Month: July 2005

Game of Inches

Some of my friends are going through a rather hard time in their lives. Life has a habit of throwing curves balls and it never throws them one at a time. It likes to keep hitting you until you feel yourself begin to buckle under the strain of trying to hold things together.

What do you tell a friend who has reached the last, last straw? What do you tell a friend who is juggling so many issues that they can’t sleep at night for all the catching up their mind tries to do? What do you tell a friend who is making a decision that will tear them apart?

You tell them the simple truth.

Life can be fucking hard. For everyone. Yes, most of the time, when things go wrong, it’s because of decisions we’ve made. But nobody is perfect. We all make bad decisions. Sometimes we don’t have any choice – all of the available options are bad. The lucky get a few free passes on the consequences.

The unlucky…don’t.

Don’t obsess about making the one right decision for every issue you face. Focus on issues one at a time. Make the best decision possible with what you know, and move on.

***

Let’s talk about football.

No, seriously.

In the movie ‘Any Given Sunday’, Al Pacino’s plays Tony D’Amato, an NFL coach. His personal life has gone very badly, due in large part to bad decisions. Towards the end of the movie he gives a speech that does a remarkable job of explaining how to get through when things are beyond hard, beyond painful, beyond acceptable.

You get through by fighting for every inch. It’s when you stop fighting, stop caring, that you falter.

Never give up. Never stop trying. Never stop believing it can get better. Because it can. It will. If only for a little while, you can find respite. You can find those moments of joy that make everything else fade to yesterday’s memories, pale and wane in the face of new love, a live concert of your favorite band, the tight pleasure of being bound and taken, or the smile of a friend who is just happy to see you.

[audio:AnyGivenSunday_Inches.mp3]
Al Pacino, Any Given Sunday

“I barely had to touch myself, just thinking of you…”

And so I invoke the Lady – Whereto now, lady risk, wrist taking, listless in swift tender bites? – and offer up my stake in sweetest arrays found in carefully crafted plans.

Imagine this.

A room, a lady, and a place to hold words.

There are days when I read the writings of others and I think the cup doth runneth over. How can this vessel, these bits, these electrical volts and fiber-guided lights, bring to my fingers the promise of temptation and the implements of hell?

This conversation takes place about a week after this conversation. I had spent some time with her a few years earlier, and in the interim she had married. We had plans for lunch in a week or two. Just lunch between old friends.

***

Karin pages: how are you…feeling

D’jaevle pages: ‘I could tell you…that I can feel myself getting hard. ‘

Karin pages: and I could tell you that I was starting to get wet the moment I said something

D’jaevle pages: ‘I could say that thinking of you there…getting wet…God, I want to reach down and feel it. How are you dressed?’.

Karin pages: in jeans, and a sweater tank top…I can just imagine your touch

D’jaevle pages: ‘You could slip off your jeans. You are at home…it wouldn’t be uncomfortable…’.

From afar, Karin slowly unzips her jeans and slides them down over her ass, letting them drop to the floor.

From afar, D’jaevle takes a deep breath…I can feel my cock twitch, pressing against my thigh when I read that. Tell me how it feels to be sitting naked and wet, talking to me while your husband sleeps. It makes you even wetter, being bad with me, doesn’t it?’.

From afar, Karin reaches back up, hooking her fingers under the bands of her panties, slowly sliding them down over her ass as well. “I can feel the shiver emanating from my clit. I can imagine your cock, hard against me…My skin is flush, and I can feel my nipples hard against my shirt. I am running my hand over my clit, imagining your tongue there instead…hungry and wanting…hot and wet – practically feeling your hands holding me.

D’jaevle pages: ‘Is that what you want? To feel my tongue along your pussy, hot and rough as it drags over your clit? To slide one leg over my shoulder as you feel my face pressed tight against your wet heat, licking deep and hard? I want you to feel my teeth grazing your clit, nibbling as you clench your thighs around my face, fucking up against me. Do you want to cum for me, Katie?’

Karin pages: god, yes…and I want you to come for me…to know how much it excites you – god, I’m getting so close…mmm…I’m dripping, and so close to coming…

D’jaevle pages: ‘God….yes…I want to hear you cum, I want you to hear me cum with you, to know my hand is moving faster. Tell me you’ve thought of that day we meet. Tell me what you want when we meet. Finding your bare skin, your naked thighs…fingertips brushing against your pussy. And you’re going to spread your legs for me, aren’t you?’.

Karin pages: I’ve fantasized about it while masturbating…playing with my clit and imagining you there instead. I want to sit at the table, feeling your hand sliding up my thigh, your fingers brushing against me. oh yes, giving you access to anything you want to take…feeling your finger, inching their way closer, imagining them inside me.

