s sweet and gentle. There are even times when I will become aroused through even non-sexual, gentle caresses for no other reason than she’s being sweet and delicate with me. It’s less an issue of being hard on me or not, I think, but rather simply following through with the things she wants, making everything that happens be on her terms, and balancing that with the things I am interested in like exploring all sorts of new things.

I think guided masturbation is something I’d like to see us explore a bit more. I think we’d both enjoy it a lot, and it even may provide a comfort and/or a sexual connection during times we’re not with each other physically. (Never thought I’d actually be desiring phone sex, but hey….) I imagine a situation where she tells me to masturbate, giving me instructions like, “A little faster, a little harder…good, now slow down and use just two fingers,” and eventually maybe starting to masturbate herself while she does it. Finally she’ll want to get off so she’ll tell me, “Get yourself to the edge and stay there for me…yes, don’t be silent, moan if you feel like it!” She’d orgasm, and I’d be keeping myself as close as I can until after she finishes, smiles at me, waits a choice few moments, and finally tells me simply, “Stop.”

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Friday, March 9, 2007

I get off on unfairness

Category labels: Chastity/Orgasm denial, Cuckolding, D/s dynamics, Fantasy

I get off on things being unfair in a D/s relationship. I get fewer orgasms, I have less money, I have more tasks, and so on. The imbalance is a display of power, the unfairness stimulating as a reminder of my submission. But it’s a tricky thing. It becomes a slippery slope very quickly. The unfairness of the situation itself is a powerful turn on.

Very much like the issue with punishment, I enjoy the fantasy of the unfairness more than I enjoy the reality of it. As a fantasy, things being unfair can be hot and arousing, accentuating the emotions of submission with emotions of helplessness at being “forced” to do something and of having no choice. In reality, when things are so imbalanced that they are wildly unfair, I become resentful or jealous (”my life is so much harder than yours”). This makes me believe that a very clear line must be drawn between the fantasy and the reality, and that these limits must be treated seriously. There’s nothing wrong with playing with the fantasy, but making this fantasy a reality could lead to detrimental effects.

The most arousing fantasy of unfairness I have involves cuckolding and orgasm denial. Cuckolding in general is something that is a very, very dangerously slippery slope for most couples. If not communicated properly, performed carefully, or allowed to get to either partner’s head too much, it can ruin a good relationship. I have never been cuckolded before, though I have been cheated on multiple times by more than one partner. Interestingly, even though these were horrible experiences, an element of them–the element of unfairness and cruelty–was arousing. I fantasize about my girlfriend with other men on a regular basis at the same time as I make myself anxious thinking about it.

My fantasy involves having my girlfriend masturbate another guy until he orgasms, possibly several times, allowing him to have sex with her or to use me to obtain his climax while I am denied the same pleasure. Both of them would then taunt and tease me about how unfair it is that he gets all the orgasms he wants and I don’t get any. This is, very much like the punishment scenario, something I may not find arousing in reality, but the fantasy is incredibly powerful.

I wonder what things we can do to ease the negative emotions that would come up if this sort of thing became a reality….

One way to do this that doesn’t touch on the emotions triggered by involving a third person is to use pornography to showcase other people’s orgasms, such as pictures of cumshots or videos of people having orgasms (see, for example, Beautiful Agony) or of course, watching my partner masturbate. For some reason, however, it’s a more powerful tease if the person orgasming is a guy (since I am). Another fantasy image I have often is that of being tied up, perhaps spread eagled to a bed, and being made to watch clips of guys getting off in any numberof ways while I, myself, am getting teased to the edge again and again, listening to my Mistress goading me on about how badly I must want to shoot like the guys in the videos (or the man she’s with).

That’s all really, just some late-night fantasy wonderings.

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Thursday, February 22, 2007

Ramblings of a boy with a fetish for orgasm control

Category labels: Chastity/Orgasm denial, Fantasy, Femdom, Personal experience, Sexual teasing and control

While browsing here and there, I found a link to Frugal Domme’s web site, with very interesting and broad-ranging resources on what they call D/s techniques, Physical S&M, and Etiquette. It’s very obviously an ancient web site, but I’m glad I found it as it’s new for me and provides at least a modicum of novelty, even though a lot of the content is kind of old news for me.

Nevertheless, there’s some good stuff, even if it isn’t a new idea. They have tons of links to chastity and orgasm denial resources on both their own site and others, such as one contributor’s male ejaculation awareness and control training program. The author writes:

However; prolonged chastity, especially when coupled with stimulation without release, may only make his orgasm come more quickly when he is allowed release. For some Mistresses this is the desired outcome, but probably not within a long term relationship. Likewise, simple punishment for cumming without permission does little to guide the male into the ability to participate in this control.

