Light At The End

Mistress Oasis and I had another of our phenomenal, mind blowing “US” Wednesdays again yesterday. We basically blow off work, clients, responsibilities – and spend a whole day playing, loving, connecting. The depth, the intimacy, the love and connection all came together perfectly. And I’ve woken up still swimming in that amazing headspace that feels like a warm sphere of pure love is encasing me – separating me from the world and all its coldness.

As I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, my mind wandered back to our initial meeting. It was quite accidental in many ways, and almost didn’t happen because I was at a very low point in my BDSM journey. It was only by happenstance that I showed up at the same place she was one evening. But that happenstance changed my life.

Without a doubt, the “darkest” time in my BDSM journey was early on in my first marriage. I was 21 and a soldier serving stateside at the time. We had been dabbling regularly into bondage play and some light flogging and spanking. I almost always topped her, but with persuasion had succeeded in getting her to switch a few times. However, deep inside I knew I needed to experience more of the “receiving” side of things. I knew I wanted to feel more intense pain, feel a greater loss of control and a greater sense of being under her power and whim. However, that was simply not how she was wired.

One night it all came to a head. After days of having tried to coax her to tie me down to the bed again and do “those things” to me, she finally erupted and let me have it. She made quite clear that my very manhood was in question as far as she was concerned. These things I wanted disgusted her and basically she wondered what kind of “real man” would want those things from a woman.
I spent that night in our guest bedroom with the lights off and kneeling in a corner for several hours. I sat there on my knees, tears streaming down, praying to the God whom I was always taught loved me and wanted good things for me. I prayed and begged for him to rip this horrible and disgusting thing out of me that made me a horrible and disgusting person. I wondered why a loving God would put such a terrible flaw into his creation. I’ve never abandoned my faith in God – but he did not remove the thorn from my side that night, despite all of my anguish.

Fast forward another lifetime. I was more than double the age that I was when I sat there on my knees asking God to make me a good person worthy of love. I’d been through two divorces, two careers, two home ownerships, etc. I’d been actively involved in the leather community for the vast majority of my adult life. I’d been a switch for many years and later put down the whip altogether and fully embraced being a submissive.

I was well liked and had all of the “play partners” I could possibly want. I’m a fun masochist, so my requests for a good beating were rarely turned down. But those were hour-long events. When lucky, I was invited to spend a weekend serving a Domme. A weekend of domestic chores with some good, sadistic play mixed in. The energy was great, but these were all friendships. For an extended period, I’d served one Domme on a regular basis. She had convinced me that the trick to fulfillment in all of this was NOT to fall in love. Love complicated matters. Dominance, submission, protocol. If you couldn’t be content with that, there was something wrong with you as a submissive. After all, she was granting me the privilege of serving her and receiving her marks and bruises. What more could a submissive want?

After about a year, she ended my service abruptly with an email and no explanation.

The next 6 -8 months were spent attending munches and play parties. I reverted back to switching for awhile just to increase my play opportunities. I “dated” a Domme here, a Domme there. Either their personality or style wouldn’t match what I was looking for. I was getting all the playtime I could handle. I even had some fairly regular sexual partners. So, by “kinky” standards, my life was perfect.

But I was still unhappy. My kinky life wasn’t “dark” – it was empty. I was walking away from each scene and each sexual encounter saying “Well, THAT was fun!” – but my heart was telling me something different. Looking over fresh bruises acquired the night before no longer held the awe and appeal it once did. Eventually my disillusionment caused play partners and sex partners to see me as “conflicted” and not so much fun anymore.

I stepped out of the lifestyle. I tried vanilla dating, but discovered that vanilla women were more neurotic than anything I’d run across in the lifestyle. So the emptiness grew inside. I felt that I did not fit in anywhere.

It was simply by chance that an old friend said, “I know you aren’t playing or dating. But what can it hurt to come out and hang with some of your own kind for an evening?” Another person had decided to come along with some kinky friends to just “hang out” that night as well. And if not for that twist of fate, perhaps we would have never met. And it wasn’t even until I’d chatted it up with this “friend of a friend of a friend” and we were parting ways for the evening that I learned her name – Mistress Oasis.

I have to stop there, because to write anymore about it would be giving away a chapter of my book. But hopefully, someone who is wandering about feeling empty in this lifestyle will stumble upon this writing of mine. To them I would say “Don’t give up.” Take a break if you need to, but don’t quit showing up. This lifestyle has new people filtering into it every day. And it’s not all twenty-somethings who just finished reading “50 Shades.” There are women coming into this community in their 40’s, 50’s and 60’s who have wanted to rule men all their lives and only now have decided to shed society’s “norms” and seek what they crave.

But you have to be there if you’re going to meet them. I hope you find yours soon!

– Slave Dragos

 

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