Steellover

Come inside my inner space.  Welcome to the castle!  Join me in the lighted upper floors, the patio with it's nice view of the forest and lake beyond.  The kitchen, living room with it's huge TV and awesome sound system, where guests dine and frolic.  Want a beer?  Or would you prefer a glass of wine?  Or whiskey and coke on ice?  Hang out, watch some football, or your favorite action film.  Or, if you prefer, get cozy, sit by the fire, put on a romantic film, just us two.  And if you prefer, when you are in the mood, we can retire to the upstairs. 

But if you are up for it, and I feel like we click in a certain way, then walk down the hall to the restroom, towards the back.   There are a series of hallways, corridors tunnelling into the mountain side at the back of the keep. Nothing special, just a couple small art galleries, pantries, a spare bedroom, and the laundry room next to the restroom.  To the left of the restroom door is a flight of stairs.  Then, through the hall past the billiard room, lower level bar, and gothic dance hall, is another flight of stairs.  The vibe down here is edgier, more gothic, with that edgy underground nightclub feel.  Walk down the tiled hall at the back by another set of restrooms.  At the end of the hall is another stairwell.  Climb down this with me if you dare. 

At the bottom, are more hallways and corridors.  All cleanly swept, well lit, with marble walls and tiled floors.  It is not like your stereotypical medieval dungeon at all; it is immaculate and spotless.  But a feeling of danger mixed with delicious erotic delight seems to fill your mind, as you explore these halls.  Your feet echo along the black and white tiles as you wander the corridors.  I never bring people here.  It's the part of the castle I keep private and guarded.  I don't even come down here much myself, though it is not haunted or anything like that. At least, not in the paranormal sense. Rather, it is haunted by my own darker buried feelings.

We pass several closed doors. Closets and store-rooms perhaps?  Maybe there are skeletons in the closets, but mostly it's just anxiety, old memories and regrets.  Turn left, then another short hallway leads to a sign marked "Restroom."  You turn to say something to me, but suddenly you don't see me walking beside you anymore.  But you realize, you actually do have to use the restroom.  "He probably had to take a phone call upstairs or something.  Maybe I'll just stop here for a sec, then head back upstairs and join him for another drink," you say to yourself.

You open the door to the bathroom, and there I am...lying chained to the floor, naked. Legs and arms splayed, wrists and feet shackled to rings in the floor.  You can't see my face, because my head is sealed inside a box.  Atop the box is a toilet seat.  Someone has written the words "Bathroom Bitch" on my chest in red lipstick.  Paddles, riding crops, floggers, and other instruments of erotic torture line the walls. As I hear the door open and the click of your leather boots on the tile floor, I am unable to hide my arousal.

But you close the door and flee in disgust, back down the hall, back up the stairs, through the dance hall and bar, and back up to the ground floor, where there is light and sanity.

And I think to myself, why oh why do I ever bring people down here?

Thanks for reading.

Somewhere, perhaps in another dimension, there is a place.  

Undimmed by threats of war, uncertainty, fear, or oppression. 

Perhaps, an Undying Lands beyond the sundering seas of Middle Earth.

Where the summer sun shines warmly and the seasons turn to gentle rains, and where the winters never bring cold loneliness or misery.

Where beauty never fades but yet always re-blooms.

It is Thanksgiving season and I am thankful for the simple things I have.  The freedoms which, thus far, have not yet been stolen from me.  The fact that I am not facing a brutal and murderous war in my homeland.  The fact that I still have my health.

But yet insecure and fearful, knowing how easily these things can be taken from me.

I am thankful for all the beauty and simple joys that I still have.

But with all the darkness, fear, and oppression in this world, sometimes I wish there was a place to escape to. Like the Elves of Middle Earth, or a far sunlit never-never land. Because sometimes it seems like the darkness in this world is only growing stronger, and it is all I can do to shine a light into it, and push back.  I meet some religious people, but they offer no solace or even hope when all it can offer is, "Well, the world is ending anyway, it's the End Times, so screw you and your false hope."  And then they wonder why people turn away from God.

But I won't turn away from the Light, from joy, love, and all things harmonious and beautiful, and the hope that somewhere, even if it's just in my mind, there is such a place where these things never fade, and cannot be taken away by the cruelties of this world and the heartless inhabitants thereof.

Adults never outgrow their need for a perfect fairyland, do they.

Thanks for reading. 

When someone asks "What is your least favorite month of the year?" For me November, unequivocally, is it.

