Incoming Rant and Ramble about being a BDSM Mentor

Grey sky leaking the bedroom windows, a soft rain on the roof over my head – laying naked in bed this winterly morning, I’ve been reflecting on my time acting as a mentor, of sorts, to those that have wanted or needed a recurring figure and friend to help them in their own journey, be they new and learning or savvy to the ways but finding new wrinkles in their mind.

When I first learned that such a thing as a BDSM Mentor existed, I didn’t really know what to make of it – was it key for some special sexual dynamic? Another riff on addressing one as ‘Sir’? It wasn’t until I read up on it, and read thoughts from the community on this here internet, that I realised what it was. And it spoke to me.

A mentor needs no ceremony, no bells and whistles, no special speech assigned to them – they merely are a friend on standby, someone to offer resources and guidance, someone who stands by the individual for as long as the individual needs their help.

A mentor is a preference though – one does not require a mentor. I didn’t have one, I stumbled through knowledge and here I am – and if someone like myself can do it, anyone can. No, a mentor is purely for those who feel they need the guidance. Someone to drop in and chat.

So in late 2016 / early 2017, I started to give it some thought. Could I be a mentor, I thought? Do I know enough? Can I help others? Am I worthy of their time? I doubted myself but my desire to help others where I struggled won over. I ran it by my kitten, clearing misconceptions, making sure that – if I were to chat with anyone about these things, man or woman, that she would be comfortable with that notion.

So I began to offer it more openly to readers here, being sure not to push the concept or make any shy person feel obligated, as I sometimes have been known to feel. I just wanted people to know someone could chat with them.

It became a thing of growth for me. I learned to be careful of influencing others with my own thoughts on kink, instead creating a space for them to feel at ease in their own skin. I listened and didn’t speak unless they asked. It’s not my place to interfere, I didn’t want to put thoughts in their head. If they needed a push, Well I would do that gently and only if I felt it was safe to do so. I didn’t want to rewrite their thought process.

Since 2017 I have been blessed to have had the opportunity to help people work through some of their own thoughts – and seeing these people go on to happy D/s relationships has been a beautiful and fulfilling thing for me, knowing in some tiny way that I helped them. It brings a tear to my eye.

It’s strange to me, when someone approaches me and apologises for their scattered email of thoughts or for wasting my time – because I’ve never had a problem with any of that. I’ve never felt out by an email, never minded wandering thoughts – as I’m the same – and I make the time to check my emails and blog. More than that, perhaps I think it’s strange because I can see myself in that person – scared and doubting, unsure about what they’re doing.

I don’t offer mentoring as much as I used to. A flare up in my anxiety caused me to doubt myself, leaving scars that remind me of those troubling thoughts – Who are you to offer that help? No one wants a stranger interfering. Just stop what you are doing.

But I try to relent and push through and still offer help where I can, because once in a while someone will write and say they’ve been trying to write for months but couldn’t overcome their own anxiety.

Being a mentor and mentoring fulfils my soul in many ways, but it has taught me growth. I’ve learned about who I am, about being a teacher, about the sides within me that someone I’m helping helps me see in the first place, thus teaching me.

It’s just a wholesome, lovely thing. And the fact that this person trusts me enough to let me in and help? That’s an honour.

Monsters

Ever since I was a young kid I was drawn to monsters. In the beginning, it was a child’s fascination with the unknown – grotesque ghosts, feral werewolves, unstoppable aliens, the very creatures from hell. I enjoyed their otherworldly presence, I enjoyed seeing something from somebody else’s nightmares.

As an adult, I still have this fascination, this…longing to see something beyond my own wildest nightmares. But there’s another layer there now – a new appreciation. Some monsters are tragic, creatures that were either once men, now different – creatures that are hunted for their own feral behaviour, creatures that have their own tragic background.

As an adult, the monsters that stay with me are Dracula, Dr. Jekyll, The Wolf Man, The Phantom of the Opera and so forth. Each of these characters are men struggling with something inside of them – this terrible self that can be destructive and alien and unlike who they are beyond the transformation. And though them I see tragedy and humanity and duality – and myself.

