2001-01-31 - 14:19:53
I Like It Rough, I Like It Soft, I Like It Real

I Like It Rough, I Like It Soft, I Like It Real

Submitting To Memory

Joey hadn't heard my S&M story before; in mentioning to him, Matt and Trevor that Kentaro had expressed tendencies in that direction, I related my first erotic experience along those lines. Joey urged me to share it, which I intended to do eventually, and so here you all go:

Wednesday, 1 April 1998

A blacker sort of magic last night at the Bijou where I experienced my first bonafide S&M scene. Unawares, I hooked up in the darkroom with this tall good-looking guy and he began spewing porno dialogue at me as I played with his massive chest. I didn't like the porno lines, as per usual, and considered walking away after he said "Yeah, you like that, doncha?" for the third time, relentless in his demand that I each time verbally respond in the affirmative.

What was most curious was that while I disliked the chat, I was quite into what he did to me. He pinched my nipples harder than I've ever experienced before, all the while muttering intensely and excitedly, "Take it! Take it!" when I would flinch.

I did take it. And beyond the usual threshold of pain (I have never liked rough tit play) I did find an unexpected excitement.

He roughly undid my clothes and soon was fingering my asshole violently. Prying me open: it really hurt and I voiced my need for him to go easy. He hugged me and talked soothingly and left only one finger (instead of the three that were pulling me open so roughly) and that felt really good.

He had me chew on his large nipples and suck his dick. He would occasionally kiss me briefly but passionately in between barking his demands.

A black or maybe Indian guy wandered up to us in the corner of the darkroom and began caressing my chest and dick. My master ordered me to chew on this guy's nipples and then suck him off. I did. He had a beautiful big dick. Master asked him if he liked it, if he liked me. The guy was very enthusiastic. Master ordered me to take his load. I said I wouldn't swallow it. Master agreed. As I bent over and sucked the guy I was backed right up against Master, his dick prodding my asshole. I considered that he could easily fuck me without my consent, that I could be raped. Didn't really scare me.

Got the other guy off, he thanked us both politely and left.

Alone again, Master kept the talk going non-stop. I had to call him Sir, he said. He worked my nipples some more, prodded my asshole again, had me chew his tits and suck him. Then he started swatting my balls forcefully with 3 upturned fingers. I really flinched at this. "Take it!" he commanded. I took it. What a thrill. Less pleasurable was when he began to pull on and squeeze my balls. This was almost more than I could bear, and I spoke up and said I had to be able to say no.

Master said that "no" was a yellow light and I had to really mean "no". He asked if I had done this before and I said no. He was quite surprised, said I was really good for my first time. Asked if I wanted to stop, I said no. We continued. I continued to find the tugging and clamping on my balls excruciating. When I would flinch he would hold me tight and murmur "I'll take care of you, boy" in my ear and kiss me a couple times. I found this incredibly soothing and disturbing. There was a voice in my head saying this dynamic wasn't very healthy. I remembered what I'd read about the cycle of abuse and noted that it was all happening right here. But still, as fantasy, it was compelling.

Funny that he didn't spank my butt. I think I would have liked that.

Then there were a few other guys in the darkroom, doing their own thing. Master decided I should beg for something or other (can't remember what) and this is where I reached my limit. I was not about to beg him for anything, especially with these other guys there! Plus his continual torture of my testicles was by this point unbearable.

I said I needed to stop. He stopped immediately, began to do up his clothes. Master said he would like to "break" me. I asked him what that meant. He exited the darkroom without answering.

Within 5 minutes I hooked up with a cute Brazilian looking boy with dyed blonde short hair. His hair looked dumb but he had a beautiful brown body. (I'd seen his nice big dick flopping out of his jeans minutes earlier in the darkroom as I was doing up my clothes.) So I had a go at him in the washroom stall where Cliff and I made out, relieved to be back in my conventional sexual mode. He politely asked me not to chew on him so hard and so I did go more easy. But not easy enough. He kept repeating his need for me to be more gentle with my teeth and I became bewildered, thinking I was being gentle. Finally he stopped our scene, began doing back up his clothes. He was very polite and friendly as he explained he just wasn't into sex that rough. I was surprised. I apologized. He said there was no need to apologize. Then he said "You taste great, by the way" (referring to kissing me) and left.

