I found something that might be the answer to all my problems.

Whitewater rafting.

Alright, it might not be the answer to ALL of my problems, but it certainly will help for a while, at least. I went rafting for the first time last weekend and by the time it was all over my whole body hurt like a motherfucker and I was exhausted and excited and happy. My muscles hurt for days after and I immediately cut back on smoking... for a bit.

I've been looking for some physical activity that I could do to burn some energy and work out my body, but that was also fun at the same time. I guess I've found it. I mean I hope I have. I'm going to look into getting trained to be a guide but who knows. At the very least I will be going back to photograph them and go down the river. All the guides are cool people... and I found one I have a crush on.

So at some point I tell him, listen, we gotta take things slow, we don't know eachother very well and for all we know there are things about one another that the other can't handle. We all have issues, and I'm no exception... Then when prompted as to what those things were, I told him I was masochistic, which I had mentioned before. He says he is too! He beats himself up with rafting and kayaking and all sorts of stuff all the time. I laughed because it's valid but it's not the same as what I was talking about, but I let it go. Is it that different? What's the difference, that I've almost idolized my masochism? That I think about it in a sexual and kinky way? Perhaps if I had never found BDSM, I would be doing shit just like him. Not sleeping and plowing through booze and adventures.

I wonder how long I can keep this up, I wonder how long rafting and physical exertion will suffice.

I mean it more than was sufficient, it was amazing. I wanted to cry and skip with joy at the same time. I've never felt better in my whole life.

I'm Sad

Im sitting here, mad and upset about men and how they treat me. I think to myself, "No wonder so many people are gay, men and women aren't relating to eachother". I'm thinking this because of so many communication mishaps and barriers. I'm thinking this because I'm mad and upset. Over and over men disappoint me. I find myself looking for female companionship. Which makes me ask a lot of questions. Particularly; "Am I gay?" Also, "Why do I hate men?" I find that as I sit here, my distraught (and now, stoned) mind turning over and over. I run back to the thoughts of my sexuality, my interest in BDSM, my scars... My decision that "women's rights has fucked us". But I don't think it's that. I also turn over my ideas of being gay, and my attraction to women. A lot of girls are bisexual or bicurious and I hate the terms. It reminds me of plastic looking girls giggling and making out at some house party while holding a Smirnoff and boys oo and aw and gauk and egg them on.

Ultimately I come to the realization that men have become disrespectful. They have the control. They take what they can get, and they do it scrappy because that's the only way they know how. Women have learned to play some sort of game, and some are good at it, but I'm not. I think we're in a world of topping from the bottom.

I don't know what I do. I get mad. No, I get sad... and then I get mad because I'm sad and I don't want to show it.

I'm sad that I don't know how to "properly deal with men". Mostly I don't think I should have to. I think men should be more sensitive to women. And I'm not talking about being a pussy, I'm talking about paying attention.

Which is why I think I like BDSM so much. I like the idea of a Master, a Dom, a Sadist. These Top Men type, the best of them, they pay attention with great detail. They are in tune. And they wield that power knowingly...

This used to be a normal thing. Men did manly things. They hunted and killed. They protected their land and people. They knew who they were, and for that matter, so did women. Now all of our roles are fucked up and I can't fucking handle it half the time. I don't feel like anyone sees me. My ability to give a person what they want has made me into people I am not. But is that even true? Aren't you a product of what you do?

But men are supposed to run the world.

There's a balance to maintain.

I often feel lost.

of Love and Pain

What is it I'm trying to say? What is it I'm looking for, in this semi secret place I have built for me, lost amongst the rest of the interent. Safe place to write and speak, I fear judgment. I fear. I fear judgment and I want you to love me. My soul is pounding at my heart, screaming at my skin which traps me too close in, the monster inside has been fed a dose and now howls for more, more. Normally kept in a state of starvation, too weak to move, but it is restless, I am restless, and there is only one thing that will tame us.

Pain.

I want to cry at what that means. I am sitting here full of inspiration, anticipation and something else that I think might be Love. The well of love in me is deep and fairly untouched, mostly because it is so woven with these dark desires.

There are those who do not understand the deep connection of love and pain. So many experience only one or the other. And too many "in the lifestyle" do not hold on to their passion of being in love. They decreed themselves incapable or unworthy of real love, and search through S&M to fill that void. I desire both together, or neither at all. In fact, I cannot separate the two. All my pain is sweet and all my love is hard.

I've been told I'm a dreamer by many people.

So what.

