I'm going down, down, down, down... (Bruce Springsteen)

I notice a trend, and I gotta ask myself, what's up with that?

The trend? On Tuesday I'm meeting up with Roman Cool. He's gonna tie me up, and it's gonna hurt. Current President informs me that a certain SF-based World Renowned Whipsman read my article in GMSMA's Newslink, loved it, and wants a date. And I say, "Hell, yes." I get all hot and bothered discussing an upcoming GMSMA program on face punching, and send a 'would-you-could-you-will-you' email to the presenter. For my trip out to Chicago next week, I reached out to a guy I know in Toledo who plays with knives (Note to Uninitiated: This is different from 'running with scissors,' which you should never do. I'm hoping that this Dreamboat will spill some of my blood. And whilst visiting Chicago, I may very well be spending some time with a dog training Top I've been in touch with these past many months.

You get my drift? Is Singletails being transformed into "Diary of a Pain Pig Bottom Boy?"

I don't think so. Here's why.

Last year, at the GMSMA Board Retreat in July, I had a conversation with two fellow Board members about Inferno. One said that a big reason he looks forward to Inferno was a chance to bottom. Otherwise, he's exclusively a Top, and flies all over the country doing presentations about his particular skills and predilections. "Nah," I said, "Not for me. I'm a lousy bottom. I don't enjoy it. I get all kinds of childish and manipulative and angry. I do my best to undermine what the Top is trying to do."

And, largely, I was speaking the truth.

And then, ARt whipped me. Again, I did this as a 'learning experience.' And it was great. One of the peak experiences of my life. And then in December, while I was visiting Seattle, I spent a night in Aubrey Sparks' cage. And it was amazing. And at MAL this year, I spent some time in the custody and control of Sweetheart Sir. Which had its moments, too.

The life lesson learned was, I can do it.

But the question still remains, why do I seem to be seeking this out lately?

Now, I'm not going out and flagging right. (Not that there's anywhere to go in NYC lately where that would be understood.) But I am being open to... okay, seeking out scenes where I go down. Where I'm the bottom.

I'm continuing to Top. While I'm in Chicago, I am really really hoping that I'll be able to spend some time working on the back of my host, an amazing man who had my cock dripping with desire from the minute I laid eyes on him. I had a wonderful time with Blackbird, and I'm looking forward to a repeat. There are several men who read my Newslink piece and who want a taste of what I describe that I'm looking forward to meeting with. And I'm continuing to trawl the waters of the internet for whipping bottoms.

Here's what I think this is about. My life is majorly in transition with the move to Pennsylvania. It's my intention to become a writer, but I'm constantly backtracking from this. Last night, while walking my dog, a thought popped into my head: "The worst thing that could happen is that I write this book, send it to first one publisher, then another, then another, then another... and get rejected. That would devastate me." And it would. A few years after I was graduated from college, I sent a portfolio of my poetry to the M.F.A. in Creative Writing program at Temple University. I was rejected. I stopped writing poetry right then and there. I enjoy writing (as must be evident to Singletails readers... blah blah blah blah blah. If there was an award given for most prolific blog, I think Singletails would be in the running), and I would hate like hell to give it up. And, like Odysseus going to Hades and visiting with the dead and buried souls he finds there, I'm re-entering a relationship with my parents, a realm filled with shadows and demons I fled long ago.

I'm afraid. I'm very afraid.

I don't admit this. I put on a brave face. "Yeah, everything's great. Bucks County is beautiful. I've been thinking of getting out of NYC for the past few years. I'll still be able to get back to the city as much as I need to. There's a front yard for a garden and a back yard for my dog."

And all this is true, but I'm afraid.

I need strength. I need to be strong. I need to find strength within myself.

That's what I'm looking for. I'm thinking of the great piece that Diabolique wrote in Newslink on his Porcupine experience. Qu'est que c'est Porcupine? Diabolique was restrained between two poles of a jungle gym at his wrists. The Top threw a fishnet over his head. The kind used to catch bait. Then, the Top proceeded to place clothespins on all those sensitive parts of Diabolique's body, positioned in such a way so that each one pinched some fibers of the fishnet along with Diabolique's flesh. When all of the clothespins ((as in, hundreds of them) were in place, the Top gave a yank, and off came all the clothespins. Do this with a piece of string and a few--say maybe ten--clothespins. Yow! That smarts, huh? Now imagine it all over your body. Diabolique describes the experience as transcendent. I've heard him describe Porcupine several times, and I've read over his account in Newslink more times than I can count.

There's a subtext that perhaps Diabolique himself isn't aware of. There's a sense of "Holy Fucking Shit Look What I Did!" And this is entirely valid. And after ARt whipped me, when I was whipping off my shirt at the least provocation, I had the same thrill. "Holy Fucking Shit Look What I Did."

Therein is one of the great paradoxes of S/M: Being a Top is very humbling ("What is there in me--just a guy--that is capable of bringing about this response), and being a bottom is very empowering ("Holy Fucking Shit Look What I Did.")

Being a Top is humbling; being a bottom is empowering.

And now, I need power.

Tie me up and make it hurt, so that I'm crying from the pain. Beat my face till it's bloody and bruised. Strip away my humanity and reduce me to my animal self. Whip my back until I'm screaming. Render me powerless, and carve into me with knives. Because I'm in your strong and capable hands, I'll emerge intact. And although I'm grateful for your ministrations that will help me on that journey, ultimatley it's me making the journey, and getting me through that Dark Night of the Soul. I will dig deep within myself to find the resources to sustain me. And once I find those sacred springs, I'll know the way back there always.

So then, let the world scorn my writing as derivative drivvel, let my Father tell me that I'm a disappointment to him, let me end up bussing tables in some New Hope tourist restaurant.

It won't matter. I'll know who I am and what I'm capable of. Because holy fucking shit, look what I did.

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