Thereapy last night was great. Usually, (mostly) I wreck it by having a preconceived idea of what I'm gonna be talking about, scripting out the entire thing as the M15 bus makes it's way up 1st Avenue in fits and starts. Last night, I was even an hour early arriving on the Upper East Side. Went to Starbucks and fell asleep journaling. That catnap may have had something to do with it being a good sessioon. Anyway. I realized that perhaps the first time in my life, I'm feeling things. Usually, for me, it's all about insight and figuring it all out. But now, I'm just sort of feeling. And I'm empathetic. I'm wondering what the people around me are feeling. Oh. And here's an interesting therapy item: I was talking about how I feel myself growing into the role of being a dominant. I compared it to when you're in your twenties, and people start responding to you as an adult. At first, it feels sort of weird, when the woman at the counter of the Dunkin' Donuts says, "Will that be all, Sir?" But over time, it feels less so. Because you are a Sir. Anyway, I was thinking/talking about What I Want.

I'm at the Lure on a Saturday Night. At my side is a man wearing a collar. His hands are clasped behind his back. His head is bowed slightly. He's my boy. I'm his Sir. Earlier in the evening, we watched a movie at my apartment. I sat on the sofa. He sat on the floor, his arm curled around my booted feet. I would absentmindedly stroke the nape of his neck. Over dinner afterwards, I listened to his frustrations about his work. I tell him that he undervalues himself, that his work is excellent, and that he shouldn't hesitate to ask his clients to charge his clients top dollar prices. Not that I'm so terrificaly advanced in my life skills, but I can provide coaching: an objective observer, watching and listening closely, making suggestings for improvement, and building esteem with encouragement. I decide how we spend our time together--a trip upstate, or to DC, or tooling around the city, or down to Fort Lauderdale. I view this as a responsibility demanding my attention and creativity. I don't want my boy to get bored. Once a week at least, like early evening on a Saturday, we do a scene. I do my best to vary these as well. Improving my skills in a variety of facets, so I have knew things to spring on him with regularity. I push his limits. In our play, I strive to create a safe place where he can feel secure in testing himself, letting him explore and discover new aspects of his inner workings. With time, if we're lucky, our relationship will deepen. I'll decide that this is a man I want to own and possess. He'll come to the conclusion that he wants to give himself over to me completely. He'll want to be my slave. What'll that look like? I'd want to give him a new name, a slave name, re-baptising him to makr this transition. His body will be my property, so I'll make decisions about how it looks and what he does to it. And service, keeping his Master's other possessions in good working order. And more of a public identity, a heavier metal collar, visible most of the time. I'll take on responsibility of taking care of him, making sure he's clothed and fed and has sufficient intellectual stimulation and that he feels loved and appreciated. He'll never not have marks on his back from my whip.

Well, that's a bit more detail than I discussed with my therapist last night, but basically it's the same structure. And there I was, lying on my therapists couch, with a big ol' hard on. My therapist is a cultured and tailored jewish woman in her sixties. I guess you could say I'm comfortable talking to her about anything.

My date last night was really, really nice. The duck at Sazerac is stupendous. The company was great. Tragically, it got pretty late, and I made the mistake of opting for the chocolate pudding for desert. About eleven seconds after I finished, I crashed from the sugar. So, it was a solo ride home on the PATH.

Tonight another guy, (we'll call him Commish), is meeting me at the Eagle around 10:30.

Y'know. Enough. I have got to get back to the gym. I am just terry-fied to get on the scale. How the mighty have fallen! But, nonetheless, I bounce back pretty quickly. A week from now I'll be a strapping Jean-Claud Van Damm. And this time, I'll push right past 190 and go all the way to 200. Yo.