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Widower looking for a very special lady who will submit to my every whim. She must be willing to take loads on her face, no matter how much, how often or how many and leave them there. My call sign is facializer for a reason.
It does not matter about age (of course must be at least 18), weight, color, religion or race.
Per formance is the key.
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I thought myself a great writer in those times. And in my mind's eye I pictured what was most important to me and wrote it. Being full of youth the writing was what is today called porn. At that time those films were called art films.
I wrote it and felt good about it. In my ultimate ego I felt it was a definitive piece. When we hit the tarmac in LA I sought out some film makers and eventually found the center of the porn industry located in San Diego back then. It took me the good part of a day to find it.
I find it interesting that I found it so quickly. It is the finer sides of life that take a life's journey to discover. The seedy side? You can almost trip over that.
By the end of the day I had producers reading and gushing eloquently over my script. They shmoozed me like a whore.
The next day was the cattle call. It is still amazing to me that so many would show up. Tiny girls, tall elegant women, guys with huge dicks. Some had brains, some not.
Vanessa was one of those tall ladies who answered the call. The first time I put eyes on her I was enamoured. I did not know she was tall at first sight. She was on her knees straddling a big dick and plunging her ass up and down. I noticed her large breasts bouncing lightly with each plunge in spite of the power she used. Long blonde hair reaching the middle of her back. She was a vision. And the expression on her face was one of exquisite pleasure. I knew right then that she loved dick. The other girls looked like workers on an assembly line, just doing a job.
All together it was a dancing chorus. It was not the sight of all those ladies bouncing big dicks that excited me. It was the pheromones that came from it. And then, there was Vanessa.
She was not selected for the role. I saw to that. Another, a red head with an attitude problem was selected. I had become jaded to the industry in a very small amount of time and chose to sabotage the project that way. If Vanessa had been chosen the film would probably have been a classic by now. Some of hers are.
I was just about to leave when she collared me. My first reaction was to fight. Then I noticed who it was. She asked me why I had not chosen her for the role. I hesitated. Then she smiled her smile. My courage and bravado that had created the wisdom to intentionally submarine the film almost left me, but not entirely. So I said, "then you would not have the time to spend with me."
There it was. It was out there. I had violated the squad body by inviting in a foreign piece. I had compromised our protective shell. I could not help but shudder inside in that most secret of places that only those who have been in combat know. Somehow, I knew, that I had faltered, that I had done what I had told my men never to do. I had let down my guard and that lust had taken its toll. I was in danger and did not even know it. My faculties had left me bereft of defense.
"Come here," she said.
We left and spent the night together. Then the next day and the next night. She was insatiable and me too. Her place was elegant and had many places in it to fuck. And we used them all, some of them many times. She was not embarrassed about being seen either. The curtains were all open allowing the sun and eyes in. I did not care. I just knew what I wanted and that was Vanessa. She called me her "war hero," and I called her my "nemesis." At times stamina would desert me and then I would look at her and be restored. All thoughts of the squad fled before her vision and the regimen of battle vanished.
I asked her like she had been asked by a thousand guys before. And this time, with me oddly enough, she said yes. Not timidly, but an emphatic and decisive yes.
It was an odd thing in the service in those days. It was almost insisted that if you married you either married on base or at your home. Obstensibly that was to preclude parasites from taking advntage of the troops. In actuality it was to keep the minds of the troops on their real jobs--killing.
I bowed to the military formality and took my lady to Oregon. We got a license and we were married two weeks later. It was a small wedding. Not exactly what Vanessa was used to. Just her family, mine and the guys. But it bound us forever. |
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Been over a year since my last entry. I did not realize that and am embarrassed by it. Let me continue.
The next thing I remember, after the formal award ceremony, I was wounded on patrol. It was not much of a wound as such things go. It was just shrapnel (frag) that was nearly spent. It pierced my right hand and lodged there just below the middle knuckle; broke my middle metacarple and caused a whole hell of a lot of bleeding.
I saw it coming, it was so spent. It arced through the air toward Ralphy, so I just reached up and tried to grab it. As I have already said, I was an athlete in high school and that piece of shrapnel looked just like a quick flying baseball. It was just instinct. Lucky I did though. It would have hit Ralphy in the head. Probably would not have injured that hard object, but still . . .
