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| Note: I have the same username at FL.
So uh, I'm gonna be upfront here and say that I'm one of those dudes looking for a million to one shot. Well, more like a thousand to one, je suppose, since I do occasionally find what I'm looking for.
I wanna be bullied. Specifically, I want a woman who is going to just straight up torment me the way you might have tormented younger siblings or dorks at school. We're talking wedgies, swirlies, duct taping me to chairs, locking me in closets, leaving me in totally twisted predicaments, punching, sleeper holds, gross outs, wet willies, forced intoxication, bondage and abandonment with threats of discovery (think grownup versions of leaving someone duct taped under the bleachers)...you get the idea. The crueler and more fucked up the better.
If you're kinda punkish, kinda gothish, kinda...I mean you name the subculture and it's probably pretty hot. If you have friends, also hot. Totally willing to drive to meet up with people. Willing to splurge for drinks or whatever.
Here's what I don't want: Sex. I don't wanna fuck you, feel you up, grab your ass, or any of that. I don't wanna be touched sexually either. I get off on sick senses of humor, sadism, confinement, bondage, etc.
I don't want emotional attachment beyond friendship. I'm in a relationship with the love of my life (which is also part of why I absolutely don't want any sexual contact) and she's not super into what I like (ie she's not gonna play along) but she is understanding. I'm monogamous and I'm deliriously happy, it's just that we both have our own non-cheaty needs that the other is not in a hurry to fulfill.
I'm attracted to audacity, a sick sense of humor, recklessness, intelligence, and most crucially the ability to be mean as fuck and find it really funny. Like I say, I love all manner of counter cultural looks and poses and attitudes.
If you see some of my posts, and think "This looks like an interesting and possibly handsome dude and even though his whole deal is pretty weird I'd like to talk to him" please feel free. I'm a pretty good guy to bullshit with and I'm totally into talking to people who have no interest in my weird psychosexual fixation.
If you're reading this thinking: LoL nobody else is ever gonna be into that kind of shit why is he wasting his time....you might be surprised. It doesn't really matter if the woman is "into" this kind of stuff sexually...in fact it's actually kind of better if she isn't. The thing is, there are a lot of weirdos out there and women weird enough to find this funny and intriguing are often weird enough to, you know, go through with it and be really good at it.
I'm unlikely to ever put up a face pic on my profile because I'm well enough known (not famous, but I'm a professional white collar type) that uh...yeah. Still, if we talk a few times and you wanna see me just ask, I'm also not shy once I kinda know somebody.
Some edits I've already had to make (like an hour into having this profile, wtf): I'm a white WASP dude but if you're racist or antisemitic please feel free to fuck off.
If you self-identify as "anti-feminist" then you should probably fuck off
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If you eat at Chik Fil A you are a bad person and I hate you. |
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"I wish I were the sort of person who didn't stand for this kind of treatment" Dilbert |
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My arms and legs are completely numb and I can't see or hear and I'm trying not to think about the gum Justine made me chew off the bottom of her filthy Chuck Taylors, the gum that is now very much trapped in my mouth as I lay in the cold van wishing I could just black out. Of course Justine and Jenny had been feeding me uppers since St Louis, so blacking out was not even a vague possibility. All I could do was lay there sore, confined, hyperactive, blind and mostly deaf. I was getting used to the huge plug in my ass, but any time I moved even a little it still sent shudders up and down my nerves. When you have a plug too big to be comfortable up there you never get over the fear you're going to shit yourself.
I pissed all over the towel the rag that was under my throbbing dick, like they knew I would. Justine had put it there so I didn't "piss all over her van". They hadn't let me use the bathroom in a day so there was no way I was going to be able to hold it especially in the cold night air. My left leg cramped, twitched a little and then just went dead when I was helpless to stretch it out or even shift my weight.