Simply put the male has to perform a countdown prior to his climax. Mistress can stop him at any point and he must not only stop stimulation at that point, he must also not climax. He does not know when he starts the count down if he will be allowed to finish. When the countdown is stopped, and he also successfully does not ejaculate, Mistress may start (or allow the start) of stimulation again. At which point if he feels he is approaching orgasm he must start a new countdown, which may or may not be allowed to go to completion. The key is the countdown must be a countdown to the “point of no return”, rather than to the actual climax. It is the point of no return that he needs to see in advance, not the actual orgasm. … [H]e must climax within 3 seconds of zero. (It may be necessary to adjust this time, based on the reactions of particular individuals, but 3 seconds is a good place to start.)

I’m always amused by writings such as this because it seems like everyone takes themselves so damn seriously, which is both unnecessary and not very hot. I’d much rather prefer an environment of playful erotic games to that of an “exercise program,” but hey, whatever fills your twinkie.

Also, to anyone who’s personally interested in orgasm denial or delay, this is an obvious technique to employ to practice staving off the orgasm from inevitable stimulation. The real reason I like this idea isn’t because it’s a novel idea but rather because it sounds like it could be a fun way to involve a partner (read, my girlfriend Eileen) in masturbatory sessions. To that end, in fact, why is there no mention or thought given to ways that the domme can enjoy herself physically while the sub is doing all these masturbation exercises?

For instance, if I were playing this game with Eileen, it would be even more arousing if she were also masturbating while I was doing so. After all, why shouldn’t she? That makes the game far more exciting for her as well as striking home the truly arousing point that the goal of the exercise is ultimately for her pleasure, and that my ability to remain chaste is a skill I should hone to achieve that goal. The difference is subtle but is at the core of my personal fetishistic desires revolving around teasing; teasing and orgasm denial are the actions through which the fetish of orgasm control is manifested. What fun is a control game without a controller? :)

Through Frugal Domme’s site, I found another ancient, personal web site of a fellow submissive man who calls himself Poetrician and who wrote a two-part essay about Training a Novice for orgasm control. In part one, he articulates the very same thoughts I just described when he says:

A man’s mind must be trained to intervene in his body’s instinct to resolve the pleasures he is granted with controlled thought to realign his body’s goals to be merely an object of his controller - executing tasks of her will.

[...]

So to begin to give more concrete examples, if he were to stroke his penis to achieve a state of erection by command, he must realize the limit of the request. The request is not to satisfy his lust, or engage him in a act that normally leads to orgasmic pleasure, but simply to become erect.

Applying this to the countdown game/fantasy with Eileen and I, it’s evident as to why the aspects of control are more arousing for me than the notion of getting to masturbate. The masturbation doesn’t really matter and in some cases I would go so far as to suggest that it is completely unnecessary (though nice) because I’m far more excited by having layer upon layer of Eileen’s control added to the game. For instance, as we are masturbating, perhaps she remarks that she is permitting me to watch her. Just the words, “I’ll let you watch me enjoy this,” for instance, are arousing because it emphasizes her control. Or perhaps before we start she notes that she will not permit me that pleasure and blindfolds me. If I then hear the buzzing of a vibrator that she’s decided to enjoy, I will desperately want to feel that vibrator’s sensation but can only do so vicariously through hearing her enjoy it, and that will drive my arousal, too.

Playing with such sensory deprivation such as blindness often heightens the wanting for either that sensation, sight in this case, or another, such as sound, by redirecting my awareness to an alternative sensation. In part 2 of Poetrician’s essay he writes about ways to influence each of the senses individually. A less typical and equally intriguing example for sensory deprivation might be, for instance, to remove the sense of sound with ear plugs and to emphasize the point by being spoken to in a whisper. The thought of being deafenned and having Eileen whisper “You may cum if you want to,” to me while she knows that I can’t hear her is also an extreme turn on. The crux of it all is her control (as in, specifically her as the one in control as well as the control itself).

Poetrician further notes that:

[A] Dominant can create certain fixations for him to focus on during his these arousal states. Embellishing fetishes, mindwashing with single unique objects, enriching lust focused on the Dom, are all methods of creating a synergetic duality in the novices mind.

