Compartments

One of the themes of my writing has been how I've struggled to live as integrated a life as I can when it comes to my kink. For so many years I hid it away in a dark closet and it only really came out when I snuck around to buy the latest issue of Screw Magazine or DDI and then obsessed on when and where to see which domme I was for the moment enthralled with.

Now, while I certainly don't broadcast to everyone in my social and professional circle that I'm a shoe licking submissive fetishist, most people who know me, both vanilla and scene, know I'm a perv. For myself, I much prefer this less compartmentalized, "one-life-to-live" sort of approach. Sex and what I do, or more accurately what I'd like to do, in the bedroom are private things, not secret shameful things.

But over the course of being more "out" I realize that there are all sorts of lines people draw in their own lives around who knows what about their kink. Or for that matter, how much any given kinkster will reveal to another fellow traveller about their vanilla life. I totally get it and how much anybody choses to share is totally up to them. But even accounting for the need to be discreet because of the "ick factor" of a kinkster lifestyle, I wonder is there something appealing about compartmentalizing for its own sake.

It can be fun to create different persona and be different people in diverse social circles, right? A fantasy role lets you escape the day to day grind of life's mundane responsibilities. It's a mini-vacation or a form of freedom, isn't it? Plus, you get to reveal or protect aspects of your personality as you see fit, which is often a good thing, no?

I suppose I could agonize over where someone's lines in the sand are. Will I offend them? Have I already messed up said something or written something I shouldn't have? Will they ever speak to me again? Can I tip toe through these tulips and not lose my balance?

I try my best to respect other people's boundries and appreciate the compartments of their lives that they feel comfortable sharing with me. And while discretion is said to be the better part of valor, revelation under the right circumstances is an optimistic act of hope.

Sometimes A Heart Is No Place To Be Singing From At All

For years I told lies to satiate powerful sexual desire. Through three long term relationships; two marriages and a serious five year girlfriend - I just heaped lie after mendacious invention after bald faced, flat-out fib on the pile of pursuing personal perversion. Now as I begin a difficult struggle to rid my body of a new, inadvertent craving; I realize I was an addict. For me, the white hotness of the secret sneak to the forbidden was an irresistable narcotic.

By saying this I make no accusation of enabling. Most prodommes totally rock. Some of the women I saw helped me so much. One has become the dearest of friends who will have to mercilessly drive me off if she wants to dump me. I am hers.

But I can also be another's. And even another's. Because there's room in my life. And just like the benzos will be gone, I am mostly free of desperate double crossing deceit. Secret sex has become merely private. It's my business.

Ms. Mahwah Kiss worries that I'll be "caught". She worries that someone will "out" me and I will be "discovered". What? The New York Post will find my blog and do some sort of salacious story about how a respected lawyer is actually a perv? Could my livelihood be affected? I guess so. But it's who I am. This blog and the open references I sometimes make to liking "controling women" have taken something I used be ashamed of and made it into a creative celebration. Welcome to 2010. I say bring it.

Bring it...and I'll deal.

That's why I was so disappointed to be lied to this past week by someone I'd hoped wouldn't have to be like me and hide. Look, I understand. It's supported by every right in the world. But it made me sad.

Sad for all the lies I'd told my wife. How I had repeatedly gaslighted her and denied the incontrovertible. How she'd believed me; until the next time and the time and again after that. My thirty three year surreptitious stealth eroded any semblance of intimacy.

Do I "man-up" by separating and dating kinky? For me, I have no choice. I choose me. I choose to get off my lovely mommy helpers because I miss the anxious, nervous, quivering little guy who said "I think I can, I think I can" often enough to become a successful professional and a proud perv all in one.

Do I risk?

Hell, yeah I risk!

But this is life affirming risk worth taking. We are gorgeous, glittering, outlaws. Why constantly hide all that beauty? I'm not notifying the media mind you. Reasonable precaution is mandatory and wise. But neither do I always screen, veil, and shroud. I don't guiltily inter the marvelous anymore. But that's me. And I'm feeling good about it these days.

"But all at once the world can overwhelm me, there's almost nothing you could tell me, that could ease my mind"

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.