Just A Thought

Earlier today, I was thinking about the pervasiveness of kidnap and abduction fantasies. There's this blond boy I see at Starbuck's... Well, you can fill in the blanks easily enough.

But anyway, I wasn't thinking so much about abducting (I have this huge duffel bag that doesn't zipper up the side but secures with a sturdy clip at one end, and it could go right down over his head and probably reach his knees...) as I was the fantasy of being abducted.

It's such a common thing on AOL, and even crops up from time to time on the more serious World Leathermen. I'm willing to bet that it's universal, or nearly so. At some time in every kinky person's life, he or she has fantasized about being stalked, and then "taken." (Rope would probably work well around the knees, and there he'd be, helplessly encased in heavy, dark, olive drap canvas. Then it's into the back of the jeep and off we go.)

What's up with that? I'm gonna take a stab at it.

A verrry wise man I know suggested that at the core, it's a very selfish fantasy. The very idea that someone is going to go through all that trouble for you. This man, accomplished in the arts of slavery, finds it all very unworthy of a slave. The slave's role is to make himself available to his Master.

And I agree that it has little to do with submission, but I wouldn't disparage it by calling it 'selfish.' (Once I've hauled him back to my lair, I'd secure his feet with steel cable, then set the hoist going, first his feet off the ground, then his butt, then he's dangling. Off comes the duffel bag for the reveal.)

I think it's just about wanting to know that you have worth and value, and what could be more certain confirmation of that than someone out there going through so much trouble to take possession of you? (I wonder how long it would take for the blood rushing to his head to weaken and disorient him? Whatever. I have plenty of time. I'd just need to get the cuffs on him. Once the cuffs are on, he's pretty much subdued. That's why cops like them so much. Attach a leash to his ballsack to lead him around, although I'd just have to get him into the cell.)

That certainly was a big part of why I so readily submitted to taking Big's collar. He was willing to make the effort. And that effort was nothing on the level of risking liberty to stage an abduction. It was just letting me know he'd be in NYC and being at Starbuck's like he said he would, and fitting me into his schedule. But, that's way more than any other man had been willing to do. (No torture, just possession. Making the blond boy mine. Telling him he looks good in a cage, and that he's going to be spending the rest of his days looking out from behind steel bars.)

That told me that in Big's eyes, I was worth something. He saw me as having value. In other words, he cared.

(I'd like to read a treatment of the Stockholm Syndrome, the phenomenon that makes victims of abduction come to identify with their abductors. How does that manifest itself? What would be blond boy's psychological state six months out?)

And subsequently, Big has only reinforced that. Hardly a day goes by that he doesn't let me know that warts and all, it makes him feel good knowing that I'm his boy.

(Would it get to the point where I could leave the door of the cell unlocked and open? And blond boy would not want to leave?)

Big has done it. Patiently, carefully, like hunter and prey, he has made off with this boy's heart.

(Then blond boy would be mine. All mine.)

I'm his. I belong to my Sir.

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