Anyway, they gave my a Purple Heart for it and Ralphy was most profuse in his appreciation. Kept saying things like: "No one else ever sacrificed themselves for me," or "These are the times that try men's souls, but not with Sarge around." He was a real card, a bit whackey but, a great Beret. One of the best warriors I ever met, even if we did find out later that he was gay.
Well, anyway, I had a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart and the letters from home were full of concern and pride. Reading through those letters evoked from me the first realization of the true dichotemy of life. Concern and pride were just the front of the whole thing. I also received letters from the two Franks and from their parents thanking me for my "heroism."
Heroism--that is a word I do not relish. It indicates a setting apart of something within the whole. I was a part of the unit. The unit was my body. The unit was my soul (still is in some ways, but more about that later). Anything attacking my body OR soul had to be squashed. And I slowly came to realize that anything that brought a weakness to that body and soul was to be squashed as well.
It is not heroism to save oneself. My cowardice came in the form of fearing that if I did not do right by my unit and still survived while losing others, I could not live with the future.
Remember what I said about the "self." It is how we percieve that "self" that creates our reactions. Some of those reactions are instinctual like reaching up to stop a piece of spent shrapnel to guard another part of the body. Some reactions come with time. Like my realization of the dichotomy of human nature. It was something I had known or thought I had known, but had not realized its entire impact on each and every one of us.
Well, enough on that subject. I had received a Bronze and a Purple and was sent home on furlough. This furlough was not just given, it was ordered. I had refused furloughs that would leave my men in danger. Simply would not go without them. So, we were all ordered on furlough. Even the two replacements that had just arrived for the two Franks.
I will always remember that furlough. That was when I met Vanessa, my wife, and came to grips with my father.
I will talk about that later. Another week, perhaps, or month. Certainly not a year from now. |
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Perhaps we should discuss the element of taste. I only mention it in order to dispel those qualms subs have about their outward appearance.
Social taste is governed by environmental change.
There, with that statement I seek to alleviate all fears unmet subs may have.
Let's look at that one for a while. As you know, the slender body is celebrated today. It is held in awe. This is a product of an affluent society, no let's say an extremely affluent society where sustenance is immediately available and there is no fear of survival due to starvation or common illness. We, have an excellent health system that allows us to eliminate the need for physical reserves to ward off common diseases and even survive catastrophic illness.
Not so in the middle ages where the Bohemian form was celebrated. If we look at the environmental impacts at the time we can see the reason why. This is what present day geologists and historians call the mini-ice age. Food was relatively scarce and as a result The Plague caught hold. The lady that would now be considered fat was then considered the cadillac of human survivors. This form had the reserves to survive the harsh environment of the time. That time will come again when the Bohemian form will be sought out to pass on the genes of survival.
This only comes from that incredible human trait for the survival of the species programed genetically into each of us. If it is needed, we seek it out, if not, we discard it.
A good Dom has enough experience to realize this essential human trait of adaptation. Without that realization he cannot seek that nugget inside the sub to reveal and explore. Those who only seek out the subs who are currently considered the beauty of the ages are not Doms. They are mere pawns of human adaptation and thus are subs to the vagaries of social change. This renders the "Dom" title moot.
Though my wife was considered a great beauty, it was not that that drew me to her. It was that intangible within her that I sought, just as I do with subs now.
So, to all subs I say, forget your anxieties and show me your "self." It is that that I seek and that is what I celebrate.
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It was three weeks later when I was brought up on formal charges. The Leuy had followed through on his threat. The preliminary hearing was scheduled for the afternoon with the Captain and Major. It is designed to bring out the facts of the situation.
I was relegated to KP and hated every moment of it. The men in my squad tried to keep everyone else away but could do nothing about the jibing going on. Such words as "Chicken-shit" and "awol-alice" were spoken, infact yelled, within my hearing. I was not ashamed of what I had done. On the contrary, I ws amazed that I had it within me to do it.
The time came and I was escorted by the E-8s in the unit to the command hut. I remember when I enetered my sight was all blurry. The incredible amount of tobacco smoke inside and the dank darkness almost blinded me. Perhaps that was the purpose; I do not know.
Anyway, the three of them were seated on the opposite side of the table from me. I stood to attention and awaited their bidding. The Major was talking small-talk to the Captain about West Point and tradition while the Leuy just stared at me. I knew I was in trouble, but my knees did not shake (which I was surprised at) and I was ready for whatever may come.
Finally the Captain looked up and pretended to notice me for the first time.
"Doing as ordered, this time, I see, Corporal McKnight, is it?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir," I said.