D’jaevle pages: ‘You really want this, don’t you? Want it bad…like me. You’re going to be wet before we even sit. I might put my hand on your thigh, to feel your warm skin under my fingers. I might slide my fingers up under your skirt to see if you kept your word on your outfit….’.

Karin pages: just enough to check

From afar, D’jaevle looks into your eyes….think of my fingertips right there, pressing against you. Feel it. Cum. Cum on them for me. Hard….God.

Karin pages: oh god, god. I barely had to touch myself, just thinking of you…

Leonard Cohen

What are some the differences between the written and the spoken word?

The written word is more trusted, deceptively so, being safely static on the page. But once tasted on the tips of our minds it lingers underneath, giving birth to fetishes our conscious self is not ready to accept.

The spoken word is more personal, bringing timbre to the notes in our hearts, voice to the secrets that strangers share. It promises and lies. It strokes our egos and our sex. It commands in whispers, delivers in breathless surrender.

Poets are the worst of us, bleeding their issues all over the page like common gossips. Poets are the best of us, providing glimpses through the looking-glass at the chaotic promise of life. Poets are philosphers, touching reality with deft strokes of their wordwise verse. Poets are saints, prayed to, adored for the way they carry us with them, tugged by verse and by vanity into their dreams and desires.

Leonard Cohen is my kind of poet.

[audio:LeonardCohen_HeardOfAMan.mp3]
Leonard Cohen, intro to Silent All These Years (with Tori Amos)

Slumber

It’s why people cut themselves; some literally, most against those closest to them; anger, joy, desperation – these things slit deep enough to let life slip through like a breeze, too delicate to hold on to for very long.

Awake, awake!

I fear my personal knife is lust, but as vices go, there could be worse. I beggar myself for a hint of skin; the whole is often not as desirable as the small parts that are hidden, locked away – taboo. Forbidden things twist the senses just as well; breaking rules is often an aphrodiasic too subtly addictive to escape.

***

I led the silence with a gesture.
And followed with a kiss.

Holding too tightly lest
I bleed my hunger all over the page

This one hunger is an ache
Like a wordless play
Or a silent choir.
Reaching a slumbering sin somewhere deeper then my heart can touch.

My hand, your neck,
In a tighter embrace then air or blood or skin.
Captured in a fist, in a glance, in a shiver of skin and
I move you, consume the expression on your face with my fingers

Chapter and Verse, Part I

I’ve gone over my first time engaging in ‘hot chat’ (which is BBS slang for tinysex which is MUSH slang for – and I’m using the technical phrasing here – getting nasty on-line), discussed how I learned about sex through pretending to be older then I was (by, oh, fifteen or twenty years), and I’ve even discussed how I got hooked on phone sex.

One interesting ancedote from that period: I remember the exact conversation when I learned in a very personal way the difference between first person and third person narrative. Forget high school English – this is the way to learn about story telling. I was having a conversation with the person to whom I would eventually lose my virginity to (not that great a story and a rather forgettable experience). Until this point I had written all of my prose as such:

“Shadow strokes her hair gently,” or, “Shadow presses her down to the floor.”

After a bit of this, my partner gently suggested, “Why don’t you address these missives to me instead of…her? It is me you want to be doing these to, isn’t it?” Well, yes. Of course. Why hadn’t I realized this before?

I still do use third person at times – it has some very specific uses, such as when I don’t necessarily want to scare the person away by making it too personal – but I learned a very valuable lesson that day: I want to fuck you, not her.

So where did I go from there? Aside from honing my skills and learning some valuable lessons about relationships, two highpoints stand out: actually meeting some of the people I spent hours writing erotic missives to and gaining an understanding of the kinkier aspects of play (D/s, B&D, S&M, and half a dozen other impressive acronyms).

The first highlight – meeting people in person – was tricky at first. Most didn’t know my true age. A few did. Most of the women I was speaking to were in their thirties. I was about seventeen. When I came clean (which only happened because I wanted to meet them), some reacted in shock, some in anger, some in amusement. All of them got over it and eventually agreed to meet me, despite how young I was (I wonder what that says?). I lost my virginity this way. Not all encounters ended in sex, but enough did that I realized something important. Real life sex was a bit of a disappointment.

Bad and mediocre sex didn’t even come close to what I could experience with words, voice, and imagination. And while some of the experiences were fun and exciting, none of them were great. With this understanding came another important realization – it wasn’t the medium (real life vs. virtual) that was at fault. It was the fact that in a world of words, I had a lot more control in how things would work out. I needed to learn how to make this work in reality.