It's when you set the clocks back to daylight savings time.  No more long evenings with walks or bike rides after work; it's dark when you get home from work, and by the end of the month, it will be dark when you leave for work, too.

No more weekend getaways for outdoor adventures, because it's rainy, cold and snowy in the hills and mountains.

But yet, it's too early for snowboarding (or skiing, if that is your sport.) And too early for Christmas.

The barbecues, outdoor gatherings, and parties- that pretty much all winds down.  The cold has a certain bite to it that it didn't have just a few weeks ago, and we were lucky here to actually have a nice sort of "Indian Summer" in mid-October of this year.  Everyone just hunkers down.

Halloween is over, and the leaves have turned.  Sometimes, there is a certain serene beauty around sunset, when the fallen leaves cover the ground and the orange and pink sky shines through the trees that still bear leaves, or even afterwards, when they are mostly bare branches.  This is actually kind of nice.  

With no more outdoor fun, you turn inward, focusing on artistic projects  (like writing blogs) or other hobbies.  This is nice, too.

Halloween was one of my favorite holidays as a kid (if you could call it a "holiday" as you typically still had to go to school, or work.)  Going out with your childhood buddies and scoring candy was fun, as was role-playing your dress-up character for the day.  I remember dressing up as Ozzy, my favorite rock star, as a kid one year.  Before that, I was King Tut, and I was even Darth Vader once.  Everyone in our neighborhood got into it- there'd be tons of kids out and about, and it was rare that you'd find a house that didn't hand out candy.

As an adult, I still dress up for Halloween and go into work once in a while, though sadly I didn't this year.  Our bosses don't mind. I've been Paul Stanley, (another childhood rock n' roll hero)  a cleaning guy, a gnome, and a face-painted Black Metal musician (rock n' roll has come a long way since KISS!)

Sadly, this year, I didn't get one single trick or treater. I had the carved pumpkins out and lit, lights on, bags of candy at the ready...but it seems that the kids in our neighborhood either attended a nearby "Trunk or treat" at a neighborhood religious establishment, or went to one of the rich-people neighborhoods which have a city-wide reputation for doing it up at Halloween.  Disappointing, but one silver lining...SOMEONE has to eat all those reeses peanut butter cups that I bought. My co-workers loved them.

So, Halloween's over, November's here, and it's time to put the mountain bike in storage, mount the studded tires, and get the snowboard waxed and ready to go for when the snow inevitably starts to fall.  And rake leaves- my least favorite yard work chore, ugh!  TIP FOR DOM/MES:  You want to punish your submissives/slaves?  Make them rake leaves. Even diehard masochists will hate it.  Has to be done though. Last year I got over 30 bag fulls.

And on that note, that brings me to one final "make the best of my least favorite month" point:

Locktober is over.

I hope that all of you who, perhaps involuntarily, participated over the last month got to enjoy the most mind-blowing, intense, and satisfying release ever.  Hope you earned it!

That's all for now.

Is it obscured by clouds?

Or is the day just dark?

But no, the sun is out.

Barely a cloud in the sky.

Is it too quiet?

The sun still shines overhead but dim and feeble in a cloudless sky.

The birds have stopped chirping.

A dog barks, eerie in the dark morning shadows, sounding almost distressed.

A creepy feeling descends. Strange half moon shadows appear.

Should it really be this dark at 10:30 AM on a cloudless day?  

Perhaps the portals between worlds have grown thin.  What is coming through?

Dark dread descends.  The feeble light grows a ghostly pale.

Those crescent quarter moon shadows, they are everywhere.

Familiar sights grow strange.

Nothing looks right.

Nothing feels right.

The world grows dark.  Ominous, still.

Eventually, the light returns and the creepy crescent shadows dissipate among warm life giving sunshine.

The sun regains it's strength.

And still I prayed after the darkness lifted from here, that it would soon lift in other parts of the world that are afflicted with true unspeakable horrors.

First up, I don't always update this consistently with any pattern. Sometimes whole weeks, even a near month, may go by where I don't have anything worthwhile to post, while other times I might feel like posting two or even three days in a row.  (And sometimes even when I do have something worthwhile to post, people don't always think it's worthwhile- that's just how it goes though.) 

So, in just three days, LockTober begins.  If I had a willing keyholder, I would be right there with you guys. I don't, and maybe I'm lucky in that respect??