The Leuy and the Majot did not say a word. It was obvious that the Captain would be handiling this action.
"Wondered if you would learn about that. Looks like we have a case here of a major insubordination and cowardice in the face of enemy fire. This carries with it a dishonerable discharge and a ten-year term. I am especially aggrieved (he used that word like a battering ram) about the charge of cowardice in the face of enemy fire. How do you plead?"
"Don't know. Sir."
"Come, now, you either plead guilty or not guilty. Which is it."
My stubborness came up and I said "Not guilty, Sir."
"Then, let us proceed with this prelim. After this, if we decide to proceed the formal sentence will be moot. This is informal. We already have the written testimony of the Lieutenant. Do you have anything to add?"
I had already read what the Leuy had written and had to agree with what he had written, to a certain point.
"I have nothing to add, Sir."
"Then, son, we have no choice."
"But there were others there that may be able to tell a story that I cannot."
"Then, by all means, let's hear them. I do not relish sending one of mine to prison," said the Major.
That was the first thing he had uttered since the proceedings began. I was impressed that he would say anything during this mess. To put himself on record here as defending me was a risk on his part. Perhaps he had heard something. I do not know.
Anyway, after a while the whole squad had been brought in and told the story as they saw it. The Leuy stared at each in turn trying to intimidate them, I think, but to no avail. I stood at attention the whole time, relaxed in that position, affirming with my body what the squad was saying.
Meanwhile the Major glanced at me after each testimony. The Captain just looked at the papers, showing no sign of what was going through his head.
After the last squad member, Ralphy, had finally finished his testimony and left, the Captain looked up and said, "Very well done, Corporal. It takes guts and a brain to get the whole squad to lie for you." The Leuy had been getting more and more tense and was chewing diligently on his fingers. Now, he looked at the Captain with an attitude of relief.
"Just a minute," said the Major. He looked at the Leuy and his bleeding fingers and then at me standing at attention before him.
"Little bit jumpy, aren't you Lieutenant," he asked while looking directly at me. "Let me think."
Silence filled the cabin while he considered. I could hear the vehicles outside, the wind gently blowing through the brush and the rush of feet moving throughout the camp. I can remember being sad that I would not be a part of that anymore.
The Major looked at me full in the eye.
"Son," he said, "there are orders that MUST be obeyed. Do you believe that?"
"Yes, Sir," I replied.
He looked at the Captain and then the Leuy, then back to me.
"But there are orders that we must all ignore," he said.
Then he looked at the Leuy "And this is one of them. Lieutenant, I cannot abide an officer who will deliberately ignore the condition of his men. You are the coward here sir."
He looked right back at me and said, "Lieutanant, you will as your last act in this unit make out a citation for valor and request a Bronze Star for the Sargeant here."
The Leuy, squirmed but had enough in him to say "He is an E4, Sir. That is a Corporal."
Anger laced through the Major's voice. "I am well aware of the ranking in this unit, Lieutenant. I say again, this MAN is Sargeant McKnight. The rank is instantly given! Let it be noted in the log. My staff will be presenting the stripes to this SOLDIER, notice I said SOLDIER, tomorrow, and I want that decoration within the month. Now go, you are dismissed."
They got up to leave and I was at the door before them. "Not you, Sargeant, you stay."
I was in a bit of panic now. I had wanted the breeze outside to fan away my fears and to be once again a part of the bustle of the Army. Evidently, I was to be addressed again.
I let the Captain and Leuy out. The Leuy glared at me as he passed. I turned and the Major was bent over his packet. He took out a Bronze Star and turned to me.
"Son, this is the first Bronze Star I won. I will need it back for show, later tp go with the silver and bronze oakleaves. They appear lonely without the principle medal to support. I would take it as an honor if you would wear it until your own shows up. Don't be cocky now, I will expect you to return it, it is just a loan."
"I would be honored as well, Sir," I replied as he pinned it to me. He stepped back and saluted, then I saluted him and it was over.
"Dismissed," he said and I turned and opened the door to greet the sun on my face and the hoots and hollars from my squad when the saw the Star.
Enough said about that. |
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I am ancient. Or at least I have seen enough of the world and am knowledgeable enough to know what ancient means. It is not a physical or mental thing. It is about experience and knowledge.
I was a star athlete and scholar in high school. Aggressive, determined, and allowed just about anything.
My parents were liberal in the sense that I was allowed to experience the world without restraint. The only thing I ever heard them rant against was the Vietnam War. So, I joined.