In time, this came. And with it came the true rush of fulfilling expectations and enjoying the sins of the flesh. But it came with me in control. While some of my most blissful moments have come when I flirted with relaxing control with someone I trusted, I have yet to abandon myself completely to someone else’s vision and promise of pleasure. There are times I will think about this and feel something akin to wistful regret…but I have long accepted it as part of how I live my life today. Some day perhaps.

But not yet.

The Allegory of the Cave

Understanding people’s motivations is important to me. In the context of D/s, it is perhaps *the* most important thing. The thing is, us humans are a funny bunch. We’re both much simpler and much more complex then we often assume.

Let us start with why we are so complex and go with the following premise: most people don’t fully understand why they come to the decisions they do. Even those who spend time in self-reflection have difficulty separating the significant threads of desire from the constant barrage of wants and needs that we experience. And it is never a single thread. Our decisions are born in a cauldron of animal instinct, upbringing, institutionalized thought-patterns, education, experience, peer pressure, and pure chance.

Percentages of truth. There is no answer we give on why we do something that can cover the whole truth. If someone asks you why you ate at Happy Fortune’s, the Chinese take-out place down the street, you may answer:

1) Because you like Americanized Chinese food.
2) Because they make a mean fried rice dish.
3) Because it’s right down the street.
4) Because one of the girls working there is cute.
5) Because you’re too lazy to make your own dinner and it’s convenient.

…and have each of these answer be as true as the rest. If we are attempting to answer the question as honest as possible, we decide, internally and most often without thinking about it, which answer is the most true – the fact that was most influential in coming to our decision – and give that as the reason. More often then not, we’re not concerned with being that honest, so we will eliminate some of the possibilities – being lazy, liking Americanized Chinese food, ect – and whatever answer is left, that we feel most comfortable admitting, we give. Does this make the answer a lie? No. It is a truth. It’s just not the whole truth.

I demand a lot from my submissives. And one of those things is the whole truth. Which is tricky – because more often then not, they don’t know themselves all the reasons they have for making a decision. The human subconscious is quite good at hiding the way we tick. But in forcing ourselves to evaluate the presiding motives behind our decisions, we learn a great deal about how the human mind works – and not all of what we learn is particularly pleasant.

But why is this perhaps the most important tool for me in the context of D/s? Because by delving into these motivations with a specific person…I gain insight in how to bring their hungers and needs closer to the surface. And once you have mastered this…well, I can tell you that if someone were able to understand me at that level, even I would have difficulty resisting.

“Some kisses are expensive.”

I adore breasts whose curves promise heaven. Large, small, medium. A handful, a mouthful, a facefull. Breasts with small, dark, large and light nipples. I love them all. But what is it about them that captures me so?

It is the hints they give us as cleavage. A study of lines that pulls the eye downward. They are very hard to hide – they make their presence known through layers of clothing. They are femininity and sensuality. They are a gateway to pleasure. They are a place to rest and a place to get lost in. They are mother, wife, and lover.

In my thoughts, one favored idea is that of tying her up and teasing her breasts until she cannot bear it anymore – and then pushing past. Keeping her captive and seeing just how closely tied are the lines between nipples and clit. Holding her down and nuzzling, licking, sucking, biting, tasting until her nipples ache and her body is taunt with unrelieved tension.

***

D’jaevle pages, “So what do you want for Christmas?”

Isolde pages, “Hmmms…a kiss?

D’jaevle presses in closer, his body warm as he slips behind you, drawing your hair aside, “Some kisses are expensive.”

Isolde pages, “Uh oh. I wasn’t aware of that…” Isolde leans back into you, closing her eyes. “Hmmm…so do you think I’d be able to afford one?”

D’jaevle runs his lips slowly over the curve of your throat, tasting your skin and the subtle heat underneath it. He chuckles softly, his teeth finding a place at the edge of your neck, grazing your skin. “How much can you pay?”

Isolde whimpers, wriggling back against you, reaching back to touch the sides of your thighs, “For one of yours? Any price…”

D’jaevle chuckles softly, his tongue teasing the edge of your ear, tracing it slowly. Hands rest on your waist, drawing you back against his knee. “You say that, but…”

Isolde subtly rubs herself back on your knee, turning your head, her lips almost against your cheek, “But what?”

D’jaevle runs a finger down the side of your neck, following it with small burning kisses that bring the warmth of your skin to the surface, “What if I were to say the price was to hear your ragged breath while I pushed you over the edge?”

Isolde whimpers, “Ooo…you play hardball”

D’jaevle wraps his other hand around you, pressing you back, so that you feel him along your back, a warm presence. “I know of only one way to play.”

