Bonnie & Clyde

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Amends

I've been a client for such a long time with enough different dommes that I would be well and truly fulla shit if I said I've been perfect. I've become friends with a few prodommes in the past couple of years and more than ever I've realized that I've often been a pretty jerky client. The Maxville board, with all its crazy problems, has been great for me to see how poor behavior on the part of sub-guys affects dommes in such an unwarranted, negative way.

I was never much for the protocol thing in my AA 12 Step program when I went, but I carry the Steps with me in my wallet. I remain sober and have been for over twenty-five years, but haven't been to a meeting in a long, long time. Just haven't wanted or needed it. But remembering all the times I was a jerk to a prodomme made me think of the "amends" steps - mostly Step 8.

Step 8 reads, "Made a list of all persons we harmed and became willing to make amends to them all."

Now, I'm not namin' names. Just a list of the crap I pulled which I'm sorry about. This is pretty lame but it'll have to do.

• I called and wasted your time.
• I called repeatedly and certainly qualified as a "wanker".
• I made appointments that I didn't keep.
• I wrote waaaay too many emails.
• I was overly dramatic. (Still am ...)
• My lists were way too long and controlling.
• I begged and whined and pleaded and when you finally gave me exactly what I'd been simpering for I didn't have the balls to go through with it.
• I broke my chastity vow without permission.
• I asked to be your friend before I ever even met you.

There ... told ya! I'm a jerk!! ... But I was never boring.

High Maintenance

I've decided I must be a high maintenance client. It's not that my taste in play is particularly extreme. I can't ever remember asking to be suspended from the ceiling by fish hooks and dental floss. I certainly don't come to the dungeon with a script in one hand and a megaphone in another trying to do my best Cecil B. DeMille imitation. And I never ever try and cajole her into doing something she isn't into. In fact, these days, after she gets to know me a little, I like to pretty much leave the scene up to her.

But nevertheless, I think I'm a high maintenance kinda guy. It's not that I ask this upfront, but if our thing's gonna work, I want to be my domme's friend. I want to get to know her. I want to spend time with her outside the dungeon. The rub is that I prefer that time to be untributed. Now, I appreciate that prodommes are professionals and that means it's a pay-to-play kind of deal. I understand that and am a fairly generous guy both with tribute and gifts. But, if she really likes me, doesn't she want to get to know me as a person? Shouldn't that want translate into time spent off the clock? I know, I know ... this has to happen organically. It simply doesn't work to ask, "Will you be my friend?", on the preferences checklist I fill out before we get down to the matter at hand in the dungeon. But an emotional connection is key.

Plus, I want it to be okay that I'm married. I love my wife and while things aren't perfect (otherwise, I wouldn't be Client Nine and a Half now would I?), I'd like to talk about the wife now and again because she's a big part of my life. I'm trying to figure out how, in a very limited way, to incorporate kink into my marriage. Maybe my domme can help.

In addition, I like correspondence. I remember writing to PO boxes, in ink, with a pen, by snail mail. Before the days of email and blogs and googletalk, I used to write letters to dommes. I like getting replies. I'm a bit compulsive when it comes to writing, but sometimes I turn a nice phrase. I admit to being a bit OCD. I know she has a practice and a life. But I like to write and get answers.

I think this all makes for a high maintenance kind of thing. Or does it?

Come on ... we could go out and do the twist ...

Freak Show

Yesterday, I took a trip to Coney Island with my new friend Mistress Crimson. We rode the B&D train from Soho where she was shopping at AP for retro bras. She let me carry her packages. I had been appointed to reconnoiter the outing as at an earlier dinner she was bereft that the Freak Show had disbanded. But in true urban scout fashion, I discovered the city had granted a one year reprieve from whatever the new plan is to raze all that gorgeous grit of a carnival-by-the-sea. So we made a date. Just getting there was delicious as I have this thing for trains, see.

We smelled the sea breezes, walked on the hot summer boardwalk, ate corn from Nathan's (which totally sucked - not what it used to be), munched pink cotton candy and she watched me, appalled, as I slurped a dozen cherrystones with hot sauce, lemon and horseradish. (everything I hoped it would be) We rode the Wonder Wheel on a stationary car; I clutched the cage as I suffer a touch of vertigo. I think she really liked seeing my hand grip the antique, cross hatched metal in real fear.

We talked all afternoon. I loved it. Out with a domme in the light of day. She said she liked being outdoors. Then we went to the Freak Show.

The MC, Dony Vomit, was a very hot, young, slender guy in a pair of brown, tan and orange stripped suit pants, matching waist coat and snakeskin boots. He sported a bowler hat and a handle bar moustache with curly cue ends. His head was shaved. He gave virtuoso carny patter.

He drove a nail into his nose with a hammer he swung while leering perfectly at us gawkers in the gallery. He brandished a power drill which he screwed deeply into that very same nasal cavity. He recited a poem he'd composed about a mouse trap and ended by triggering the trap on his tongue. We both clapped wildly at his skill and effervescent showmanship. He was big fun!

My other fave was Angelica , aka Insectivora, the fire eater. Her hair was a dreadlock tangle. Blue tatoos marked the right side of her beautiful, sweet face and cascaded down her body. She was dressed like a fire swept mermaid. She worked three kerosine torches and alternately swallowed their flame and lit them again with her fingers. She threw her head back with abandon and a hot tongue blazed from her full lips. I was in love.