Yeah, I know--I rebelled. Let that be a lesson, always allow your children avenues to rebel. Otherwise, they will rebel big time once they get beyond your control.
Anyway, I weighed 150 as an athlete. I did not think I had any fat on me, but the Army found it and reduced me to 135. That remained my combat weight for the next 6 years. I lost even more when I returned home but more about that later.
After boot, we were forced to take an IQ test. I tried my best to fail it because I wanted to stay with my crew. But, I was sent over to what we called the "egg-heads" at the time. My registered IQ as a result of this test was 146, but these guys were far above me. 160 and higher was not uncommon. When I learned of this I asked the group, "what are you doing here?"
They looked at me and laughed. "I don't know, why are you here," one of them replied. Of course, I was to learn that Ralphy was a real smart ass. But, then, I guess I was too.
The Army used us a a special training unit at first. Then they moved us into Special Forces. I hated those gree beenies. They were made of wool and were hot under the sun and had no bill to shade the eyes. They sent us to Pensacola to learn how to run river boats. But, we all got sick whenever we got out on one for any length of time and the Army decided to let the Navy boys do that.
We were then moved several places, for no length of stay, until we landed at Elmsdorf. We trained for the next year on the glaciers above Juno, Alaske. We were a scouting force to be used in Siberia. Remember, we were to fight the Russian Bear at that time.
Then, in one day they moved us to Da Nang. We about fainted when they opened the rear of that plane. We did not want to show weakness, but it was a physical response to the abrupt change in enviornment. They allowed us two weeks to aclimate. We needed every bit of that.
Our first patrol was a disastor. We were ambushed even though we had flankers. Frank R to the right and Frank L to the left. We thought we were real smart putting those two our there with their names and all.
Suddenly we were cut off from Ralphy who was on point and Roger who was at the rear. We huddled in a brief undulation on the ground while lead flew above us and hitting the earth on every side.
I was an E4 at the time. Our Luey was raw. We called him "rabbit" because he was always chewing his fingers, making them bloody. Bit jumpy that one. He orderes us to stay down. I called out to the flanks and got no answer.
I do not know why I did it, but I went over the bit of high ground on my belly and belley crawled out to Frank L. He was only about 50 feet out so it was not a horrendous achievement. I think the enemy could have nailed me at any time, But, they did not. Probably because of the same reasons I would not. I could get that guy anytime. I needed to hold down the other while my buddies flushed them into the open too so I could get them all.
When I got to Frank L, I found him unconscious with blood spurting from his thigh. He was absolutely white. I took my belt and applied a tourniquet above the wound, and hooked my rig to his and began inching backwards to our little bit of cover. Whe I got there the Luey accosted me.
"You will not do that again," he said into my face. I was surprised he had the guts to crawl over to me. "That is flight in the face of enemy fire."
"No, Sir," I replied, "that was keeping my buddy alive."
With that I turned to the right.
"I order you to stay where you are," said the Luey.
I grew more stubborn with each word.
"You will need to shoot me yourself, Sir," I said. Then, I do not know why I said it. "In this outfit no one dies alone." Then I went over the other side and crawled out to where I knew Frank R had to be.
I got hit, but only my boot. I kept going, serching for Frank R. I noticed that the firing had died down a bit. I found Frank R propped against a bit of brush. He had been hit in such a way as to open a long gash in his abdomen. He was holding the guts in.
"Hey, how ya doin'," I asked.
"Hurt a bit," he said.
"Can see that," I said. Then I pulled out the curved needle they gave all of us and trained us to sew our own wounds with and retrieve his catgut.
"Oky if I close that," I asked.
"Thin you can," he asked.
"Oh, I think so. Might hurt though."
"Hell, Corp, it can't hurt anymore than it does."
So, I started to thread the wound with the one-inch loops we had been trained to do and closed the wound. He did not make a sound.
When done, I hooked his rig to mine and dragged him back to the hole (I had started to think of that little crease on land in that way). Half way there, I was totally exhausted. But, I continued on, doggedly determined as is my way.
Finally, I pulled him over the lip onto me just as the last of the fire died down.
Immediately, the Luey was on me. He had me by the front collars and was shaking me. "I told you, I ordered you to stay here."
"Yes, Sir," was all I could say as I shook myself loose from him.
Then Ralph and Roger appeared. They had gone behind the ambushers and wiped them out. They looked us over, and Ralphy said,"looks like you had a spot of trouble."
