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!

Lingering Thoughts On ‘Let Us Pray’

I don’t normally like to indulge on what I write, hoping that people will take pleasure in drawing their own conclusions about certain things.

However. My most recent piece of scribble – Let Us Pray, in which a teenage girl undresses while saying her prayers – has haunted me, shall we say, because there’s a lot in there for me that was interesting to explore as a writer, but maybe as interesting to the reader.

For me, I’m drawn to edgier material. When a devoutly religious character practiced self-flagellation over their own straying thoughts in a piece of entertainment I read, I’m fascinated – because there’s a richness to what they’re feeling and thinking and conflicted about that I find makes for great drama. It’s serious – but it’s underscored with biting sexuality and I, as a religious person myself and as a Dominant man, am conflicted. Because I see this sacrilege, this inflicted pain used as both a form of pleasure and pain – and I am aroused by the image and enchanted by the character as an audience member and as a writer, it’s a meaty development to unpack.

So for my story, what I wanted to explore – for the reader – was this tug-of-War of feelings – a sense that hey, this might be sick, but there’s something erotic about it that is compelling.

Of course, there’s also the alternative – that I didn’t create a rewarding pay off. If that’s the case, I will take the blame – I write vignettes that come to me, hoping that someone – even one person – likes it. But not everything is gold. Which is where I welcome feedback!

But I wanted to explore that feeling of conflict within the reader but also within myself. I mean, it’s blasphemy – but there’s something sensual about it. There’s something darkly delicious about it that compels me.

Perhaps it’s my background, that I was raised to think even the mention of blasphemy in fiction is a massive insult and betrayal of my religion. Maybe that’s partly why I’m here now, scribbling down some sort of half asses analysis on a story I wrote on a whim. I’m not sure.

But the image was too interesting, as a writer, to not flesh out, ever the slightest, for any reader to come and take away to their own world for a heartbeat.

If I’ve failed in entertaining or conveying a sense of eroticism, well, I tried. But I did enjoy the daydream, however fleeting it was.

Let Us Pray

‘What are you doing?’ He asks her.

They’re in her bedroom, away from the world. Him, 26 and her, 17.

She’s closed the door behind her, unbuttoning her plain white work blouse button by button.

He can already glimpse the lace detail of the black bra beneath her.

‘Dear God…’ She says, unbuttoning another button.

‘Thank you for bringing Henry to me in my time of need.’

Another button comes undone. Two to go.

His eyes want to sink down and take in how her small breasts are kept hidden behind the cups of her bra, but there’s something in her eyes – something dangerous. Manic.

‘Thank you…for this moment together, O Lord”

One button to go.

‘And in all the moments that have come before.’

The last button is gone. Her eyes, greyish blue, are locked on to his as she peels away the blouse, revealing a lightly tanned stomach, freckles sprawling sporadically across the skin. The blouse floats down to the floor.

Her hands are reaching down to her jeans, unzipping the fly.

‘Alex…’

‘Please instil with me the p…the power, God..’

‘Power’ comes on loose lips, wiggling out of her shaky voice. Her voice is airy, dreamy. Possessed.

‘The power to be good. To do good. To be better.’

Alex is wriggling out of her jeans. They fall to her knees, revealing pale legs and skimpy black lace panties.

She kicks the jeans off to the floor.

‘And please watch over me, over us, and fill our hearts with love and magic. And passion.’

She unclasps her bra, letting it fall to the floor, revealing her bare breasts, her dark areola. Goosebumps trailing across her skin. The slightest hint of veins running beneath, pumping blood through her body, silky warm.

‘I’m thankful for what you’ve shown me, God, and who…you’ve ‘ – the words catch on her throat, her chest tightens as she breathes, excited and nervous. ‘Brought to me.’

She hooks her fingers around the waistband of her panties and slides them down, revealing the thin line of hair marking her slit.

‘Amen.’

Her eyes never break contact.

——————————————-

For some reason it came to me – the idea of a religious teenager praying to god while undressing for the person she lusts after. I found the psychological interplay – her eyes on him, in command, betraying the idea of religion or subverting it in a wholly different environment – to be very sexy. Hopefully you enjoy it too!

Do What Makes You Feel Alive / Late Night Ramblin’

As I sit here, half naked in front of a fan to avoid the scorching Australian summer, half trying to tiredly map out Valhalla chapters, a thought comes to my mind.

I’ve been on my Tumblr, scrolling through my feed, ghosts of stories coming to me from the remnants of safe-for-work semi-sexual pictures and I think to myself – we need to do what makes us happy. We have to be in it, whatever IT is, for ourselves.

I mean, when I was starting out as a Dominant and I was on Fetlife looking for answers, everyone had their own code, built up from whatever they felt right – and that’s fine. Everyone has their own customised role from the pre-established basic rules of BDSM and it’s many dynamics. But I struggled to find what was right for me.

The thing is, you need to – we need to – follow our own hearts and minds and desires and see where that leads, especially when it comes to our interests in BDSM. Sure we might fall. Sure we might hurt ourselves or even someone we love, but if such an event occurs, there is an opportunity to learn from that. And with learning comes growth.

I almost didn’t start this blog you know? I thought for sure that there were other, more experienced people – experienced Dominants, male or female – though I confess, I did initially think ‘experienced dominant males’. I mean, I thought: Oh I’m some joe blow from down under, I’m 26, what do I know? What can I add to the table?’ – I still think this.

I still think – what have I got to offer, even now? After all these years? I don’t know. But I’m not the point – the point is – you can’t think like that. You can’t afford to.

Who cares who is more experienced? We all grow, we all adapt and learn in different ways. At different times. We all bloom as flowers in different seasons – and we all make our own way.

More importantly, our differences are validated and can be thought of as unique. And difference can be beautiful to behold. I know that from learning the slow, slow SLOW way.

So, lurkers and readers I don’t hear from, don’t be too hard on yourself. Don’t compare. Don’t dwell. Try not to ruminate on how others run their lives – you’ll only find that leads to torment. Focus on what makes you laugh, what makes you giddy. What makes you alive.

Goodnight world. Sleep tight.

A Note For Anyone Too Hesitant To Write To Me

Okay, so – one thing I generally like to do on this blog (and probably do too much to the point I seem predatory) is encourage readers or lurkers to, if they want, write in – if they have feedback or a question they want a stance on or whatever the case may be.

The thing is – I’ve actually neglected one tremendously important aspect that can manifest in readers and still their mind from contacting. Recently a reader wrote in to me and, amongst other details, mentioned their hesitance in asking any questions out of fear of being too bold when – and here’s the kicker – they believe I give too much when they have very little to offer in return.

To anyone out there, adult or teenager, man or woman, I will say this – if you are on a similar thought path, thinking that you can’t take up my time because you have nothing to give back – that’s simply not true.

Firstly, don’t ever undersell yourself. Your presence or your words or even your company are all gifts in their own way. Don’t ever forget that.

I find meeting new people one of the great joys of running this blog. It’s a pleasure when anyone writes in because I’m grateful for the company and their trust in me.

As for me, I welcome bold questions. Some readers have challenged my perspectives and helped me grow through, others have given me feedback I can explore through the blog and I’m generally open about my sexuality and tastes and life – and if a line of questioning becomes too personal, I’ll tell you up front and honestly.

You may think I’m doing too much or being too selfless, but I don’t feel that. I just feel like an ordinary joe just doing what I can because it soothes a restless part of my soul.

So please never think you have nothing to give – you have everything to give, all that you are, all that you want to talk of, all that you’re passionate about. Don’t misinterpret that worth – and never worry you can’t approach me. I care not about inexperience or boldness or age or weirdness.