At long last I heard the back of the van open. Equipment was loaded in. There were guys helping them bring back their amps and if any of them had even happened to glance over to the part of the van where I lay bound they'd have seen me. Jenny loved threatening me with the humiliation of discovery and tonight I could feel her sitting down in the very back just in front of me and having a needlessly long conversation with someone. My heart was racing and I was praying to God she wouldn't choose to move over just a foot or so so that whomever she was talking to would find me right in their line of sight. She knew how terrified I was everytime she pulled stunts like that and she would drag them out longer and longer.
When the van doors finally opened and shut, I had pissed myself again and was sweating despite the cold. My heart was racing and I couldn't catch my breath and Jenny and Kat both giggled.
"Ick" said Kat, "I smell pee".
"Guess we know what the bitch is getting gagged with tonight" said Justine, sliding into the back with me. The next thing I knew, Jenny was sitting on my ass again, tracing her fingernails over the lacerations where she had already drawn blood earlier. She tapped on the buttplug a few times and wasn't happy with how little I tensed and shivered. This was partially because I was absolutely numb and my muscles were exhausted even though my mind raced helplessly, but it was also true that I was getting used to the plug.
I could hear the two whispering something and I smelled another cigarette Justine must have been holding just under my nose. Then the plug slid out and I gasped and whined while Jenny tore up my ass by pushing it back in, hard, and pulling it out two or three more times. A minute later I heard Kat giggling from the front seat and then the two in the back started laughing as well. Justine passed something under my nose and I realized it was the buttplug, slathered in Icee Hot.
I tried to struggle but between the numbness and the hogtie there was nothing I could do except tense up, which I knew was going to make things worse. Still there was no way I could relax and as I felt the plug sliding in I tensed up my sphincter and the plug tore through, burning and stinging like my ass was on fire. Every quick jerk and shudder and spasm I could manage only made things worse but there was no way I could calm down. Justine was pinching my nose shut for a few seconds at a time so I couldn't even get a regular breathing rhythm and I'd already started to cry when I felt a gloved hand smearing something all over my cock shaft and balls and then a moment later they were on fire too.
I couldn't move, couldn't catch my breath, couldn't get any kind of relief and couldn't even make the choked, sobbing sounds that kept trying to come up my throat audible because Justine quickly muffled me with another two circuits of tape over the blanket over my mouth.
Helpless to do anything except suffer, Jenny and Justine slid over so that they were both sitting comfortably on my back, and one of them even uncovered my ear so that I could hear more clearly as the three of them spoke calmly about the gig they had just played and their plans for later in the night, once they had "dropped off bitch boy" at the motel and "had a little fun" with me. As I cried and shivered they bounced up and down on me and one of them, Justine I think, calmly stooped down far enough to spit right in my ear and giggled softly, knowing how queasy I must be under the tape and blankets. |
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A few minutes after I wake up in total darkness, I hear the sounds of boots crunching over rocks and twigs outside and start to squirm. It's hard to tell how I'm bound exactly, because it's pitch black in the shed and I'm numb all over, but I definitely can't move my arms or legs and something is constricting my breathing. I'm not gagged but I can't talk--we're at somebody's country house and since there is no one around for miles last night I remember they had let me scream myself hoarse while a coxcomb redhead I'd never met before whipped me with a horsehair flogger. The door opens and the sun is blinding and Jenny and Justine are staring down at me, laughing maniacally. "Oh my fucking God," Justine is saying, "I can't even believe you're still alive." "Smells....lovely," says Jenny, crinkling her nose. "Yeah, he's ripe. We need to clean him off." I'm trying to talk but my voice is totally shredded and Justine is shutting the door, exaggeratedly slowly, and I hear somebody snap the padlock in place loudly and then I hear their boots walking off away from the shed. I've counted to a thousand by the time I hear the boots outside the door again. The lock clicks, the door swings open, and I see Justine, in a tight Bad Brains tee shirt, standing in front of my grinning, holding a hose. I make a noise that sounds like "Eeek" with what's left of my voice when the water hits me, heavy and ice cold. While they're spraying me down I start to piss myself and Justine starts to laugh so hard she has to hand the hose to Jenny to finish the job. When the mud and the blood and the piss and everything else is washed