II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
I wrote a blog on a similar theme months ago, thinking of this poem. Three blackbirds, each one singing its own song.
It was a great evening. Got off to a rocky start, thoubh. My fault. I got home from softball at 5pm. Blackbird and I had arranged to meet at Factory Cafe at 8pm. So I had three hours. I decided to spend one of those hours taking a nap (so I'd be fresh), one hour straightening up the dungeon/den, and that would give me an hour to walk the dog, head into the city, and get back here. I set the timer on the stove (the kitchen is right around the corner from my bed) for an hour, and dropped off into the Arms of Morpheus. And woke up at 8:23 pm. It seems that I had put an hour on the oven timer, not the timer. There was a message from him on my cell phone ("...I was late, I guess I missed you..."). I called and caught him when he was on his way home. He doubled back, and found his way to the Humble Abode in Jersey City.
He's a beautiful boy, and he has a back that was made for whipping. It reddens up beautifully, his skin is alabaster, and he has a few well placed moles.
I started out with flogging. My first approach was my doe skin flogger. It's soft, and very thuddy. Interestingly, he didn't respond very well. My read on him was that he wasn't getting into it, either because the sensation was too intense, or because he was nervous, or whatever. When I would really let him have it, the response was more along the lines of "Ow!" than "Oh yeah!" I switched to my Uber-stingy kangaroo flogger with the many many think tails. That went less well. And so I switched to the standard cow skin, and then stepped up to my braided cat. I told him that this was the 'last stop' before singletails, I was using it because it comes close in some respects. He seemed to be letting himself get into it more. Finally, he said that before the night was over, he wanted to feel the whip at least once.
I explained that I can throw the whip hard or soft. I proposed that he give me three. He would count the three. If he wanted to count onetwothree! that would be fine. But he only needed to count the ones that he wanted to count.
I gave several very soft throws, and we got to 'one.' He wanted to know what a hard one was like. I began cracking the whip just over his back. I connected a few times, and that got us to 'two.' At this point, he had a few really nice marks coming up. He told me that he wanted one really really good one for the last one. I said fine. This brought about what I think was the best moment of the scene. I was throwing the whip--softly, a little harder, a little harder, a little harder--but because it wasn't The Really Really Good One, he wasn't saying anything. Harder, harder, harder... finally, I let him have it. Bullseye. Right between the shoulder blades. 'Three.'
He took more than he thought he could, and that was good. I got the distinct impression--especially during the initial flogging--that he was holding back, not letting himself go, not allowing himself to just drop off into the scene. Fearful of leaving the nest so he could spread his magnificent wings and fly. Like a baby blackbird. The final portion of whipping got him to flap his wings a little, and maybe (I hope) leave the ground, if only for a moment.
Then aftercare. First him. Although he insisted he didn't need all that much, and in truth he didn't. So I opted for Top aftercare, and told him to give me a massage. And he did. That felt good.
We shall meet again.
P.S.: 'Morning, Edge!
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