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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Thursday, 31 December 2009

Distance, desires, definitions

The morning after the night before, I'm attempting my usual submissive sidling up to someone in bed in the hopes of some attention. As Kiss Curls commented to me a couple of days ago, sometimes you just want a bit of a fuss, especially first thing in the morning when everything is soft and sleepy. He wasn't having any of it, keeping his distance. There's a cool absence about him I've never had from any other partner - we don't kiss, at all, there's little in the way of physical contact outside of play itself. I find it curious but have yet to work out what is behind it, whether it's just how he is or part of some personal rules of engagement currently opaque to me.

He's quiet when he plays, for the most part, so I don't have any words or moods to go on. Whether he's in a certain headspace of his own or as calm and unaffected as he appears to be is still part of the puzzle.
All I've got to go by, is the activity. Some resistance play, featuring clover clamps and enforced squat positions; feet pressing against my face; me, prostrate, resting my lips on his bare foot; a failure at forced orgasm (mine, of course and nothing new to be learnt there). These are all well-rehearsed actions for him, reeking of practised control, of domination. There's pain too. Some caning and an oversized ball gag, face flat against cold plastic floor, howling against the pain, later announced to be "about a three". I'm not very durable at the moment so am still considering myself a bit of a disappointment on that level. And on others. I don't feel exactly banal, but I'm not entirely sure that I'm exciting him, either, which is a shame. Whether or not I'm of any worth to this sadist is yet to be proved, in my eyes at least.

The most striking activity was an objectification piece he'd mentioned before: I've been a variety of furniture before, never a loo roll holder though. I'm on my knees, in the bathroom. It's dark, but there's a thin line of light coming from the bottom of the door. There's a smell of cleaning products from the bathtub, where rubber is soaking. He's been washing things, going about his routine, ignoring me. He left and turned off the lights a few minutes ago, I'm currently remembering how good his bare legs looked as he was washing the rubber, unsure whether thoughts of good-looking naked men cleaning BDSM equipment is an appropriate mental state for human bathroom accoutrements.
I take the opportunity to review my position, since it's a new one and since he seemed keen to do it. My thighs are strapped to my calves with thick leather bands, arms around my back and to my sides in a similar fashion. There's a posture collar around my neck, which is padlocked to a chain and thence to a pipe in the wall. I've this gag in my mouth, which isn't quite tight enough and is drooping slightly, but does have a pleasingly chewable ring on the inside that I'm nibbling on to amuse myself. Because I'm bored. And lonely. And cold. And losing feeling in my feet. On the plus side, I am not currently being hit with anything, which is nice and I'm grateful for that.

I wonder what sort of emotions other people would be experiencing at this juncture - whether they would find it humiliating, frightening whether they would be nervous. Once again, I realise, that I don't, that I'm not. He either is going to come back and use the toilet or he's not. There's not a lot I can do about it and it's his call, his responsibility. I can't feel embarrassed, though, no matter how hard I try, it's just not embarrassing, perhaps because of my total lack of agency. It is a little silly, though and I feel faintly ridiculous, certain that I look ridiculous, at any rate. I'm grinning as I type this, because whilst I didn't enjoy it precisely, it was quite a surreal activity, and funny. I'm not sure that was the point. As I sit in the darkness, other things occur. After all, I'm not just an object, I am a prisoner, a captive. I'm also being something, of use, to him, which means staying still, being good. When he returns I concentrate on my breathing, keeping it calm, low and regular, timing my blinking with the exhalations in a similar fashion to before. I don't expect he notices, because I don't expect him to be noticing me. That's the point, really. I'm playing with myself a little, I suppose, but that is part of how objectification works for me, to be inside my head.

Eventually he sits down and plays with my hair a little. That works, the bit of human contact after all the abstraction. Without the waiting it would have been nothing. As it is, it has the air of the first sip of water when you are thirsty. I lean into his hand as he rubs the shaved part of my head, there's a small feeling of warm contentment, I lean into that too. The shadows of something I've felt before. I still can't see his face, haven't done so all morning. I hope he's smiling. He thanks me, later, once I've gone. Before I can send a message to thank him. I wonder what we are thanking each other for - what did he get out of that and why did he do it?

Does what we want reflect who we are - can you get a grip on someone by experiencing their kinks? I'm pondering this and potentially eking out meaning where there really isn't any. Still, it wouldn't be the first time. Captain isn't much for chatter, so my usual post-activity debriefs are fairly curt and I'm left to draw my own conclusions about what drove the activity, where to go next, shame because I'm sure there is something interesting going on in his head and as usual I'm drawn to filthy thoughts and their origins. It's new, the way he does things, and like all new things I want to pick it apart and see how it works.

I'm also dealing with my own trains of thought on what to do with the next phase of exploration. I don't want to play-act, so I'm avoiding random encounters. I don't want anything approaching what I had with The Photographer because I'm not ready for that. I know that I've changed, that I do want something more than *just* play, but I won't know what that is beyond picking things up and knowing that they are or are not right for me. So I'm still running with the "what do you want?" question using trial and error. It's not about activity, I know that much, it's more about the person and context for those activities and how they make me feel. I want to have amazing feelings, and to feel amazing. Part of this is hopefully going to include further exploration of my dominant side - meeting up with a likely looking young man over the weekend for a coffee and chat.

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