I've never gone longer than two weeks, and that was purely self-discipline.  I don't know If I'd have the self discipline to go a whole month.  When I tried, by the end of week 2, I was in a pretty hyper-sexualized head-space and would have done just about anything for anyone if they happened to hold the key to my hypothetical cock cage.

With that said, guys... Let Saturday Night be your night to remember before a month of sexual fasting.  May your orgasms be long, powerful, intense and satisfying, something to remember to help get you through the long month ahead.  Above all, think of the one you are sacrificing your sexual freedom for, and the reasons why you are choosing to do it.  Let it be a bondage of love and trust as well as kink and control.  This is the night to take Her out, show her a good time, be a good husband, or lover, or boyfriend, and above all, submissive, to Her- on this one last night.  Buy Her something nice, take Her out dancing if she likes dancing, take Her to a movie of her choice if she likes movies, take Her out to the nicest restaurant you can afford.  And if, at the end of the night, She lets you have a reward, make it count!  It is your last one for a long time.  But of course, overall, make it worthwhile to Her.  Remember that She is special to you.  On Saturday Night, do what it takes to let her know it.  

To those of you who are keyholders out there, keep in mind the sacrifice your man is making on your behalf.  Remember what he is doing for you, and why he is doing it.  Remember the sacrifice he is making, and what he is giving up.  Help make his last night of sexual release a memorable, passionate and pleasurable one, knowing that you will have endless opportunity to tease, torment, edge and deny him to frustrating insanity through the long month ahead.  And also control him- since after all, that's the reason you are doing this, right?  On the other hand, you may even choose to make his last orgasmic release a humiliating and degrading one, if you so desire.  (My naughty mind can think of plenty of ways to do so...)  By now, all you dominant keyholder types out there- you have trained your men well.  On Saturday night, let him show you just how well trained he is, so he can earn that last reward one last time.

And then... CLICK! The lock goes on. 

And the key goes into your purse, to be forgotten about until one month's time, until he hopefully earns his happy release after the midnight Halloween fetish ball (or whatever you guys do to celebrate Halloween.)

Until I have something else worthwhile to post...thanks for reading!

I saw Her profile on an adult site.  She was a professional of course, but I could at least pretend that I was in submission to one I loved.

She was beautiful of course.  Tan and athletic, but also, intelligent, classy, well-travelled and worldly.  Totally my type.  Or, we could both pretend She was.

We missed connections at first.  There was a misunderstanding, and I felt bad.  Partly my fault, maybe partly hers too, but either way it was just some miscommunication, for which I really felt bad.  I really wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.   However, bless Her heart, she gave me another chance, and I was extremely grateful.

That night, we met up, had drinks, and seemed to click. I told Her how I loved to have her take control, order me around, make me Her toy to dominate, abuse, use, spank, and humiliate.  I also told Her how I wanted to make Her smile, feel good, feel warm, joyful, satisfied, and overall, empowered.

So later that night we hooked up. We got intimate, but I will spare you the details, because a gentleman does not kiss and tell, and a domme does not spank and tell. 

I've seen Her three times. She is not local of course.  I wish She was, but in the end, it would not matter either way.  Each time, even though it seemed to satisfy the void of loneliness, and the need to submit, and to be intimate, it was only a temporary illusion.  Because, a professional cannot satisfy the need to connect, to cherish and be cherished as a person, or the genuine warmth of love and true companionship.

I am only a business transaction to her.  Easy money, sleazy money.

I can pretend otherwise, for a little while, submitting to Her feminine power, and lying to myself that the feeling is real.  But only for a short time.

In the end, the transaction is over.  Just another client, another day in the office for her.  For me, she was all I want, all I have, but at the same time, all I do not have.  

And the loneliness, and the emptiness returns.  

The Pride festival in my hometown was last weekend.  It is something I always support, regardless of my own sexual preference, because I am all for sexual liberation and the desire for people to be who they are.  So, in any mid-sized city, there are always a few people with way too much money and way too little sense on how to spend it constructively.  In this case, one such jackhole thought it would be a great idea to rent a plane, attach a streaming banner to it saying "Rainbow is God's not Yours!" and then circle the event trailing the banner.

Now, a couple things here:  First of all, think of the staggering cost involved in renting the aircraft, having the sign made, getting FAA approval, and then all that airplane fuel.  I'm guessing it would be in the thousands of dollars at the very least!  And think of all the good that money would have done elsewhere.  "God's not yours," he says.  What is God's work?  Is it ministering to the needy, the hungry, the hurt, lonely and sick- or trolling a group of people enjoying a festival?  Oddly enough, I don't recall reading anything about the latter in the Bible.  How many meals would that money have bought for the needy or hungry?  How many families struggling to keep a roof over their head would have used that money to help pay that month's rent- but instead it was frivolously wasted by some self-proclaimed Christian just to troll a Pride festival.  God's work, indeed.