My mother, my sisters – they all raised me to be proper. They taught me values and morals that I carry with me every day of my life. I live by a few codes of honour – be kind to others, treat others as you want to be treated, be a gentleman not only to your loved ones but to the world around you – I certainly falter, some days I feel flat, prone to hotheadedness. I’d certainly never be violent – I detest violence – but I can be moody.

More than this, I can be primal and flirtatious and crass and sexual and just generally odd. I used to be terrified of this side of myself – this side that felt like being rough, that would think of such dark things….this side that would watch The Evil Dead and be aroused during the scene in which the vines of a tree, possessed by such dark magic, raped a poor unsuspecting soul.

After I would come back from a primal descent, shaken and panting, cock still throbbing from the throes of orgasm, everything I thought of in the moment would crash over me — and I’d be horrified.

That wasn’t me, I would think. How could I think such violent things? How could I get off on the things that go against everything I felt normally? You must understand I would never legitimately hurt someone outside of a controlled environment – think consensual non-consent – but the sheer idea of concepts new to me at the time – concepts like bruising, impact play, biting, choking, forcing my way into someone just to feel my cock split apart wet lips – horrified me.

I felt, in all honesty, like Dr. Jekyll discovering Mr. Hyde – who was this opposite? This feral doppelgänger? Why did I think such wicked thoughts?

And, fast forward years later, these wicked thoughts, this opposite man, still resides within me, carefully restrained through controlled environments and a watchful eye. It’s almost like a beast soothed by my other – kitten. Who helps me come back down, who accepts this creature and gives herself to it in love and adoration. If I am the beast, she is the beauty – one I’ve been looking for my whole life, soulfully fulfilling and accepting.

Maybe I’m not a beast or a monster or a creature, maybe I’m human with dark tendencies and that’s all she wrote – I don’t know. But I still feel it, you know? I feel it in my bones and in my heart and in my cock. I feel this ferocious energy, this mindset that says ‘don’t poke me, I don’t want you to see what happens if you do.’ I feel it all, and some days I accept it and some days I am scared by it, thinking —- am I alone? Or are there men or women like me out there?

How Do You Know If You’re Primal?

I’ve written a lot about the primal dynamic and what it is and what it means to me personally. Shamefully though, I’ve never touched on how you can tell if you are primal – and if you’re new to the lifestyle, this just adds to an ever growing list of dynamics and their rules that can potentially overwhelm you. Especially when being primal and feeling primal can be different for each and every one of us.

So what are some of the ways you can tell?

Behaviour

Take a moment to look back at your behaviour throughout moments in your life. How do you feel when you are naked? Can you recall some mannerisms during sex – a grunt or a growl, a surge of energy rocketing through your entire body? Perhaps a longing for nature – secluded woods, away from society? How do you feel about being outdoors?

Before I even knew what bdsm or being primal was, I was running through acres of land completely naked. I was masturbating in the muddy grounds after a storm. I was scratching and biting and growling during sex.

More importantly, I would experience moments – during sex or when I was horny or even outside of the bedroom – where I felt…different. And I had no idea why or what that meant. I felt different and restless and like I wanted to just find a clearing in a rainforest, lay down to feel the grass on my body and be…free. Away from everything going on in your life.

Manifestations

Maybe it comes out in a moment – you feel different, possessed by some sort of indescribable energy. You want to do things and say things that you know might challenge perceptions – but it’s there, on the tip of your tongue or bubbling to the surface. Maybe it comes out of you like a strike of lightening – you feel it wash over you before you come back down to earth. Maybe you feel like being rough during sex, choking and pulling and being held down or holding down?

I used to be scared of that feeling. I thought I was mentally ill or wired wrong and that no one could ever identify with how I felt because I was weird and unnatural and pushing any boundaries of good taste.