Isolde places her hands over yours, running her fingertips over each of your fingers. She presses her lips to your cheek, then whispers, “Such a naughty boy.”

D’jaevle mmmms, his fingers finding their way under your shirt to press against your bare stomache, fingers spread, “Are you still willing to pay any price…for a kiss?”

Isolde whimpers and nods softly. “You drive a hard bargain…but when the timing is right, I think I might just give in.”

D’jaevle speaks softly, “We shall see, M’lady…” and he turns, one hand on the back of your neck, drawing your head back slightly so that when his lips meet yours, your looking up at him; lips part, you taste a hint of cloves and his mouth moves to yours.

Isolde closes her eyes, the softest moan of relief slips between her lips into yours as our mouths hungrily seal.

D’jaevle shares with you his hunger and burning – tongue along yours, pressing slowly, fingers digging into your lower back, feeling your bare skin. He finally draws back, his eyes finding yours before his fingers slip your shirt up and over your head, revealing more skin for his eyes. You can feel his gaze like a touch as it traces your breasts.

Isolde’s arms slip around you, hands curiously wandering over your sides, up your back, tongue rolling around yours lazily as she shift softly, breasts rubbing against your chest. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising, her bared skin still warm despite the cold outside. A small smile spreads across her lips, “Do you like the new bra?”

D’jaevle brings one hand to your shoulder, drawing it slowly to the side, letting it slip across your skin, “Describe it to me.”

Isolde shudders a bit from your light touches. “Amethyst color…lower half of the cups are smooth satin, the top halves lacy…just can barely make out the top of my nipples…plunges in front…lickable amount of cleavage revealed

D’jaevle speaks, his breath tickling your chest as he lowers his head, “I like…” Moist lips find the edge and begin to trace their way down the inside curve of one breast to the edge of your bra, “likable cleavage…”

Isolde lightly tangles her fingers into the back of your hair, cupping your head as your lips spread their warmth across her silky skin. She breathes slowly, deeply, the curve of her breast rising into your face as she inhales.

D’jaevle runs his fingers along your back, finding the catch and loosening it with deft fingers. His mouth slips lower, tracing each inch as more skin is revealed. Finally he pauses, lips brushing the tip of one nipple, and then circling it…

Isolde sighs softly as your lips greet her plumped nipple, her fingers curling into the back of your head. She slips the strap off her arm, then cups her fingers under her full breast, lifting it into your lips.

D’jaevle accepts it as an offering, lips parting around the edges to suckle slowly, taking his time to tease the tip with gentle but persistent licks, then along the side as his mouth draws it deeper, lips pressed against your silken skin.

Isolde closes her eyes as her head rolls back, savoring the pleasure of your lips on her…relieving her ache. She releases her breast, letting it hang softly under its own weight…her hand slips over your shoulder, rubbing your skin while pulling you in closer.

D’jaevle moves to the other nipple, flicking it lightly with the tip of tongue before nibbling, teeth grazing the edges, hungry.

Isolde’s fingertips press into the back of your head, her nails softly scratching along your scalp. The hand on your back slips back over your shoulder, down the front of your shirt…her thumb finds your nipple and circles it roughly.

D’jaevle pauses, her ministrations drawing a bite sharper then intended as he shivers, then leaves your breast wet as he presses his face momentarily between each breast, lost in your heat and scent.

Isolde draws her shoulders together, her elbows pressing the side swells of her breasts, burying you in vanilla scented cleavage.

D’jaevle gasps, his tongue finding a place against your skin as he licks his way back up your chest to your neck, face buried there as his own fingers press lower, into the back of your thighs.

Isolde swivels her hips, backing into your fingertips, so eager for your touch. She cups the nape of your neck, stroking the skin beneath your hair as she feels your hot breaths on her neck.

D’jaevle curls his fingers along the back of your thighs, lifting you slightly as he pulls you close, thigh wedged between yours, “If I had you in my room right now…”

Isolde closes her thighs against yours, whimpering softly as she discovers how wet she is…sure the dampness might even be detectable to your thigh, “Yes? If you had me in your room right now…what?”

D’jaevle slowly works his thigh even deeper, rubbing rhythmically back and forth, his body hard as he holds you against it, “I would take you. Right here, right now.” He grinds a bit harder, his fingers finding your nipples, rolling them along the tips, “I would fuck you. I would make you suffer pleasure.”

Isolde moans, her whole body tensing at the sound of your words. She rocks over your thigh, her panties soaked through now, wincing at the unexpected effects of your words…softly whispering, “Suffer? How cruel…” Her fingers grasp your hair in the back, gathering and tugging it.

