Self inflicted pain is a taboo area for many, for some it’s a coping strategy to deal with a loss of control or perhaps mental health. Marie Louise transforms the expression of pain into an artform. My initial comments on this post still hold true.
Like a great artist, you evoke all sorts of feelings and ideas. you make me sqirm when I see the stamples embeded in your skin. you make me feel calm when I see the almost mathematical distribution of leaves across your collarbone. you evoke empathy when I see the redness of your distressed skin.
Previous: Week of Erotic Art | Next: Tuesday Rope “I would very much appreciate an artistic photo of a body part: Monday collarbone.” I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the collarbone. I had never thought of specifically photographing that detail and was a bit clueless as to what props I could use. I…Monday Collarbone — MLSlavePuppet
Let me introduce myself dear Diary, I am an anti-journaler. I hate making notes, keeping track of events and to summarise my day for posterity. What is behind this intense aversion to the journaling of my life? Off hand I can’t say that I have the answer to that question.
Yes, I have a notebook to keep track of salient points of information, takeaway tasks for work, to be digested again very soon, a reminder of tasks to be performed and then to be discarded to the recycling bin.
Writing is something that I have come to enjoy rather late in life, not that the ideas or inspiration have never been there, it’s the capturing of these in writing. Writing has become an outlet. “Is your blog not a diary or sorts?” you might ask. Not not in my mind. It is more like a journal, a scratchpad, the doodling of my mind. Something I can discard when I am done. If other’s rifle through my recycling and enjoy what I have put to words or captured in an image then that is a little added bonus.
Today has been kinda frustrating, it’s been quiet, relatively productive, yet I have carried deep urges that I don’t seem to be able to purge. It was suggested to write my feelings down. So let’s pretend dear Diary that you and I are old acquaintances and today we are uniting for our daily catch up.
Today has been rather frustrating, scratch that, hugely frustrating. I woke 10 minutes before my alarm, I was not really worried as such but there were a few things on my mind, in particular the work deadline and personal admin one I told you about yesterday. Oh and by the way, I made good progress on the work deadline today. For some reason when I woke there was something else which did not strike me immediately. I checked my email and messages, nothing to immediately respond to. I stretched, rubbed my eyes as the bed covers shifted over my body. Then it struck me ….oh man I feel so hard, not that that’s a complete surprise, but jeez, I am so horny too.
This was not Mr Hyde taking over my body so that he could play, no this was me overcome by lust. Lots of it. Trying to shake it off, I got up to have a shower and thinking a quick wank should sort this out. But no, hey, I always have to tick the difficult box. Taking off my pants, I recall a conversation about a BS & C, inspect myself and think that I could do with a little tidying up. So out with the clippers and job done. In the shower, wank, out and dressed.
Well dear Diary, the trimed sensation and feeling of my ballsack pretty much reawakened my arousal from earlier, and in fact, it returned with a vengeance. To make matters worse there was no discreet way or other to do anything about it. I just had to suck it up and get on with my day.
I am not sure whether my confessions to you will help dear diary, but here we are at the end of the day. Touch wood (or perhaps not in this case) , I might find some other way to relieve myself of this urge. So today, I did some work stuff, some family stuff, some other stuff but all that really stands out is the frustration carried throughout this day.
Same time tomorrow dear Diary, good night.
Your image hidden from my mind, your face invisible, the touch of your skin absent, yet my loins burn for you.
I feel the tug of your soul and the heat of your desire coursing through my body and my loins burn for you.
I surrender to my need with urgent strokes until the lust explodes, still my loins burn for you.
My whole being engulfed in this eternal inferno which all began because my loins burn for you.
I’ve read a few posts on erotic photography recently and how this picture falls into your definition of erotic art is for you to tell.
I enjoy the pictures of others far more frequently than any opportunities I get to take pictures myself.
Although there’s definitely a place in my appreciation for explicit sensual images, however I especially like when there is a story around the image and one that requires my imagination or personal fantasies to complete the experience.