As we left I said goodbye to this wonderful relic. It will be gone for good come September to be replaced by some santitized echo of Luna and Steeplechase Parks. I have a thing for old amusement parks, trains, clams and a boardwalk by the sea. And ... I have a thing for my new friend Crimson. We're friends. I'm that half step better with her.

Wicked Game

Miss Troy Orleans has a very thought provoking post on Max about chastity. I'm so glad she has posted. When I first joined Max I looked forward to getting to know her and loved reading her posts. Then she kinda stopped. The Max board has been a truly wonderful place for me, despite all its problems, and when she stopped I felt her absence though I didn't even know her. I've met her briefly and pretty religiously read her blog Whipsmart. She's got such a gorgeously hot vocabulary!

Anyway, while I responded to her post, it got me thinking more about the complexity of chastity as it is the core of my bdsm self. No ropes, no leather, no whacking ... just a committed bond with my "keyholder". For me, the "key" has been largely metaphoric. I've done most of my stints in chastity without a device.

Sometimes, I've done self-imposed chastity. I'll deny myself for two or three weeks at a time. It's a bit lonely and incomplete. No one to honor and please. No one to taunt me and tease me. No one to seduce and deny me. But going there reminds me of how much I love the taste of that full frontal romanti-submission. It is mind altering and consciousness bending. It is drug like.

The dark side of chastity for me is how much it's like getting intoxicated. I get completely shitfaced on my need for release and the counter-weight of chivalrous integrity in service of her desire to keep me chaste. These days I'm pretty scared of chastity. I can get pretty hammered and trashed at the two week mark of on-my-honor purity. Does it affect my life? Must I deny myself the essence of my kink? Should I develop other passionate bdsm interests? Should I just say no?

Then again, maybe I just need the right guide. My very own Chastity Director? Maybe that's a fine reason to remain Client Nine and a Half ...

'Cos I do so love the wicked game.

The Door

I crave the door.

I need it ... I gotta have it. No matter what, it has the same heat everytime. All just builds to that door opening. The door always opens the same. Like there's nobody there. It's because she's dressed. She doesn't want the neighbors to see. I know she's behind that door when it opens. I know she opens it ... but everytime, every single time, it just seems so magical. The door opening by itself - behind it - heaven.

Behind the door is my domme. She takes me away. She lets me be who I am to my core. The door opens. She's behind the door dressed in black with a hint of a smile.

I crave the door.

I've Got A Secret.

Secrets ... everybody has 'em. Some are bigger than others. Some are innocent and some are just downright evil. There are secrets that are just piddly little nothings and there are secrets so powerful they affect your life in on-going dramatic ways.

My life as a client of prodommes has been a pretty secret affair. My shrink and the prodommes I've seen know. The vanilla women I've had long term relationships have known I've seen prodommes but I've kept from them that I sneak off to the dungeon during my relationship with them. I've always done this. Thus, I've always had a secret.

Without going all Freudian on your ass, this kind of sexual secret has been a powerful force in my life. I have lots of the personality traits of an incest survivor, though I never actually did it with Mommy Dearest. So I've spent lots of time in therapy talking about the power of this supercharged sexual secret. For me, secret sex is the hottest, dirtiest most erotically exciting kind of sex imaginable. While I can't say I've never ever had intercourse with a woman who has called herself a prodomme, the best sex I've ever had has been secret, non-intercourse nasties with highly reputable, ethical, beautiful, wonderful prodommes.

So, I've got a secret. A very powerful secret. A marriage ruining secret. A career damaging secret. Is it a hot healthy secret to be indulged and enjoyed? Is it a crippling secret to be dissected and exposed? Or does it lie somewhere in between because it simply is what it is? And how do I shed a little light on the subject without being a danger to myself and others in the process?

Yadda, yadda, yadda. Sometimes if you can safely share a secret it can lose its power. I loved reading the secrets of others this morning. It was a relief.

Nothin' Like a Little Inspiration.

It's funny but Elliot Spitzer was the inspiration for my being more out with my kink and for the name of this blog. Really ... I'm just like him. In the cold, hard light of the early unforgiving dawn, I'm just like him. Or at least I was for so many years. It's just that I'm a half step better, a half step more connected and a half step less self righteous. So here's to you Elliot for inspiring me. Thanks, buddy.

I've been a client of prodommes for almost thirty years. I'm an accomplished sneak. I double, triple and quadruple cross check my stories. I squirrel away tribute like a hungry scavenger on a cold sunny November day. I delete, delete, delete my history ... on the computer ... on the PDA ... on the cell. I remember when pay phones gave me a powerful sexual charge. I used to live for the cloak and daggerness of it all.

For the past three months, I've been a baby step more out. I post on Max, I comment on some very, very cool blogs and I've started a couple of complicated friendships with dommes. I'm weighing play parties, classes and munches. I've even had lunch with the only other sub-guy I've ever (knowingly) in my life talked to in person. So, while it's all pretty exciting, I've got me a long, long ways to go.

I love the written word but am a terminally lazy reader unless I'm compelled by the subject. I'm a wordsmith at heart, hammering and hacking a phrase or an image until it resonates just right. This blog seems a natural thing.

So I'm advochasty ... Client Nine and a Half. I wanna talk about life as a client and my half a step away from that deep dark secret toward the scary light of day.

And hey ... I'm just around the corner from the light of day.