Please Don’t Hesitate To Write To Me

Every now and then I’ll come into contact with a reader who might express hesitance in initially writing to me.

I wholeheartedly understand. It’s hard to communicate about something so personal and intimate and overwhelming. Especially to a stranger.

There have been many times – and I’m sure there are many times to come – where I’ve tried to write a blog post and I’ve deleted several drafts because I’m fidgety and awkward and I feel stupid.

If you’re reading this, and you have wanted to write to me but put it off because of – age, inexperience, maybe English isn’t your first language, maybe you think you’re too weird or I’ll shun you. I’ve even had some tell me that they don’t feel they have a lot of worth and can’t possibly write to me – please don’t let that train of thought get the better of you. Especially with someone like me, who does not judge for any of those things whatsoever.

One of the goals in creating this blog, besides harnessing my own darkness and desires, was to help those like me who felt they were truly alone and had no support. I wanted to offer the opportunity where a person – regardless of sex, identity, tastes, race or experience – could feel free to write to me – to say hello or ask for a perspective or to just shoot the shit, as they say. I love meeting people and helping if need be – I live for it.

So please don’t ever be afraid to approach me, please don’t be afraid of your voice or your interests or who you are. And please don’t put me above yourself, on some higher platform, because I’m just Aussie guy writing on the Internet. As far as I’m concerned, you and I? We’re equals.

And this all extends, not just to writing in to me, but to being yourself as well. Love yourself. Cherish who you are, all dark thoughts and everything that comes with that electric realm of possibilities – because let me tell you, that’s a magical and beautiful thing.

My email is always open. It never closes. There’s never a bad time to write, I’ll never get annoyed by your approach and I certainly won’t be too busy to write a respond to you. I will say this – I am scatterbrained. I’m a man with one foot in the dreamscape and the other in reality. If I don’t respond, it’s because I’m off in my own world planning devious things. I’ll reply before you know it.

Anyway. Here at the end of Easter long weekend, I wanted to write this to the person that may or may not hesitate to write in. Don’t be afraid of this part of yourself, it’s a beautiful thing.

Take care!

Don’t Be Afraid To Ask About A Dominant’s Perspective

I’m about to go have a shower, but before I do I wanted to write a little note about something on my mind.

You see, I was on reddit just now – responding to someone asking about thoughts about choking. And they responded back saying that they never knew about a Dom’s mindset before and after and in between.

It just got me thinking is all. Which, is not that unusual of a statement – sometimes I don’t know the thought going through a submissive before or after – but the fact that they said they never knew the perspective has me curious. Running this blog, I have heard that before – that there’s not many Dominant blogs, or that my words are appreciated because it’s a topic that is not touched on.

So, please. If you have a dominant friend, if you’re in a relationship or dating one, don’t hesitate to ask questions. Chances are, they will appreciate the conversation.

And if you’re new to my blog and have some questions or even if you’ve been around a while and just want a dominant’s perspective, don’t hesitate, no matter how strange or revealing the question is. If I can shed some light, let’s do this!

Oh – and I’m going to try and write some more, I swear.

The Prisoner

When it comes to writing, especially erotica, there’s always one concept that comes to me and I have no idea from where it originated.

Why did my mind piece together such a surreal, sensuous image? What does that mean for me? Is the image heralding the return of my dominant side? A side that has, I must admit, taken a back seat in the days following a particularly nasty bout of anxiety.

Or was it there all along? Influences and memories and turns on all stitched together under a pale grey sky within my mindscape, waiting to come out?

I ponder all of this as I ponder her – the nude woman lying on her back on the hotel bedroom, illuminated by the soft glow of the room’s television, the only source of light in the room.

I think of this woman – blonde hair folded underneath her, her breasts caught in the quickened rhythm of her breathing. Her nipples, stiff, pointing upwards towards the ceiling.

I can see the faint trace of her ribcage, the slick glean of sweat across her body, beading across her stomach.

I can see the soft fuzz across her slit and, if I peer hard enough at the image, I can see it glisten under the eye of the television.

