Him, on my bed. Me, crouched between his legs. To a slave, there is no sweeter, half-gasped, half-groaned sound. There is no feeling more satisfying than that of those last few, desperate thrusts into the mouth and throat; having that familiar salty musk pervading the senses. Feeling large strong hands forcing my head down, down all the way to the base, as his cum glides down my throat.
That is actually a memory, up there. That happened awhile ago. But I’ve been recalling that one, gutteral utterance for awhile now. It echoes in my head, followed immediately by the same warm glow I felt then.
I miss it.
Things have taken a … turn. I don’t know. I’m not sure I can even talk about this. In fact, I know I can’t. Just thinking about these recent developments … I get a huge knot in my stomach. And in the lower regions as well…
I thought writing about it might help clear my head, but I can’t. No, no, it’s too soon.
Sorry for the insubstantial, cryptic post. I just can’t sleep now.
(Begun 10.10, completed writing today)
My mind has finally betrayed me. I dreamt last night. I dreamt and now still remember every burning detail.
I was in a starkly bare room, nothing but gray-washed walls and a single (perhaps slightly pink) boxspring mattress, lumpy and tattered. I knew, although there were no windows and only one door behind me that I was vaguely conscious of, that I was somewhere on campus.
I was not alone. There were two men in the room; dark, roughly hewn construction workers, bodies and faces a gray-shadowed blur. Those areas were not my focus. I knew why I was there.
And as soon as I realized the purpose of being in that empty-but-for-the-mattress room, with those two men, I leapt forward in dream-time, discovering that I was now on all fours on that sole mattress. They positioned themselves accordingly: the one towering in front, the other leering at me from behind. It was with some desperation, I think, that I grabbed at the grayness in front of me with my mouth, but of course I had perfect dream precision, and I felt the pulsing warmth on my lips and tongue, pressing up into my soft palate. The other entered my pussy fluidly, and I admit I don’t remember feeling much … perhaps a sense of satisfaction and happiness.
The action passed hazily, and I’m not sure if it is more my active imagination that remembered the force of each thrusting me deeper into the other, a constant pushing-pulling.
[For every action, an equal and opposite reaction]
Back and forth … I cannot recall much detail there. But that is not important. What was important, and very much so for my dreamself, was the other cumming with both zeal and force inside me, so that I dripped and leaked.
When this happened, I suddenly became aware of two things. First, an instant contentedness, a feeling of accomplishment, flooded my subconscious. Second, the other, having been satisfied, left abruptly through the door in the back of my mind, and I knew there were more waiting on the other side. They were waiting their turn.
The dream ended there, and my conscious mind was jarred back to reality and another school day. But I recall this dream with a kind of trepidation. As it dissolved back into the recesses of my mind, I was in a state of disbelief. Had I really just dreamt of being in a threesome with anonymous construction workers from campus, with more lined up outside?
Taboo. Such a deeper level of sluttiness that I had not before believed I desired. And yet … there is was, played out as I slept. Slept, and undeniably grew aroused in my REM state.
I am still processing this. I realize it is a common fantasy of many, and perhaps not worth the distress, but, for me, it is still very new. For my identity suddenly expanding and twisting in such an unexpected way, it is worth the contemplation, at the very least.
What am I?
But you already know the answer to that, don’t you?
I’ve been thinking about this for awhile: the often disturbing dichotomies played out in the dominant-submissive lifestyle.
The most prominent one in my mind is the names. The titles, words, descriptions I have come to associate with myself. The sometimes ping-pong-like switching between “precious little kitten” and “depraved little whore.” The loved one, and the sexual object. “Slut” as a term of endearment. It is a jarring mental adjustment to make. I’m quite unsure of what to make of this clash. It feels like the line between yin and yang, or black and white; that edge of chaos between two opposing forces. To say it is unsettling is a ridiculous understatement.
Then there is the question of fantasy versus reality. The use of perverse, sometimes dangerous, and always secretly thrilling fantasies in the binding mind games we play in this lifestyle. The questions that always surface … “Is he serious? Does he mean it? Will/would he really carry that out?” And then right after, “What if he does? What would happen? Would I really do such a thing?”
