Beat II

Here's PunchPig's take on yesterday's proceedings...

Met him at starbucks. He is much more beautiful than his pic. Tall, mighty, graceful, incredibly beautiful face. "Smart" -- i.e., verbally curious, talented. He drove me to jersey city. Large one-bedroom, the "living room" of which is a kind of dungeon, big black painted scaffolding with metal rings to tie guys up on (he's into whipping, uses it for that). Singletail whips hanging on the wall. Sweet benign dog (who, during these and presumably all other proceedings in that apt. never budged out of his sleep, despite the -- noise). Told him to strip. (By this time I was in black leather jacket, jock & boxing boots). Put on thigh/wrist restraints, put mouthguard into his mouth. God he looked sweet. Put on SAP gloves (can't remember what the acronym stands for, but they're tight black leather gloves with -- BALL-BEARINGS packed into the knuckle area. Illegal, obviously. He got them for the session). Tapped him in the mouth, in the eye. He smiled. Increased intensity. FAP FAP.... FAP FAP... Ah, how to say the unsayable. This "scene" -- when it works beautifully, which it was doing -- is very like fisting or whipping. You can't go thru it without going deep. He started emitting animal noises, inhuman grunts of passion and terror, trying to lean forward to get away from the increasingly sharp punches, mostly my right to his left eye, me pushing him back (he was kneeling/squatting in front of me), holding his face with my left SAPped hand (hardly sapped) while I busted up him sharply with my right. Face began to transform. The deeper he went into himself, the more he hunched over, like a little boy, crying now, getting to some well of agony deep inside him which now SCREAMED for release. I suppose it didn't last long; I dont know; felt like an eternity. But he became a little boy pleading with me to stop, glad I wasn't stopping. His body trembled at its extremities; he sweated like a pig (oh that sweet muscular trembling body) while I kept up an absolutely unending soft sadistic muthafukka river of verbal riff ('c'mon boy, lemme punch you bloody & stupid, want some more boy? sure you do boy") -- a riff that I felt what turned out to be spot-on inspiration never to vary, never to stop: no matter what HE did (now scrunching away from my punches) I was a kind of constant. The effect was (ultimately) to enable him to trust me: he was powerless, in my hands and fists, going deeper and deeper into surrender, pleading with me to stop, while I never stopped; he both ecstatic and resistant, a perfect pitch, right on the fine line. damn.

Held him as he clutched himself fetally, let him tremble and cry his way back to the surface.

Untied him. Licked his beautiful (now closed) black eye. Kept up the gentle riff, still sadistic ('c'mon boy, u know u want more'), while he said 'no, no, no' -- no that sounded exactly like yes -- but I no longer punched him, just held him, oh that sweaty magnificent body. ended up kissing beating off. He told me he'd never gone to the "place" he went with me then. It was a little boy place.

We took pix. He'll send today.

We went out and ate at a jersey city restaurant (he summed up jersey city as an "irony-free district" which I thought was witty; true, too) (I told him I lived in one of those and oh! yearned for a little irony), attracting notice, god knows. Took the path train back to manhattan, hunks checking him out with alarm & desire. Kissed as we parted.

it was great.

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