Full Circle

Quite the day. This morning, I was perusing Craigslist and Idealist.org looking for jobs. Nada. At least, not much going on in the non-profit realm. Then, I noticed under on craigslist a category for writers and decided to take a look. For sure it's a mixed bag. But here were lots of people willing to pay other people (like me, for instance) money to write things. Huh.

So I had this thought. I should start writing and send things in, and perhaps generate some income. I want to be a writer, don't I? And it's not like anyone is going to come and knock on my door with a blank looseleaf binder and a stack of dead presidents. So I got into this mode of I'll-write-this-and-this-and-this. And then it all dissolved, and I thought, I'm barely holding my act together; I'm not gonna do any of that.

Then I was off to my therapist. I shared these thoughts with here, and then went on to talk about discipline. I guess I should call that Discipline. My Dad still gets inquiries from the Marine Corps asking if I'm still interested. While I was in high school, I seriously considered enlisting. My thought was that the Big Thing that I lacked, and that possibly the Marines would be able to provide me with, was Discipline. I've never been able to do that. Well, not entirely true. I've gone through periods in my life. Getting up early, fixing breakfast, getting to work, getting to bed early. But nothing I could sustain. I work so much better on an assignment basis. "Have this done by 5pm on Thursday." That works well for me. But I've never been able to impose that on myself.

In the month that I've not been working, I've pretty much been spinning wheels. I haven't even been able to get it together to get into the City before the banks close so I could make a deposit for GMSMA. I had the Baron do that while I was in Chicago. I would look at the clock, and it was 1:30, so if I was going to get there, I had an hour to get myself together, and I would think, "Well, I can do it tomorrow." Too much time and too many options are the enemy. I decided I would commit myself to writing fifty pages of my book per week. That would have me done with the book by the end of June. Laudible, no?

After therapy, I headed to the Factory Cafe to get something to eat and ran into UnFortunate. I described to him where I was at and he could relate. Then there were back-to-back meetings. First, Folsom Street East planning committee, and then Leather Pride Night. Both went well, and the evening was capped with spending time with Diabolique. That was great. I've been missing him.

I told him about my quandry, and my wish for discipline. He had some rather unexpected advice: surrender. Just let it happen. Enjoy it. You know you'll be alright in the end. Just let it happen. Something will happen and then you'll be able to take up the wheel again. Have some fun and sit back and make the most of the ride in the meantime.

Huh. Which sort of had the opposite effect. I only enjoy the ride when I'm the one that's driving. So I'll see about doing some of that.

And another change. In the wake of IML, I was sort of feeling like RoboTop. All these requests for playdates that I've been fielding. It was starting to feel like I was running a Chinese take-out restaurant. "What'll it be? Whipping? Sure. Fists? Can do. Bondage? You got it. That'll be twenty minutes."

And then I got email from basanos. I shared with him this vision I had, although it was largely taking shape as I wrote it. In part, it's borrowed from Hard Master, the guy from Sydney with the amazing website.

Anyway...

I want us to go out into the wilderness together. Somewhere wild. Somewhere miles from anyone. There, in the middle of the mountains or the woods or the desert or wherever, we'll find The Place. The Place will have some amazing view. Perhaps a waterfall. I will bind him with his arms akimbo, facing the waterfall. For a while, I'll just observe, seeing the sunlight play on his back, watching how his chest expands as he breathes deep, preparing himself for what's coming.

No preparatory flogging. I start in with the whip. First, establishing my distance, starting far back, and slowly slowly slowly moving closer until I'm connecting with the skin of his back. At first I'll throw gently, but I'll build. Soon, he'll be howling. Feral. Perhaps some coyote will hear and answer. That would be perfect. His back reddens. Welts appear. Then I'll see the first thin trickle of blood. I'll keep going. No one around but the two of us, and he has given his power over to me. It will end when I am done. He's mine.

I want to whip away everything superfluous. Past and future. Thoughts. Fear. Identity. Hope. Pain. Body. I want him to disappear into the song he's singing. The singer becomes the song. Essence. Pure. Clear. Beautiful. So we can be alone, not just in that out of the way place, but alone in the Cosmos. Only he and me. And we are fused, he and I. We become one. And we are the only thing that is.

And then I'm done. I bring cool water to his lips. I undo his bonds. We're silent. As if we're under a vow. Because there's really nothing that can be said. We know.

We build a fire. We make dinner. We sit side by side watching the fire. The fire dies. We watch the stars until we fall asleep.

That's how I want it to be.

And one day, I swear, it will be that way with basanos and I. I'll make that happen.

In the meantime, I can have apprehensions of that purity and perfection. With basanos. With other men.

S/M has been defined as the quest for excellence in ourselves and others. That's what it's all about.

I'm going to bed now. Tomorrow I gird up my loins and get back to the business of questing for excellence.

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