My early years were one long terror ride, not because I had any physical or abusive issues with those around me, I just was. Then as I turned older, I got ahold of a Playboy magazine, looking through it bored out of my mind, I spot this one little letter to the editor about how wonderful this girl felt when her boyfriend tied her up for rough sex. All of a sudden, my terror crystalized into the realization that I was one of these monsters who only felt sexually stimulated when I dreamed of a girl coming up to me and begging me for rope. Or walking into my dungeon ready-equipped with her particular self-bondage scheme that she would love. She would accept my coming in after she had finished strapping in to begin a weeks' activities that forced her orgasms for the whole week, just so I could have one or two orgasms.
I had already been in and out of 3 different religions, looking for some key to turn these feelings off, as the whole religious world drummed into us 1950's kids how wonderful MISSIONARY vanilla non-orgasmic sex would be one day, AFTER you met some princess who would trap you into marriage to have your kids. Which turned me cold as ice.
Imagine my escalation of terror when the princess stepped up and yanked me into bed, on her back, no hint of rope, no screaming orgasmic thrashing, turning to ice when I brought out rope, running scared from my house. Total devastation is just the beginning. She has been in and out of my head ever since, still as vanilla as she was on day one. AND in and out of my life, worse luck.
Mid-thirties, 5 more religions, by now, quit counting, quit letting them recruit me. Half a dozen subs, never very satisfying, never lasting long, never rich enough for a true dungeon, even a couple of marriages which started out with the girl bragging about how submissive she was only to turn ugly hydra ULTRA Church freaks! Never any kids from my loins, Thank GOD!
You know! Looking back, I realize that the first line is wrong! My little brother was a skilled, subtle and accomplished bully, riding my every breath with his confusions, back-biting ways, loving to make me little. He learned it from my Mother!
Damn! Why have I never spotted those two before? Sure glad they are both long gone to hell.
Now, I still need, desperately, to track down that masochistic submissive who begs for bondage, pain and rape play every day of our remaining years.
SO! A bracelet of rope until I can get that BDSM Triskelion pin for my NRA Golden Eagle hat. Keep walking up to me and asking me if that rope does what you think it is supposed to, girls, and we WILL get tracked out together as Dom and painslut.