What I failed to see was that I was merely shedding my social profile – letting the primordial feelings come to the forefront of my mind to play and breathe a moment. Feeling strange and weird came about because I would settle back down into the boundaries of society, ready to be a well behaved citizen to the city I was in at the time.

Identity

This one may not extend to everyone – but some primals associate with an animal. They feel linked to the animal world, they feel that behaviour creep in to their mentality and waking life.

Primal folk can have ‘packs’ – groups of close friends with perhaps an unique set of rules and protocols and an established hierarchy. I’m not too well versed on this, I’m afraid, as I’ve mainly been a lone wolf or at least in a pack of two – myself and another.

Have you felt a longing to a particular animal? A call from the wild? A call to adventure? Maybe there’s more animal in you than you might realise – and there’s nothing at all wrong with that.

Primal can also extend to the PREDATOR and PREY state of mind – the urge to chase and roughly tackle and the urge to be chased and to be roughly tackled. Imagine the wrestling in the dirt, connected to the earth, hair strewn across faces in the entanglement – think on that and you’re on the right track.

Being primal means getting to a state of mind in which you are unfiltered, focusing on natural impulses, raw urges and usually a ferocious sexual appetite. It’s not always sexual though, sometimes it can relate to your confidence or your sense of humour, or your social anxiety.

More than this, it’s about retreating back to a place where you can think and feel without stigma, where you can be primitive and animalistic and as feral as you’d like to be.

It’s a beautiful, powerful and freeing to be primal and animalistic – but it can also be terrifying if you don’t know why you’re feeling the way you are.

To those scared of it, I will say this: shoving it far, far away will only make things worse. Instead, sit with your wild feelings. Get to know them. Push yourself but push gently. You have all the time in the world to grow at ease with these new concepts.

If you have any further questions, if I need to clarify on a few things, if you think you are primal and want to talk it over, you are always welcome to get in touch with me either in the comments section below or directly to my email at — darkanddominant@hotmail.com

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!

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.

On My Religion, Sexuality and Love

If you’re a long time reader, chances are you’ve read me touch on my catholic upbringing as a child and into my teens and how that affected my sexuality. Talking or writing about it at length, though, is something I haven’t done here – and for no real reason, I just haven’t felt it was an interesting topic to anyone but me.

I want to address that. However I will ask you to bear with me, it might get messy.

My father and mother were devout Catholics and raised me as such. I did the whole nine yards – reconciliation, monthly confessions, communion, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday’s, Stations of the cross, Sunday Mass – the whole shebang.

We were a conservative Catholic household and lived a conservative Catholic life. Even the sheer sight of me shirtless around the house would cause outcry. Playful or not, I cannot say, but I just wanted to raise this point.

When I was 12, I started to catch on about sex. My dad, when confronted with the notion, told me flatly ‘Yeah, we did!’. As an adult, my mum would tell me it was my dad’s job to address it as she did to my sisters. As an adult, my dad would tell me he never did enough for me. I wonder if he remembers that conversation.

As a 12 year old though, I was weird sexually. I’m taking masturbation in the weirdest places, I’m talking being excited that I’d have the house myself so I can be naked, I’m talking the primal masturbating in the mud in a frenzy – weird.

Thing was, I was making sense of myself. I found the pulse within myself that reacted against my catholic teachings to be naked, to be primal, to fight back against the feelings of shame – which I very well have now writing this, even though I understand how implausible those feelings are.

This reactionary behaviour paved the way for me to explore myself sexually as a teenager, which led to writing erotica and eventually to the wide world of BDSM and kink.

Looking back as I write this, sex – for me – is a battle between two minds. There’s the part of me who is relaxed and in control and vibrant and flourishing and then —- there’s the insecure part of me, questioning – constantly questioning, telling me that what I want, what I’ve always wanted, won’t be accepted. Somehow I know this to be a product of what I was taught, teaching me that to be naked, to want degradation, humiliation, is all wrong. Disgusting.

These days I have good control over the other part of my brain, though it does exist during my most intimate moments. However, during my twenties, that wasn’t the case.