And I can see the wires – thick, grey, sturdy – wrapped around her body, coiling around her chest and weaving down, snake-like, across her legs and under her ass.

She is bound, held tightly in place. I can only guess how the cables feel across her skin, how they pinch, how they are cool across her breasts.

I can see her arms held high above, locked in position, the cables winding up around her wrists, and I can see that she does not resist. That there is no struggle.

No, quite the opposite. Her body reverberates with an intensity I can feel worlds away. I can feel her pleasure, just as I can feel the pain bite at several points in her body where the cables cling tight.

I can hear her breath catch in her throat, hear her heart in my own ears. I can see her eyes, glued to the image on the television, static. A prisoner of the times.

This bound woman comes without touching one part of her body, is held by the cables as the orgasm hits every inch of her. An electrical current.

I’ve no idea where this image comes from but I feel her there with me every step of the way.

Is Everything Okay? — An Open Letter to those who feel burdened

Sometimes – when we’ve got questions to ask, when we’re feeling low and afraid and alone, we don’t look to anyone, we bottle it inside. Maybe that’s what we’re taught, maybe we think it’s a sign of weakness or maybe you just don’t want to bug that person.

With running my blog and leaving my door open for anyone to approach me should they want to, I unfortunately see a lot of this scared behaviour – which is to really say that I see myself – the anxious individual that doesn’t want to talk out of fear of burdening others, that doesn’t want to ask questions about their own fantasies even if it scares them terribly and they can’t eat or sleep or dream.

For those newcomers or sufferers of anxiety and depression, I hope you know that you aren’t truly alone, even if you feel like it. The people around you, your network of family and friends – they all, truly, care more than you know. I can tell you this because I’m my own worst enemy and I felt the lie before I realised the truth. My family do care. My friends DO CARE. It was me that was twisting truth, with my poisoned mind.

And hey, if you’re like me and don’t have a lot of friends, I’m more than happy to talk with you, regardless of what you have to say. Sometimes it helps running our own bullshit past fresh ears.

But if it’s a simple case of a fantasy guilting you – and this does happen more then you know. Hell, realise that I still shift uncomfortably at my own darker impulses. But if it’s a case of guilt at your own sexuality, or identification, I’ve been wandering the lifestyle myself. I’m here to talk and will never feel burdened or weirded out by what you have to get off your chest. Trust me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is — I’ve had readers of my blog who write in, expressing problems — and then they vanish. They’re from opposites sides of the world so I don’t know if they’re busy – sometimes, occasionally, they will return after they’re mended, sometimes not at all. And while I realise it’s not my place to play mediator or meddle – and I can’t help everyone – it still hurts to know that someone is suffering and they feel they have to be quiet when all they want to do is unload or scream.

Remember – you’re not alone. Anxiety is a twisted delusion. You’ll be okay. One day at a time. And —- I’m always a text or an email away, even in time zones.

On Anxiety’s Role in Being Primal

In the past I’ve written about my life with anxiety, whether it was intruding in my sexual life or in general – but I never have spoken – or written about, for that matter – the role Anxiety has with the primal aspect of my personality.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with anything primal related, it’s a concept within BDSM that focuses on thinking and feeling – instinctual, sexual or otherwise – without letting fear take over and cause to block it out.

It’s about being in communion with the more coarse and unrefined aspects of yourself and understanding what that means for you and who you are.

Anxiety, on the other hand, has the ability to generate strange and delusional thoughts. It can be so sneaky that it seems genuine, as if it’s subconsciously laid down rail road tracks leading from the thought back into your memories – so you believe it’s bullshit.

Which brings me to my next point – what’s primal and what’s anxiety? Are the two linked? Are we supposed to accept the anxiety if we identify as primal?

For me, there’s a shifting of feelings that occur between the two. When I’m primal I can feel the adrenaline coursing through me – I’m at a heightened state, but I’m not at a flight-or-fight state. Anxiety brings with it an overwhelming sense of dread and doom. Your body’s security system has an overactive imagination.