But, perhaps what is most disconcerting is that, in most cases, the answer is not clear, either way. Forces on both sides pull me back and forth, and I am caught undecided. I can’t commit myself either way.
That fact, more than anything, shows how much I still have yet to learn, and experience.
Walking through campus today, I saw a squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis) bounding through a lot, and I had a revelation. In its movements, the squirrel made a sinuous, undulating curve that rippled through its body and tail, as if its spine and tail were invisibly connected to a sine wave. I began to imagine a traditional animation showing this, and pondered how I would be able to draw each frame to show the liquid transition through the curves. My mind shifted over to the 3-dimensional world, and I visualized animating the squirrel with joints, rigging, a polygon model; what kind of equation would I need to emulate those lithe undulations?
And in that moment, my mind opened a new path before me, one that I had never considered before. I imagined a different future self, engaged in the science of fluid dynamics, of water-driven equations, of physics, differential equations, integrals, and lab coats. A tiny thrill ran through me at this thought, an excitement I’d never before felt in relation to physics or calculus.
It just seems all so random and chaotic, the choices we make for our own destinies. What does/can/would this mean?
And yet, underlying it all, underlying all the bright, distant points of light that my future may possibly wind towards, there is my submission. My submission, and subsequently another’s power and control over me. It is real, and it is a part of me, and will follow me down any of the paths I take. It may very well determine my path, in fact.
An interesting thought, which creates an emotion within me that I can’t describe. A kind of yearning, but … well, I don’t know.
There is this sculpture in a little courtyard between the Art Center and the students’ studios. It is a massive, rust-red steel contraption that could invoke images of sweat, muscle, masculinity, bright sparks and coal dusted workshops, but instead sits quietly under the shade of a sugar maple. The reason for this, I think, is because of the wooden platform suspended horizontally by four thick chains that juts out from the sculpture. On closer inspection, one realizes that there are also cables connecting the chains of the platform to a balanced piece of steel that rests in the middle of the sculpture, itself supported by cables so that it can also swing freely.
I sat on that wooden platform with a late lunch today, basking in the abnormally warm weather. I began with three layers as I headed to the studio from the dorm, but by the time I got to the door of the painting studio, I was sweating. I peeled off my sweatshirt and stopped by the cafe for food and drink. Then, sitting outside on that lowslung platform, I realized that I had chosen the perfect spot at the perfect time of day, so that the sun was angled right over the other buildings and trees and shone directly into the courtyard. Specifically, it lit the sculpture and platform in the kind of golden glow only possible in October.
My longsleeve tae kwon do shirt came off as well, leaving me in ridiculously comfortable sweatpants and a tank top. As I ate, it only seemed to get warmer. I love Indian summer, and although I knew I had to get to work on my paintings, I lounged outside for as long as I could, laying on the platform and looking up at the filtered sky through bright yellow maple leaves. It was like a shot for a Canon or Kodak commercial, the impossibly perfect family snapshots in bright primary colors.
It was beautiful.
I’m getting better from my cold, thank goodness. I’m also incredibly sore from a two and a half hour soccer tournament I played yesterday, in similarly glorious weather. Not only soccer; barefoot 3-on-3 soccer. Thus the bruise in the soft flesh on the inside curve of my foot. Ouch.
In other news…Well, what other news does a college student have to offer? Courses, procrastination, self-introspection…sex. Yes, there is always that. As I find myself growing exceedingly more people-comfortable and a bit less socially awkward, I’ve also discovered just how right my group of friends fit into my personality. Such wonderful people, and lately I’ve realized just how openly sexual they can be…watching porn together as a form of entertainment, sometimes of a decidedly tasteless kind (hmmmm, tasteful porn…does that exist? I think so.), for laughs (Pornosaurus? Pteradactyl sex? Heh…)
Anyway, that wasn’t really going anywhere; but, in terms of myself, well, there has been a constant, humming horniness vibrating just under my skin, forming images in my head when it can, leaving me sometimes daydreaming in between lapses of concentration. There is an empty ache, and a tingling longing on my skin for contact with another’s skin.