D’jaevle drags fingernails down your breasts, catching nipples harshly as they go. His head lowers to your lips, taking a kiss, and another, “I can be very cruel.””

Isolde growls, voice low and guttural, “Beast.”

D’jaevle pants hard against your neck and then tears himself back, his eyes on yours as he gathers his voice, “And now…I must go…I do hope next time…my price will fit your timing.”

Isolde grins against her will, “Damn you.”

D’jaevle allows himself a small smile, his hardness pressed tight against your thigh through the clothing. “Quite likely, yes.”

Isolde sharply raises her thigh against you, her eyes fixed onto yours. “Sweet Dreams, Beast.”

Time for Cruelty (Second and Third Rules in the Tao of Steve)

For completions sake, here are the other two rules in the Tao of Steve. Before reading this, I strongly encourage you to take a look at the thoughtful comments left in the previous post.

Let me start with these often uttered words: “Nice guys finish last, assholes get the women.” Like most well-used phrases there is some truth to it, but the reality is much more complex. An idea I think that holds more weight is this: Nice guys that have no problems meeting women are those that understand why the not-so nice guys can be so attractive.

When I am taking someone down, I am not being nice.

When I tie someone to my bed, I am not being accommodating.

When I am forcing them to undress in front of me, I am not being fair.

When I making someone beg, I am not being considerate.

When I am whipping or spanking them, I am not being gentle.

This does not mean I am not taking into account how comfortable they are. It does not mean that I am ignoring their well-being. And it does not stop me from being a gentleman.

What it does mean is that I understand that there is a time and place for cruelty.

***

Rule Two: Do Something Excellent in her Presence.

Believe it or not, this is actually quite easy. Here are few good ways for a man to be Excellent:

– Be funny.

– Be a gentleman. Know what wine goes with each meal. Stand when she leaves the table. Pull her chair out for her.

– Be attentive. Look into her eyes. Not in that eerie ‘why is he staring at me’ way, but in a fashion that makes it clear that she has all of your attention. The difference between the two is in the timing.

– Be intelligent. Articulate your thoughts in a clear and well-defined manner. But be careful here – there is a thin line between cleverness and arrogance. Witty is hot. Twitty is not.

– Fix her car.

[audio:TaoOfSteve_SecondRule.mp3]
Dex, Second Rule in Tao of Steve

***

Rule Three: Retreat

This harkens back to the first rule. Control your desire. Make her come to you – don’t go to her.

[audio:TaoOfSteve_ThirdRule.mp3]
Dex, Third Rule in Tao of Steve

Eliminating Desire (First Rule in the Tao of Steve)

The first step in attaining a state of irresistablity is to eliminate desire.

Actually, you don’t really have to eliminate desire – you just have to control it. This is an important distinction. While the actual results are often the same – ensnaring your prey – actually eliminating desire has two distinct downsides. The entire process becomes a lot less fun. And you lose your edge – that thin sliver of burning motivation that makes you bold and confident.

So why is this important? The clip below describes the process in a most amusing manner. But in summary: Nothing is less attractive as desperation. Nothing is more attractive as that which is hard to attain.

By the way – gender doesn’t have a lot to do with the general principle behind this idea; in fact, most thoughts along these lines can be applied to both sexes. I’m not saying that there aren’t differences between how males and females think – but there are some fundamentals in human instinct that ignore age, gender, and culture lines.

[audio:TaoOfSteve_FirstRule.mp3]
Dex, First Rule in the Tao of Steve

D

Staying with poetry, here are some words of mine that I can’t quite get out of my head. Particularly the last four lines. Depraved. Raunchy. Dirty. Filthy. All words that make one side of us recoil and the other side salivate. Everything is relative, of course. For some, dirty means saying the word ‘fuck’ while making love. For others, dirty means going at it on the restroom floor of a fast food joint. And then there are those who take it to a whole different level.

Doesn’t matter. We all know what it means to be depraved. To be slutty.

To be free.

***

Wrapped in binds of abstinence,
And wept into an ashen grave,
I lay to rest the word ‘depraved’.

But starved of hunger, guilt, and fear,
Inner demons slept each tear.
To dream of times before.

When teeth were sharp and wolves would play
Flesh a feast, each curve was prey,
And lesser words to inner gods would pray
What happened to the word depraved?

Hunger in the baser side,
Left too long, too long denied.
I think it seeps between inside.
Why now?

So I let loose the wolf and beast
Gave leave to hunt the worst and least.
Let free the bounds, though leather frayed
And lived again the word depraved