off of me, Jenny walks up to me and, smiling, kicks me right in the balls with her combat boots. Nausea and vertigo rush through me, and as I'm facedown on the ground I can feel knots being untied, adjusted, re-tied, until the two girls jerk me to my feet with my numb hands bound tightly behind me, my legs tied at the knees and some rope tied noose-like around my neck. Justine takes the rope around my neck and begins to walk toward the house, saying "Hop, bitch". Jenny finds a large stick and forces it into my asshole a little. "The slower you move, the higher the stick goes," she says, and both girls giggle giddily. "So if I were you I'd move fast--this would hurt a fuck of a lot worse than that buttplug that had you crying last night." "Plus," adds Justine helpfully, jerking on the rope, "I doubt it's sanitary. You don't want poison ivy of the sphincter or something." By the time we got to the back entrance of the house my bare feet, which are naturally tender, were full of cuts and felt bruised but I don't complain because my voice is shot, because the noose around my neck is too tight and because I am afraid of being sodomized with a large stick. Katrina met us at the door and smirked. "He looks absolutely miserable. Tie him up out here for a few minutes." They loop the noose around a huge branch on a tree behind the house, pull it until I'm on my tip toes and then cinch the rope tightly. Jenny, who is laughing so hard her face has turned red says, almost symapthetically, "Babe, you really really wanna stay as still as possible," and then all three girls go back into the house. When they return, Jenny and Justine are both punked out by Katrina looks almost surreal in in white skirt, a pair of white Mary Janes, and a plaid top. Pure preppy perfection. She slaps me, saying "I can tell you were thinking about laughing at me." Playing along, Jenny knees me in the groin saying "How dare you laugh at her," while Justine tweaks my nipples. They untie the noose from the tree branch and force me to the ground, where Justine and Jenny work tying me, backwards, to the tree. My arms and legs are hugging the tree and my face is pushed into its bark while Katrina, lighting a cigarette, says "I'd help but I have to meet the fam in a few minutes." "Her family is, like, a constant source of frustration for Kat" says Jenny, laughing, and she tightens the knot around my wrists. From the corner of my eyes I catch Katrina making a claw with her hand and agreeing with Jenny "Maaaaaaaaaajor stress" she sighs, and I feel her nails rip open my sore, bare, back. "Maaaaaaajor stress reliever" says Justine, giggling. All three girls walk away and a few minutes later Jenny and Justine return. "There are people around during the day," Jenny is explaining as she wraps duct tape around my head, "so we can't have you screaming like last night." Meanwhile, Justine is spraying me with something cool and sticky. "You hate bugs. Bugs love sugar water. This way even when we're not paying much attention to you, you're probably going to be pretty miserable," she says. I'm horribly averse to bugs and as soon as she says this I begin to squirm uselessly against the tree. "Dude, you're gonna chafe," says Jenny. "Good idea. Reall mark the tree up with sugar. That'll draw extra ants," says Justine. The two girls pull up lawnchairs and begin to beat on my completely exposed back with riding crops. "This is Chinese riding crop torture" says Justine. "We just keep hitting you softly in exactly the same place. For a long, long, long, long time. By this time tomorrow you'll feel like you fell out of an airplane with no parachute." There's nowhere to go and nothing to do but close my eyes and whimper, but when I feel something with lots of legs and antlers crawling up my back I start to visibly freak out and, as I rub myself raw against the tree trying futilely to get away, Jenny and Justine sip lemonade and laugh, watching the entire spectacle. |
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Sexy Sex Kittens Who Love to Fuck is playing a gig at a bar in Kansas City and I am hogtied with duct tape in the back of their van. Justine de Sade, playful and imperious bitch, is reclining comfortably in back of the van with her tattered red Chuck Taylors pressed against my face. She's giggling, demanding that I lick the bottoms of her shoes, and Jenny Pinko, her bassist, is bouncing up and down on my butt which keeps forcing the enormous buttplug they shoved into my ass earlier up higher and higher. My arms and legs are numb but I can feel every vibration on the plug and I'm trying not to wet myself as Justine takes the gum out of her mouth, places it on the bottom of her left sneaker and dangles it in front of my face, ordering me to lick off the gum and chew it. The thought makes me gag and both girls giggle and the back of the van is convulsive with the cacophonous laughter and my head, which has been throbbing for at least the past three hours, feels ready to implode. "Please, I have a headache and I'm nauseous", I say and they both laugh more. Justine lights a clove and holds it so that the smoke all drifts into my face and I cough while she plays with my hair.