Minutes later I was going at it with a semi-cute bespectacled guy in the new darkroom. I was basically just in it for a quick orgasm so I could go home. We kissed, sucked and jerked each other off until he embarassedly said he could not come because there were others in the room. So that ended.

Once again, minutes later I hooked up with one of the most beautiful men there, a luscious blonde guy who was Frank, German, been in Toronto 3 years. Age: 27. Hot! We did the whole nine yards in a locked cubicle. It was yummy and we both shot our loads all over each other. He was friendly and excited by me. Nice long parting embrace & post-coital chat as we did our clothes up in the cubicle and he darted out of there immediately.

I left too, satiated. There was my rite of spring.

Since telling this story to the boys the night of my birthday, the deep guttural aggressive enunciation "Take it!" has become our stock phrase.

Quilling Me, Not Softly

Last night Matt, Trevor, Kentaro and I went to see "Quills", the movie about the Marquis de Sade. Brilliant! A truer, more potent version of "Chocolat". Gruesome, spell-binding, polymorphously perverse. The late 18th-century writer, de Sade, imprisoned in a lunatic asylum for his pornographic, sexually-violent writings, cannot stop scribbling his stories. And he too has a heart; he too can fall in love.

I am not some big S&M queen, top or bottom; defining one's sexuality along those lines would be as silly, methinks, as any other rigidity. But as the above story shows, I have tasted some of the magic these dark fantasies cast, and am creatively disturbed by what it all might mean.

The accoutrements leave me cold: the leather, the butch words (if cliched), the toys. But there is something else--some animalistic rage--that can leak out; a fantasy-scorch, a shedding flame. Forgetting or remembering? Crossing over?

Necessary Words, Saliva and Shapeshifting

Home on my couch by candelight, my dick said to jump Kentaro. Another voice said, talk first. Three is a magic number. Lunging at him for the third time without a clarifying conversation would be so wrong.

I said I wanted to talk. Kentaro apologized for how poor a conversationalist he is. The language barrier. I said nonsense. He heard that. How I enjoy our talks. Then we made a doosey of a one.

I reiterated my standard but true line, spelled out at our first coffee date: I'm enjoying him, getting to know, having sex with. He's only in town another few months and besides I'm not usually the marrying kind. Friendship friendship friendship. Was that okay?

"I'm not used to talking like this. This is good for me," he said. Temporary clarities emerged. He was used to the polygamous thing, liked what was happening, felt a little jealous and insecure, liked my candor, saw a space for ongoingness without the white picket fence.

Soothing to tongues and ears. A connect. But hey, I said to myself, you've not challenged yourself yet with any of your words. So I said listen, there's more. I got out of the habit of building anything with anybody through sex, back then. So it's scarey for me eh? I was nervous last time, a second time, what it would mean. It's a stretch, this thing between us, an opportunity.

So glad I pushed more words out into the candlelight. I watched his brown eyes suck on them. There was more of me there then.

And more of me there in bed as I sucked his tongue dry, grabbed hold of his wrist and crooked his arm around his head. Limb-locked isosceles, he was trapped, powerless to evade my sadistic chewing sucking lick of his lips and cheek and nipple and armpit. Resistance was futile and only part of his story but he needed to try.

As I splayed his legs into a silky taut line of flesh. As my hands forced this calisthenic polygon from him, as my tongue bisected his shapely shape. As his angles were so right.

As I became the hands tracing caressing squeezing smacking bouncing off his lush circles.

I was--we were--an inexhaustible geometry. Shapes and possibilities and points of intersection. And there was more of us there, drawing on and with.

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