The Laugh

I was a little drunk, meeting up with D. And pissed off at the stories I have heard. But I'll admit, I think I wanted to stir shit up. Perhaps just my own shit. I've been bored lately, frustrated with my lack of true connection to people. Conversations lacking the depth I want, my skin and soul untouched for so long. And, god, I cannot stand the thought of just sleeping with someone, it's so unsatisfying. I need any man I fuck to know some things about me. A) I'm somewhat a masochist B) I'm smart, emotional, and my head's all full of shit. Anyway, D doesn't really know any of this shit, though I know he was stirring the pot himself, one way or another. But the point is, is that at one point I had some things to say to him, and they were coupled with  me slapping him in the face a few times. I was baiting, exactly how I know is not the right way to go about these things (but it can be so fun), and of course he rose to it. One crack across the face and I think I felt more free in that moment than I have in a long time. I laughed and walked away, satisfied in some way with the game I had played. There's a crosswalk we were waiting for and I stop there long enough to rub my cheek and grumble an "ow!" towards him and he laughed. Good lord, there's not much better than a Sadist's laugh at my pain.

Safe, Sane and Consensual

It stirs again.

Normally my little bug, my darkness, my whatever-you-call-it, it's calmly contained deep down inside. Or as far deep as I can keep it. Most of the time, I am content with my little battle with myself. Most men cannot reach and wield that power properly, and yes, I do think of it as power. How do you ever explain that feeling? How can I, at least, seeing as I don't know what anyone else feels.

Most of the time, I can contain myself. But all it takes is running into a fucking sadist to spin my shit up. It's like lightning. It's like boiling. I feel the chaos tickling the edges of my skin, my head and very especially my heart. It's like a multiplied addiction weighing on my chest, incapable of being satisfied. It's like being hopelessly in love, with your lover halfway across the world.

I met a new sadist. D. D has a reputation for being a monster, and while I haven't decided to disagree, I think he's less guilty than some would have him be. First of all, I know from first hand experience the power I have with men. Particularly men who lean towards a sadistic streak. Tempting that part of a man is dangerous and alluring. Most of the time it's not a healthy manner of going about getting your fix but yet here I sit, desiring to set him on fire and see if I get burned. And usually I do, and the point is never to be burned, but to ignite together.

Safe, Sane and Consensual.

I feel like I want to talk right to him, here, but it's not about that, it's not even about him. It's about me. And a lot of other things. First and foremost the issue of people catering to these afflictions without the proper knowledge and understanding of the physiological, emotional, mental part of it all. It's not just fun and games. It doesn't leave you in the bedroom.

I am of the understanding and belief that any sexual encounter leaves an imprint of the other person in your soul. The stronger the sexual experience, the stronger the imprint. And there's nothing stronger than a sadomasochistic experience. Embracing pain and pleasure together heightens everything. It's cleansing. It's complicated... And some people just can't live without it.

There are too many people who move about their sadism or masochism a bit blindly, unaware of the affects it not only has on themselves, but to their counterparts and playmates. Baiting a Top and having it work is the folly of both characters. It's a game, and a nasty one. One that doesn't have to exist. That's the game of amateurs and desperates.

The reality is that anyone plagued by these afflictions (because it is painful to bear) is wielding deep and fucked up desires, and the key is to hone them into something healthy and loving, built on trust and communication.

Without it, we're just animals. And I like to think the perfect sexuality is the one that's ultimately spiritual. Call me crazy.

Relationship Pyrotechnics

How can I justify or apologize for the searing passionate jealousy I feel, risen up by the irrational complications I've set upon myself caused by this fucking man? A friend once called my destructive tendencies towards those I started feeling for "relationship pyrotechnics". I had laughed at the time, but I'm not laughing anymore.

He is emotionally unavailable. Emotionally fucking gone, stone and going through the motions. In his art, it's all chaos and some dark humor and sex. No amount of tits and pussy will make him feel anything. No amount of money will buy him happiness.

All I wanted was to be in his heart. I fucked up, I got mad. I let the evilness of jealousy seed itself and fester, my heart growing dark with every word to another woman, every smile to a text.

So drunk and angry, I don't remember what I said or what I did. He tells me I pissed in his guitar case. And even though I don't remember it, I know what I was feeling. The metallic taste of vengeance and rebellion like blood on my lips, though it is me who bleeds, but without relief of touch or pain.

When I left, he came in to hug me and kiss me on the mouth, but I turned my face and loosely draped one arm around him, letting my lips barely touch his jaw, trying not to breathe the sweet sent of his sweat. I only glanced at him, but I think he smiled as if there was anything to be smiling about. He probably fucked that girl. He probably fucked that girl and now all I can think about is any girl he's fucking or may have fucked or might fuck, I just see blood and hear screams, envisioning me sweaty and out of breath and standing over their agonizing bodies, and in my head I punched him as hard as I could in the face before getting into the cab.

What right do I have to this anger? What right, when I am the one who fucked it up.

The reality is, I just wanted to cry and magically stop time to stay in his arms for a while.

Another potential great thing, ruined by Relationship Pyrotechnics.

Thinking...

It's in the back of my head, haunting me, rising up here and there... Masochism. What a disastrous evil affliction to have. I only know one person who can cater to it, and he wont barely talk to me. I want to feel nothing... he made me feel nothing, once. And in that moment he lifted my face with a soft touch and told me I was beautiful, and I felt beautiful, and real, and whole.