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.

‘Under Protection’ – What Does It Mean?

When I was new to Fetlife and I saw the ‘under protection of…’ tag on profiles, I didn’t quite understand what it meant. It’s strange wording isn’t it? Sure, it says ‘under protection’, that person is protected – but by who? And what does that mean? And is it a platonic relationship or a romantic one? Just what does it entail?

It’s important to note that the use of the word has different meanings and this all depends on context. For example, a Dominant can be the protector of his or her submissive – but can also be a guidance for his or her trusted newcomer – a completely non-sexual relationship established together upon a set of decided rules.

Which isn’t for everyone, of course. There are those who view a protector as simply a predator preying on unsuspecting newcomers – and this can very much be the case, unfortunately. I hear of it happening time and time again. While others have stated if a person needs a protector in the first place, if they can’t apply critical thinking to what they want to approach, then maybe they should take a step back and wait.

There is also the view that the ‘under protection…’ tag on Fetlife is discouraging to those generally interested in the individual, that the tag does more harm than good and scares away folk.

One of the many viewpoints is that ‘to be under protection’ is to have a trusted friend that can talk you through the concepts of BDSM, vetting play partners (if that’s part of the agreement) and generally be there for you, either in person – to accompany you to live events – or online. What shape this ‘protection’ takes depends entirely on the individual and what they’d like.

If you’re thinking about wanting a protector or protecting someone, make absolutely sure you will define boundaries and terms and ideas, making sure you both are absolutely on the same page, otherwise that can lead to unnecessary drama and hurt and a breakdown in communication.

If you just met someone and you two are considering the label,take some time to get to know them. Talk often. Meet for a coffee date or organise a safe way to communicate online – be sure that they are a healthy fit for you and where you are now – and if you’re not confident or comfortable entirely with the idea, that’s okay too. We really do have all the time in the world.

At the end of the day, being somebody’s protector can mean entirely different things for entirely different people. It could be non-sexual, it could be a Friends-With-Benefits scenario where the submissive is accompanied to munches and clubs as moral support, it could just be moral support and a voice of guidance along the way, customised to an extent. It really depends on what people want and how people feel and I could be here all day discussing scenarios.

If you’re new to Fetlife and new to kink and this sounds appealing, try not to rush into it. Be careful. There are those out there who will abuse your trust to get their quick fix. They can easily be sussed out, their lack of interest and patience can be evident generally. Just be wary – but don’t despair! There’s plenty of good out there too.

My Growth As a Dominant

A few days ago (I think, the beginning of the year always feels like a non-linear sequence of events) I put out a Q/A type deal, just in case anybody new had questions or anybody wanted to ask something relating to a story or anything like that.

And a reader posed a question to me via email and it was a good one. I wanted to write about it on the blog because it’s something I’ve spoken about before – but not in depth.

Before I do though, I just want to say. If you’re reading this and you do have a question but feel like it’s too weird or personal to ask, just know that I really don’t mind – so far no one, in the years I’ve been writing this blog, has asked a question I haven’t been able to openly answer. So please, don’t fret if you’re out there and on the fence. I welcome it.

As for the question, it was in regards to my dominance. You see, the first dominant thing I experimented with was degradation and humiliation. It wasn’t spanking or cuffs or my belt or anything like that, it was this very raw, very psychological act.

The reader was interested as to why? Normally it’s the other way around – people start with a little light spanking or maybe a little dirty talk.

The answer is that it happened in a strange and organic way. My then-girlfriend and I, we just happened to be communicating via computer when our two sides seemed to awaken – and we experimented with every vulgarity then AND when we met up the next day.

Even when we realised something was happening between us, I don’t recall memories of spanking or bondage. Strangely, though, I do recall experimenting with exhibitionism, roleplaying, setting tasks and protocol and knife play. We seemed to jump right in the deep end of the pool, having sex outdoors or in cars, setting psychological tasks like masturbating loudly at home or risking getting caught or other aspects.

Why? I would say because we didn’t really know any better. We were 17 – young and dumb, excited about risk taking and the defined boundaries of BDSM – or BDSM safety were lost on us. We only had our sense of morality on what was right or wrong for us – and luckily we were safe through it all.

The things I have learned about myself, about what was right and what was wrong, about what I like, I have learned from encounters and friends in my twenties along the way. I have also learned to be a better man and a better dominant through my relationship with my kitten, who has helped me learn from any mistakes I make and who has been there to help me be more attentive and intuitive.