What he calls a “synergetic duality” I more plainly define as an aspect of that fetishized control. Many of my fantasies are ones that involve something Eileen does to me that “changes the rules” for her own amusement and fun; requiring I remain chaste until she has had a certain number of orgasms, enforcing daily edging sessions, involving other partners, and setting up some kind of creative rule set for when, if, and/or how my sexual desires and releases will be limited (or allowed, or even required) while those same rule sets maximize the pleasure for herself. I love the idea of having breakfast one morning after a fantastic scene the night before and having Eileen grin at me and say something like, “That was two I got last night. You were such a good boy. Only 26 more orgasms for me and then you might get one, too.” Ultimately, what is more intensley, intimately, and utterly controlling than having the association of your own sexual pleasure be not associated with your own sexual stimulation but with your dominant’s?

Part of the point for all these “rules” and “games” isn’t that they last forever or that they are inflexible, but indeed the opposite. Though it is important to strictly obey the rule set as it’s currently defined (whatever that may be), there’s a novelty offered with every one, and the variety is half the fun, so changing it up every so often keeps things interesting and arousing–hopefully for everyone involved! The other half is the uncertainty and anticipation that comes from not knowing what Eileen will do to me or require of me. And of course, I don’t think there should ever be a rule that says Eileen can’t change the rules on me if she wants to.

I loved that we implemented the various “consequences” we continue to define for an accidental orgasm because it provides that uncertainty and anticipation as well as giving us an inroad on which to reach out to new and heretofor unexplored areas of our sexuality and fetishes. The most currently relevant example is my fascination with money when mixed with sex; the fact that I don’t understand why it is that an eroticized exchange of money is something that arouses me deeply and at the same time has the potential to truly disturb me is something I want to explore. I don’t think that’s something that would have come to the surface unless Eileen and I were playing these games (and it certainly would not have done so this safely).

So…I want to play more of these games because they’re not only sexually adventurous and exciting, but a real opportunity to explore more of myself and our relationship.

But one of the difficult things about such a situation is the fact that it can take a lot of time and energy to maintain this level of imbalance in sexual control in an active and ongoing way that is also fun for both partners. It can be exhausting for both partners, but possibly even more so for the dominant partner because they are often expected to conjure up the details for most of these “games.” Even though a ton of ideas can be harvested from all over the web (Frugal Domme’s web site has a number of good examples for scene ideas), it’s the mixing-and-matching in novel new ways that’s truly interesting, and it can be hard work.

Furthermore, since I’m the one that’s horny far more often than she is (obviously), the imbalance can also be a source of stress on the sexual relationship. This is something Eileen and I encountered first on our road trip a few years back, and we also brought it up at the Sexual Teasing and Denial presentation we did for TES a while back.

Basically, we need to deal with emotions that surface when I feel as though I want or “need” to play, and she does not. One of my favorite excerpts about dealing with this come from Amy’s Tantalism blog where she writes briefly about her disappointment when she was not permitted to cum and how she and her dominant worked through that together.

I wish I could find it now, but Amy also had some wonderfully insightful things to say about this tough situation and how she and her Mistress deal with it. In brief, she told me that every couple (kinky or not) deals with the issue of the other partner feeling horny or not at any given time, so there needs to be an honest understanding of both partner’s needs as well as genuine attempts from both sides to meet those needs. She told me that for her, this doesn’t mean she is permitted to orgasm or even to touch herself whenever she pleases, but rather that she and her Mistress communicate openly about those needs and lovingly address the challenges when they arise, supporting each other through the tough times, and enjoying each other thoroughly through the good times. When Amy asks for permission to touch or to cum, it is a signal to her Mistress that she is feeling a desire for that touch, and her Mistress does with that information what she will–denying her or teasing her or indulging her as she wishes. For her part, Amy is honest with her Mistress about how badly she feels she needs release or physical affection or masturbatory stimulation, meaning that she expresses her need when it is strong as well as letting her Mistress know that she doesn’t need a release if she doesn’t really feel that way.

(As an aside, one of the very smart things suggested on the Tantalism forums a while back was something called the 24-hour rule. That is to say, if a submissive feels that they truly, really, absolutely have to have an orgasm right then and there, enforce a policy that requires a waiting time of at least 24 hours before that orgasm will actually happen. If after the submissive calms down and is no longer in the midst of stimulation and/or arousal he or she still feels that an orgasm is necessary throughout these waiting hours, then it is far more likely–though not actually necessary–that an orgasm is needed and should be had. Though this was originally intended for solo denial, I think this is a good general policy for anyone who is concerned about granting release too leniently or quickly to follow, including dominants.)

Amy noted that when she is denied permission to touch it is extremely difficult at times, and admitted to breaking her “no touching without permission” rule on several occasions. Her Mistress sees such infractions as “hard times” that Amy is going through that need support, rather than failures on Amy’s part that need to be disciplined. Amy referenced an apparently well-known article called Orgasm and Release Training by Gina as one of the many helpful guides that exist that focus on support during rough times of denial and craving and denounce punishments as deterrents for failure to avoid orgasm.