So, second of all- what, exactly, did this guy get out of it?  What was the goal here? Did he expect people to look up and go, "Oops, maybe we should pick another symbol?" Or look up and think, "Wow, he's got a point, Maybe God really doesn't like gays, maybe we should immediately become straight, leave the festival and get down on our knees and repent?" Somehow, I actually doubt that.  It is far more likely he simply wanted to troll the festival because, regardless of his religious beliefs, he just really, really does not like gay people, and was hoping to piss a bunch people off.  The true motive of bullies and trolls the world over.  These are the people who get off on offending people and ruining things, and on causing anger and sadness.  Sometimes, the middle school bullies never do grow up, and instead merely become adult bullies. Thankfully his little didn't have that effect and it was a great day for everyone who participated.

And some rich jackhole is out $5700 for airplane rental fees, banner fabrication fees and fuel costs, just for whatever satisfaction he got trying to troll people unsuccessfully.

It's pride festival weekend in my home town.  And while I cannot attend due to a prior commitment, I have always supported it and will continue to do so.  Especially given the current times.

This is a true story, and I'm not sure if the ending could be considered happy or sad.  Once, I met a man and his family.  They were selling their house and upgrading to a larger place, so their two kids wouldn't have to share a bedroom. I was just a kid looking to buy a house. So I met him and his family, so he could show me the place.  He was super friendly, funny and outgoing. He showed me the flower garden where he meticulously grew all kinds of beautiful flowers, and pointed out the flower arrangement on the wall that he had created.  He grew lavender, which he said was his favorite color. His wife thought he was a sensuous, sensitive man and a good father to his kids, and a good husband to her. He treated her like a queen and wanted the best for his family. 

Nonetheless, I could sense that something was wrong.  Not with his marriage or his family, but with him.  He was, clearly, not a manly man.  Didn't own a big truck or a Harley Davidson, didn't watch football, didn't like hard rock.  Now, a lot of guys don't, nothing necessarily tell-tale about that. But, just in his mannerisms, he was one of the most effeminate men I had ever seen.  He even sometimes talked with the telltale lisp. 

He loved his wife, and was emotionally attracted to her, but clearly, was not physically attracted to her.  Not in the way that would make his sex life fulfilling or satisfying.  Perhaps, deep down, she could sense something was wrong, too.  Remember, at that time and place, it was considered not okay to admit to loving members of the same sex. Particularly if you were from a small town, word would get out, your life could be ruined, and you could lose your job.  Even today, my state gives no protections against GLBT people as far as discrimination.  So I don't know what, or how much she suspected.  Only that, about 8 years later, I ran into her, as they had only moved a few blocks away.  And she had been devastated when he left her- and NOT for a woman.

For nearly 20 years, he had been living a lie. Trying to force himself into a box where he didn't fit.  Though he was happy with his new husband, I wish I could say the ending was happy for everyone, because he left behind a broken family, trying to fit into that box for all those years.  Perhaps he stayed with her long, hoping those sexual feelings he had would go away, that he would "overcome the temptation to sin" as I'm sure he was told. Or, perhaps he didn't want to hurt her or his family, or perhaps he didn't want to face judgement.  

Either way, I am glad that, even if it's only for just this weekend, people can have a chance to celebrate who they are and feel liberated to be what they are.  I wish love and acceptance for GLBT people would persist year round, and people could feel free to be what they are year round, and tragedies like this man and his family, did not have to happen anymore.

Happy Pride Week.

The Difference between a kinkster and a pervert is this:

She is hot, beautiful, long dark hair, wearing boots and a short skirt, standing in the aisle at the store.  May even be a co-worker, or someone he knows casually.  A kinkster would think dirty thoughts to himself about how it would feel if she were the one who administered some much needed "discipline" on him.  But then, have the common decency to keep those thoughts to himself.

A pervert, on the other hand, would actually walk up and ask her to tie him up and spank him.

Its not necessarily wrong to have naughty thoughts. Rather, it's all in the way you deal with these thoughts. With dignity and respect for others and for one's self.

MUSIC CORNER:  Ozzy Osbourne "Diary of a Madman."