It was then that Glenn said it in his deep southern drawl, "Corp, here, says that in this outfit 'no one dies,'"
"Can see that," said Roger as he grinned at me.
I was too exhausted to correct the quote. I only wanted to lie down and go to sleep, pulling the horror over my head and hiding in my own cowardice. I pissed myself.
This is part of what makes me ancient. More later |
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I can remember, clear back in the dark ages, when I was a youth, extremely fit and ultra active (high school, of course), that I was a leader even at that time.
Whether in sports, or intellectual endeavers, it made no difference. I was a sleek 150 lbs and a powerful scat back and basketball guard. Quick, fast, and able to see the field or the court, I laid waste to my enemies.
Then, I was in the military where my role was quite the opposite. As an E4 when we first entered combat, I would not allow our officer to leave men behind. I was court-martialed for that, charges dropped and the officer in question shipped off to the states. In the words of the Major, "Son, there are some orders that just need to be disobeyed, and this was one of them."
We were in for two tours and then stood guard duty for the Ambassador at Large. No, we were not Marines. We did not guard up close. Our duty was on the outskirts of the scene. We protected well out of sight. We also were sent back into combat off and on for the next four years. Seemed anytime there was a particularly hard nut to crack--we were called in. Cho Chi, Siongdo, Nan Tey City, Ben Het, Quang Tri, just to name a few places. We were in the highlands so we avoided Agent Orange.
We were lucky. We all came home, unlike all those other boys. My men say it was my force of will that kept them together and alive. I simply would not allow them to die.
Well, it may be true that I was forceful and as an E6 I dominated them and would not allow them to drop their guard, no matter where they were. But, I certainly did not have any divine powers.
We became known as a bad ass bunch. The Army busted me three times, then brought me back into rank within two weeks afterwards. Couldn't keep a good man down--lol. In the end they took our Good Conduct Medals away.
That's the way it was. I could not keep my men alive by letting them be good little soldiers. We had to be mean, with everyone. We fought with all others, whether friend or foe. And we stayed alive. Often called "chicken shit" for that.
Don't really know how we earned that term. After all, we were in combat more than any others, survived. Perhaps, in that environment you are expected to lose men. Not me, a loss is a loss. I could not allow that. |
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Those things in life that are free are only free because we allow them to be so. And those are the best of things because they come from the soul.
I have trained many slaves and subs. Some have gone on to excell in the area, others have not. Those who have excelled gave of themselves without reservation; those who have not, from the very beginning, held back their inner selves, restricting the possibilities.
This is not totally the sub or slaves fault. Some is mine. Diagnosis of the problem should have come early on. But, I had just started and did not realize the lady's potential.
Since then, I have learned much. My first slave was my wife--a lovely creature that would do anything I asked wherever I asked and whenever I asked. Of course, she was an expert slave before we met and allowed me to learn by being her Master. But, the learning only revealed techniques to me not the essence of slavery.
I did not learn from that experience on how to recognize the subtle differences between women and the needs those differences implied.
Some women just need to feel used, or, at least, usable. Some need to shout out thier hurt and lash out at others to justify what they are doing. There are those who believe that they are into BDSM just for the experience of feeling helpless. Others, those who are the true slaves, simply need to serve in every fashion.
This, of course, is an oversimplification of human nature. Just let it be known that deep within each of us there is that nugget that tells us what we are. It is the realization and exploration of that nugget that makes us whole.
Many of those who are here are married. In some way that marriage, as valuable as it is and as respected as it must be, does not complete the nugget. They need a separate part of life, beyond the family, that will fulfill the "self."
It is that "self" that is all important for completion. Finding it is difficult; developing it even more so.
I will say it just once here 'The face of the "self" is defined by the face of the "other."' In other words, we have a conscious evaluation of what we are and how we want others to perceive us. If the perception of others is not the perception we wish, then we will change the face of the "self" until the "other" perceives us in the fashion we believe completes our existence.
Getting way to far into philosophy here, I know. Suffice it to say that a slave, a true slave, will prostrate herself before her Master and do anything the Master desires to demonstrate her perception of what she is. If that is not enough, she will do more. If that is still not enough, she needs to find another Master.
I seek out slaves, train them to become what they are while maintaining the "self" that I am. I am an expert at that now.
In this Journal i will show my development as a Master. Hang on, it will be coming soon. |
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| Age: 27 |
| Brooklyn,
New York |
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