This is slightly different than the way Eileen and I currently play, but in large part the themes are the same. What most people call “punishments” I prefer to call “consequences,” because the thought of true punishment does nothing to motivate me to be anything other than rebellious, which is not what either of us wants. However, the fantasy of being punished is intensely erotic, so creating (relatively minor?) “consequences” for accidental orgasms or other failures seems like a good compromise between the erotic fantasy and reality. Letting Eileen ultimately act as judge and jury also helps me feel that whatever happens is what she wants, which is crucial for me (as described earlier).

However, the notion of receiving emotional and moral support during denial periods that are difficult to go through was new to me when Amy first mentioned it, and it’s something I actually feel would be incredibly positive in many emotional ways in addition to being an effective way to deter accidental or otherwise “unnecessary” orgasms. It is an interesting paradox, but the single most arousing thought I have is also the thought that most motivates my desire to remain chaste: Eileen wants me not to cum. I imagine that Amy and her Mistress have the same (or similar) desires, and I can imagine her Mistress reminding her of that during the hard times when Amy feels glum about not being permitted to touch herself or to orgasm. I can also imagine that I would feel similarly supported and emotionally fulfilled by being reminded of that by Eileen when I’m struggling through a period of denial.

In fact, I wonder if more of that kind of support would have enabled me to continue to remain on a “no touching without permission” rule as was the case last year. (We changed that rule to “masturbate at your leisure but don’t orgasm without permission” a while ago because emotional stresses were building on both of us.) Amy describes a vulnerability, and arousal, that is caused by the need to ask for permission to masturbate because it exposes her need to her Mistress. In effect, she is never (or rarely) horny without her Mistress knowing about it. I recall occasionally not asking and simply enduring denial because of that very feeling of vulnerability, so I can relate, and I wonder if additional support from Eileen as well as strict adherance to her decisions would have helped us then. In other words, I was afraid that my asking was influencing Eileen’s decision too much, and so I didn’t ask to be allowed to touch myself whenever I felt that I wanted to.

I didn’t have enough trust in Eileen that she understood that what I wanted was to be told “no” if she was not interested in sex at the time when I asked because even though I was horny, I wanted (and still want) her to use my arousal as an outlet for her sexual pleasure instead of mine or I didn’t believe that she would be able to cope with my feelings of horniness if I asked her for permission. All this, even though she told me multiple times she didn’t mind my asking, so this is a true failure on my part. I’m still learning, and still exploring deeper and deeper, and I want to continue this with Eileen.

I want to not only explore my own desires, but hers as well. She often says her play and her desires are shaped by the partner she is with. This makes sense, but to some extent the same is true of me. I want to make her deepest, most taboo fantasies come true, and I want every last one of her cravings to be fulfilled ten times over. Part of why I want to push us into new and ever more intense and extreme directions for sexual and kinky exploration is so that I can discover new things about me, her, and our relationship, but part of the reasoning is also because I want to hit on the things she (and I) may not even know she wants, and then make those dreams a reality.

I’ve been given a generous ration of two orgasms a week while she’s in Australia, and except for this week I’ve used them both up without fail every week. But this week, I’m feeling particularly motivated to keep myself chaste for her even though I have permission to indulge myself more than I normally do. (As of the time I’m writing this, it’s been 7 and a half days since my last orgasm.) I think a big part of the reason for this is that my explorations of an additional relationship that has a wonderful potential to be kinky, sexual, and grow our friendship make me feel even more determined to keep some things closest to the core of the relationship between Eileen and I sacred.

One of the ways I described it to Eileen in a recent email to her was like this:

I’m very much looking forward to being able to share this with you–physically–when I can see you again. I desperately want to taste you and make you thrash in orgasmic pleasure again. When I’m like this, when I’m feeling calm and open to these feelings, I feel as though my sexual release truly does come more from your sexual pleasure than my own stimulation, although it is also interesting and important to note that at the same time, I feel as though I need more attention (whether physical or otherwise) to maintain it. Otherwise it is difficult to keep feeling calm and the openness turns into short-sightedness and impulsiveness, which I always regret.

[...]

I think one reason I am enjoying delaying my orgasms this week is because with all the developments … and with all the missing you, I want to feel this connection [with you] as tangibly as I can, and keeping my orgasms for you (by obeying your wishes and keeping to my promises) makes me feel this connection stronger.

So…yeah. Ramblings of a boy who misses his girlfriend, who has a fetish for orgasm control, and who has been lucky enough to find love with an incredible girl who shares his kink.

Time goes on….

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