For me, I can differentiate between the two because one sounds utterly absurd, while the other is me thinking and feeling on an impulse, something I have control of and have to actively let loose. One is calming, the other is panic.

Being primal does mean to listen to all impulsive thoughts – but anxiety is a misfiring Of said thoughts. You can certainly listen to what your mind says, and acknowledge it but don’t react to the absurdity because no matter how strong it is, it really is utterly delusional. And sometimes there is no root cause.

As always, ladies and gents, I’m here if you ever need a chat about anything. Life, love, BDSM, movies or gaming – anything. My email is still open to all.

Four Year Anniversary

Today marks the four year anniversary of my blog – Tall, Dark and Dominant. Which is absolutely insane to think about because when I started this, I was looking up at the mountain wondering how in the heck I’m going to climb this – and now I’m moving through a new phase of adulthood, finding myself growing at ease with shifting dynamics and the blurring or vanilla life with the more naughtier.

I want to thank each and every person that visits my blog – from the casual commenter to the hidden lurker to the person that works up the courage to write in to me to open up a dialogue or say thanks. Your support and constructive criticism and your challenging of my perceptions and concepts is valued in ways I couldn’t properly express.

Some days I can’t stop writing. Sometimes, like now, there are lulls where nothing comes. Where life comes first and the ideas and concepts that spark something in me come slowly.

Nevertheless, for now I will leave you with a concept that came to me late at night yesterday or the day before —

A woman, wearing nothing but an oversized sweater, heads to the bedroom where she finds her husband standing in the shadows at the foot of their bed.

His right arm, exposed by the light of the hallway casting its way into the room in a stretching shape, holds a whip. This woman doesn’t know how he got one but she’s intrigued all the same – she slips off her sweater and gets on all fours.

Her husband whips her ass and back numerous times in silence before taking her from behind. The moment is unlike anything she’s experienced from him – it’s all very erotically charged.

Suddenly a voice calls out to her from her left – and the woman, bent over and aching with pain, looks to see her husband standing in the doorway.

‘What are you doing?’ He asks her.

The woman is frozen. Who was behind her this whole time? Who wore the face of her husband?

Good evening from Australia!

He Holds Her Under

He holds her under by a fistful of hair.

She’s throwing her arms backwards, trying to claw at any part of him.

He found there in the bath, positioned under the running tap, writhing in ecstasy until her eyes fluttered open and she saw him.

Something dark and warm rushed over him, within him, as he covered the space between them in a single step, possessed to grab her by the hair and dunk her under.

He could feel that something different within his body, pumping through his system. It took a sadistic sort of glee at the way her tits jiggled as he took command of her body, at the way she shrieked and pleaded for him to listen to reason. He would not.

With his free hand, he found her exposed cunt, shaven and pink, and traced his index finger along her slit.

A beat —- then he found what he was searching for, her opening, and slipped his index and ring finger inside her. The same sort of sadistic glee he took at the way her tits jiggled came back as he felt her body convulse under his direction. He heard her gurgle beneath the surface as he violated her tight cunt, feeling the pressure contract upon him as he slid his fingers in and out of her in a viscous assault.

She was gurgling beneath the water and he was saying something wild and frantic, something he couldn’t understand over everything that was occurring. He was mad, had gone mad the moment he saw what she was doing. And now she was on her knees in their bathtub, her ass just barely breaking the water.

He slid out his fingers and found her clit, pressing inward hard. She gurgled somewhere between distress and a moan – or did he imagine that.

He curved a finger and slid it within her, his thumb continuing to draw patterns on her clit.

When her orgasm hit, her entire body twitched, her legs clamping down on his hands – to no avail. He didn’t budge.

With her body still in the midst of her spasm, he pulled her above water. She gasped, sucking in air greedily, shaking off the feeling of a deep sleep approaching.

He leans down to her ear as she caught her breath, as her body began to bring itself back to speed.

‘Not without my command.’ He simply said – before rising to his feet, and exiting the bathroom.

Her mind racing, she knelt there in that bathtub for the next ten minutes, analysing what she just happened as the water around her began to chill her to the bone.