I can distinctly remember feeling the rush of being in the moment, sexually and as a dominant, and then coming down from that high terrifies, not knowing what that meant, guilty because of my actions – my need to command, to dress, to be sadistic.

I thought I was in the wrong for years, with every kinky discovery bringing with it a wave of shame and a terrifying feeling that, after so long of living my life, I would have to reboot EVERYTHING I knew. This feeling, this scary realisation, led me to suppress it, at this point strengthened by the fact that I was in a relationship with a woman I loved but had zero interest in kink, D/s or BDSM.

Hell, I don’t even know now, years later, if my depression and anxiety is merely hereditary or a manifestation of my upbringing as a conservative Catholic. I can only guess and say it’s hereditary plus the upbringing PLUS my social experiences as a teenager. I didn’t have a lot of friends. I was shy. I was quiet. I still am.

What helped me, what still does – is trying to remember that my own development is important, that my happiness is important and that people like you, my dear readers, or kitten will accept me and my kinks and that it doesn’t mean I’m insane or sick or mentally ill.

These days, I’m not a practicing religious person – but I am spiritual. I live by a set of rules – to be kind to people, to love openly and accept everyone. I pray for my loves and my life and my animals but I consider my relationship between myself and God something entirely different to what’s prescribed in the bible. If that makes me agnostic or something, so be it, but I’d like to think that love is all you need and that if God exists, He – or she – would want me to be happy to my fullest extent. Outside of that, I try to be as kinky as I want 24/7. True to myself, in other words.

So was religion / being religious the catalyst for my feelings during sex? My anxiety? My development as a man? I’m not sure. I cannot say. I’m only a writer, half naked, musing to himself on a cool Monday morning.

12 Days of Kinkmas: Day #11 – “A Kitten for Christmas”

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She kept the best gift for last.
After all was unwrapped on their quiet Christmas morning, after they had their breakfast together – coffee and blueberry bagels – she disappeared into the spare room of their first house together, pulling open the cupboard door and reaching up over head to grab the box with the red and white stripes pattern.
She returned to him waiting on the couch patiently, hands in lap, and gently sat the box down in his lap.
“What’s this?” He asked, eyeing the box suspiciously.

She knew he didn’t like surprises – and something in her delighted in this small twist of fun she was doing to him – but she nodded towards him in a gesture that said open it and see.
He did so, carefully lifting the lid with both arms to see — the contents wrapped in plain gold wrapping paper.
He sighed, the way he knew she found funny, and paid no mind to the delicate wrapping paper, tearing it free and finding –
Cat ears around a headband.
He pulled it out of the box, running his hands over the black fuzz on the ears.
She couldn’t supress the smile on her face, it spread like wildfire, her cheeks taking the full brunt of the force.
Below the cat ears was a pink collar, as soft and fuzzy as the ears, with a little silver pendant attached reading Kitten.

“Interesting…just your size.”
He placed the collar on the cat ears – there was more to come.
Below the collar was a medium sized butt-plug, sleek and black. Attached to the end of it was a cat tail, soft and fuzzy (again) with a white stripe down the middle of it. All of this bought for just $79.99 – though he would never know that.
“I…must say. I am lost for words.”
She knew this, could tell this, from just the sound of his voice. He had this tone about him when he couldn’t find the words. It was a sweet feature. Genuine and shy and honest.

She could tell he liked it though, she could see thatin his eyes, the way they lit up with mischief, his mind going a million miles an hour just thinking of the possibilities.
Before she could talk about it, before she could say what was on her mind or even address how they’ve both been wanting to explore this part of themselves for the better part of their busy year, he was already getting up, pink fuzzy collar in hand.
“May I…Or would you rather –“

She was already brushing the intruding hair out of her eyes and behind her neck before he could finish.
With the collar attached, warm and snug around her neck, she felt truly at home – comfortable. At peace. She could tell by the way his eyes were beginning to glass over at he was at the same spot she was.

He put his arm around her and drew her in for a cuddle.