This was only his second solo record, which came out in 1981, and in my opinion he never topped it, in all the years (and over a dozen albums) since. What made this album so great was one thing:  The guitar work was phenominal and unsurpassed.  Randy Rhodes, just 24 years old when he recorded this record, was already a veteran of a couple different bands when he joined up with Ozzy two years prior, but this was the pinnacle of his greatness, largely because he would not live long enough to record another record.  Though, in interviews prior to his death in 1982, he had already expressed a desire to leave Ozzy's band and perform more classical music-inspired guitar works.  One wonders what those works would have sounded like, and sadly we will never know.  On "Diary..." it isn't just the riffs which are classic, almost each and every one of them. But it's the subtle touches he puts into them- a quick scale run here, an open harmonic there, a subtle bend here, and a quick three note solo at the end of the measure- that give the tracks that brilliance.  And his solos are untouchable.  He never overdoes it, like so many other shred-metal guitarists who came after- guys like Yngwie Malmsteen, MichaelAngelo Batio, or Herman Li, who were, perhaps faster and more technically gifted than Randy, but who never quite had the knack for restraint, or for composition and melody.  What can I say, every song on this thing is a keeper.  Opener "Over the Mountain" is one of the most epic metal crunching tracks of all time, as is "S.A.T.O. ("Sailing Across the Ocean") while the heavy riffs of "Flying High Again" and "Believer" are just epic. Even the mellower tunes like "You Can't Kill Rock N' Roll" and "Tonight" are stunning, largely because Rhodes's guitar work is so impeccable.  So, what can I say...40 years later, this album is still one of my top favorite metal albums of all time.  I have no beef with any of the other players who slung a guitar for Ozzy: Jake E. Lee and Zakk Wylde were both great, even that live Black Sabbath covers album he did with Brad from Night Ranger- all of these guys were great players, but in my opinion Rhodes just had something special with the way he played and composed those songs that the other guys just didn't have.  So, Ozzy's clearly getting up there in age these days- aren't we all- but I still have much love and respect for the old man.  He was a part of my musical formative years, and always will be, even if his later stuff was never quite as electrifying as this second album was.

Thanks for reading.  "Lets go fucking crazy!   I love you ALLLLLL!!!!"

About a month ago, the two surviving non-retired members of the Grateful Dead played their last ever show in California, bringing the long strange trip, nearly sixty years long, to a close. I wasn't at the show, but I knew many, many people who were, and when I visited California a couple weeks later I saw many t-shirts commemorating the event.

To be honest, I was never a big Grateful Dead fan. I thought, for the most part, that their music was boring, and that they were extremely overrated. Partly because back in the day, (late 80s up until Jerry Garcia passed away in the summer of 1995) I mainly listened to metal, punk, and alternative rock. But also, partly, because I just never understood the whole scene surrounding them. For many people, it was more than just a band. It was like a lifestyle, a club, or a cult. Over the years, I was subjected to many thousands of hours of their music. In college, it played almost constantly in the background, at both big parties and small gatherings, in the halls of the dorms, or on the stereos of my roommates. It became almost like a soundtrack to my early 20's. Maybe that's partly why I can now appreciate them better than I did then, as some sort of nostalgic vibe. People would gather and the conversations about the band, their songs, and the various shows they went to, would sometimes last for hours. With the Dead, you never went to just one show, you had to go to at least three, then maybe even follow them up and down the coast to catch a few more.

So, at the time I didn't understand that kind of fanaticism about one band. Maybe now I do, though.

Maybe, for that legion of tie-dyed "Hippie Freaks" it was just about wanting to belong. To find your tribe, your people. To bond over shared experiences, and shared music. And, if one band can make so many people happy for so long, provide that belonging, that sense of tribe, and shared bond, for so long, and in a positive and constructive way, that can only be a good thing. I don't care for Taylor Swift either- like with most of the Dead, I find her music to be "Dead Boring" but yet, if she makes hundreds of millions of fans happy with her soporific music, then more power to her and God bless her, because we certainly need more happiness in this world.

I've also grown to like...well, SOME of their stuff, over the years. Their earliest studio works, when Ron McKernon was in the band (who fans called "Pig Pen" for reasons I've never quite figured out) had a youthful passionate energy that a lot of their later, mellower stuff seemed to lack. That "In the Dark" album from the '80s had some decent catchy tunes as well.

So, even though the long strange trip is over, I would still thank them for giving so much of themselves to so many wonderful people in my life over all those many years. Even though I was never on that long strange trip with them, I appreciate all the postcards.