I’m more and more wanting to capture an erotic moment by taking pictures of someone else and then I think what about a session taking pictures of each other. Imagine that, a story in pictures of desire and fantasy.
So until that opportunity arises, I will continue to appreciate the endeavours of others, captured and taken along in their stories, firing my imagination and creating the perfect end in my mind.
If control is challenged for someone who is dominant then that is hard. It is life and it can come from outside factors a lot. It can affect the way that the person feels as it is hard to feel that you are in control when other people’s behaviour and actions are forcing you to change your plans on their terms. If you have a sub then they are a sure thing. They are going to put you first and do what you want to do as they want that direction and guidance so I think that using them to do that can be a significant way of re-calibrating and feeling like you are back in control.
These words are a direct quote from a good friend sharing their wisdom with me. Reading this was a lightbulb moment in my life.
Increasingly over the past few years there are various situations which have left me feeling out of control. I discounted these situations by saying to myself , “You’re easy going, just relax and go with the flow”. The truth is that by going with the flow, the currents and tides were bashing me against the rocks, leaving me battered and bruised.
I occasionally find myself in a conversation where I’m asked how I became to identify as a Dominant person and when in my life did I become aware of this. After really listening to the words of my friend, it dawned on me that there was a correlation between my awaking as a Dom and my feeling of loss of control in my life.
On reflection on the early part of adult life, I largely felt in control and in fact I would seek out situations to deliberately challenge control. This was mainly through extreme sports and some very technical and challenging professional projects. When I needed a break, I could step back and always on my own terms.
As my life gained more and more responsibility, this dynamic in my life evolved. In some ways I began to feel like a passenger in my life more than an active participant. This was true both in my personal life and in my professional one.
I discovered blogging quite by accident, early attempts to publish professional thoughts and ideas was quickly taken over by an awakening in BDSM. The Dom in me started to flex his muscles and assert control. The power exchange I had engaged with my early real life , I unbeknownst rediscovered in the dynamic of D/s.
I find that in my life when there is something I can’t explain and that does not fall into my concept of faith, it is rejected. In some ways when one receives a diagnosis for a medical condition, after any potential shock they receive a level of comfort that comes with knowledge, even when there is no treatment required.
For me the words quoted above are my diagnoses. A confirmation of my need for power exchange in my life, that I am indeed a Dominant person. That I need the dynamic of an active power exchange to recalibrate my me.
1 little slut all to me
2 flushed cheeks that must be spanked
3 holes for me to fill
4 fingers that slip so easily in your wet cunt
5 words in “yes sir I am yours”
6 inches the blad to remove you clothes
7 orgasms at least I’ll get from you
8 lashes across your nipples after each orgasm you get
9 metres of rope to bind your limbs
10 minutes of standing naked on display
He often refers to himself in the third person, talking as if to someone else “Why did you do that?”, “That was totally unacceptable.” or “Good man, welldone!”. This often raised an eyebrow or a more direct quizzicle response from those around him.
He could never understand why it’s strange to consider himself or his actions different to anyone else, why should the standards required by others be any different than for himself? Why could these thoughts not be expressed in the same way?
Reflecting on this perspective, flashes from his childhood appear, times of fun, joy, sadness and misbehaviour. These are almost always remembered like that of an out of body experience. The memories are not just of the feelings of emotion at the time or the expressions on the faces of those around him, but also of him as another person in the scene there in front of him.
Many years later transcribing these musings into words, there are still questions as to how and when he is himself and not himself. Is it the observations of either of his Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, is he a little wierd or both.
Even with hearing his words, experiencing his feelings and seeing his face, he still can’t truly tell. You the reader can you tell? What are your thoughts?
Disclosure: I am a white male and I recognise that I’ve been of a privileged class during different times of massive change the world has experienced over my lifetime. This post holds my own observations, experiences and musings. It’s my perspective.
I take continuous regulatory and management training in my professional capacity. A big topic recently has been that of inclusion and diversity. A standout realisation to me has been around the focus on and the treatment of minorities and the marginalised. Their needs and feelings matter most. If you are not defined by one of these groups, then you do not have the right to express your opinion in a way which is deemed oppressive or offensive by these groups.
Agree or not, this is the way it is. I don’t believe that much has changed throughout the ages. There have always been groups of people brought up in a bubble of privilege, they become aware of the existence of an oppressed community and over time, through a process, concede or give this community a voice, acceptance and legitimacy. After this is done, the privileged then realise that true change not only requires freedoms and opportunities given to the previously disadvantaged, but it requires a change within themselves. Herein lies the difficulty.
I grew up during the height of Apartheid South Africa. I had access to the best the state could offer me, the best education and hospitals in the world for example. Across the other side of town, another person the same age as me, born in the same country as me, did not have the same legal rights and opportunities that I had. Worst of all, they were considered less of a human and it was believed that they would squander the same rights bestowed upon me. It was said that it was in their best interests to be subservient to me. If they fought against this, they were being ungrateful and were required to be brought into line.
Fortunately the propaganda fed to me was exposed as the evil that it was, I was able to imagine myself in the shoes of that other person and how I would have fought under their circumstances. I discovered empathy for my fellow human and in 1990, my first time being allowed to vote, I voted to give equal freedom to all South Africans. Four years later in 1994, every South African had the right to vote for their own political representative, regardless of ethnicity, political beliefs, religion and colour.
In that moment the balance of power changed, there was an anticipation of civil war, following the pattern experienced in other ex-colonial African states. The previously persecuted, now with a voice and empowered could take their revenge. They could use their new position to exact their revenge, to persecute those that represented the oppression and abuse on them and the generations preceding them.
What prevented this in South Africa? It’s a subject of much study and opinion and perhaps a story not yet concluded. In my view, it was through the inspired leadership of forgiveness, inclusion and unity. The prisoner, extending a hand of forgiveness and friendship to their captor. This was accompanied by a national programme of reconciliation, The Truth and Reconciliation Commision. Here victims and perpetrators of gross human rights violations could share their experiences, sometimes in public hearings and where perpetrators could request amnesty from both civil and criminal prosecution. It provided a release for the hurt and the wrongdoing of the past to be recognised, acknowledged and most importantly dealt with and left in the past.
Unfortunately there are always those who fight to the bitter end, either resistant to change, looking for revenge or those with their own agenda. It plays to the narrative of these to keep the fears, deep seated fear, hurt and pain of the past alive.
During a time of fundamental shift in society, there are those that gain a voice and those with a fear of losing theirs. It’s very hard for all to understand the actual trial and persecutions of the past versus the fear of perceived loss and recrimination in the future. These shifts and fears I see repeated over and over in many different contexts across history. The society and the time in which I live has shifted to accept that people can determine for themselves who and what they are and how they are to be addressed. Like any newly acquired voice, it does not come without its fears, challenges, polarisation of opinions.
I was asked recently if I thought I was racist? After some reflection, I admitted that yes I was. I could immediately recall times in my post Apartheid life where I found myself making racially biased decisions. Along with my answer to my daughter I said, “I hope that I catch myself when this happens and that I set out to treat every person in the same way I hope to be treated”. I am no saint, I have made poor choices in the past and there is all the probability that I will make more in the future. What I hope is that those around me will help me to consistently make better choices. What is not in the spirit of real long term change, are those with an agenda that continue to persecute from their righteous pillars of newly acquired privilege.
For me, I must be honest about the prejudices I’ve grown up with. Like an addict, if I can’t recognise and admit to the struggles I have, how can I overcome them. There are always going to be things that I will never relate to or even understand. Echoing words from a tweet I read recently, a little empathy cost’s nothing and I don’t need to understand someone, what the reason for their needs and desires are to accommodate them in the way they prefer and to treat them with respect.
I conclude that for me, on balance, the needs of minorities and of the marginalised trump the fears of the privileged. So when there is a change in the balance of privilege, those with newly acquired privilege and a voice now hold the mantle of responsibility for tolerance and inclusion. To follow in the example of Nelson Mandela.