Justine is a small, platinum blonde, bombastically bratty girl who favors fishnets and her red Chuck Taylor high tops and she's the lead singer for Sexy Sex Kittens. I'm her slave, her bitch and her toy and right now I'm naked, hogtied far too tightly in the back of a cold van while Justine and Jenny (half-Japanese, pink hair, pouty lips and lean, cruelly muscular legs) fuck around with me a little before the show. The windows are blacked out and when they leave they'll gag me and just leave me, unable to move or make a sound, in a parking lot that people will walk through all night without ever guessing there is a captive in the back of a van, shivering against the cold and probably still trying desperately not to wet himself.
The thought of chewing the gum off of Justine's sole makes me feel sick but I can't hold out much longer, as Jenny is digginer her toxic green nails into my back hard enough to draw a little blood. Finally I give in, take the gum into my mouth and start to chew it. Justine cackles "Such a prissy little boy. Look he's turning green!"
Jenny starts to laugh and says "You'd better not puke, gimpy. I'll make you lick it all up before we go in for rehearsal".
I'm chewing the gum, trying to think of anything else, and coughing from the smoke that's still drifting into my face. Justine takes a long drag on her cigarette and blows it all into my face and between the cold and the stuffy van and the gum and the smoke I feel so queasy I worry I may really throw up. The front door of the van opens and Kat, who always looks so preppy and innocent compared to her reform school girl bandmates, wiggles into the front seat.
"Oh you guys" she giggles "it's probably about time to put him away so we can get inside". Kat always seems just on the verge of being sympathetic and now she leans over the seat, very close to my face, and asks Justine what is going on.
"He's chewing gum off the bottom of my feet" she explains and Justine and Jenny both laugh again. My head is throbbing and I'm so painfully hard that I want to scream.
Kat shakes her head. "Poor kid", she says, but she's smiling at me, leaning close, to emphasize how easy it would be if she only wanted to untie me. "You really shouldn't be quite so awful to him" she giggles, lighting a cigarette and holding it so that it, too, is drifting into my face "he's so delicate".
Suddenly, violently, Jenny wraps my head in a blanket and she and Jenny, cackling, wrap three or four circuits of duct tape over it. My nose is exposed so I can breathe, but my mouth is taped shut tightly and my eyes are covered and I'm starting to panic both because I feel so confined and because I know if my nose gets stopped up for some reason I'll probably suffocate. I'm trying to protest, to say something, to flail around, but I just hear a voice (too muffled to tell whose) saying "Babe, you don't have enough air to be wasting it struggling". I feel three hands pat me on my back, three sets of nails rake across my shoulders and ass, and I lose track of how many times my ass is spanked while voices I can't quite make out talk, probably about equipment and set lists. The plug is so far up my ass that every time I move or am jiggled it asserts itself, big and fat and I feel terrifyingly, deliciously full. I'm whimpering as I finally hear three sets of shoes walking around just outside the van and then I hear the door slam close and lock securely and I'm alone. |
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Breaking news! Must credit! New fetish: Waitresses in red high tops and fishnets who fuck with customers' food. |
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Last night a dude I was talking to at a cocktail thing brought up the "Max Headroom Incident," which I first assumed was some kind of new punk rawk band that the kids were into until he clarified that it was this weird-as-fuck thing that happened where some kind of highly skilled super-nerd totally 0wn3d about 30 seconds of airtime on WGN in Chicago and then later in the same night hijacked WTTW for a little over two minutes. This was back in November of '87, the ass end of the Reagan Era, and it sounded magnificent.
There have only been three instances of the television airwaves actually being hijacked in American history and this guy, who was never caught or identified, is responsible for two of them within a 24 hour period. Best of all, he didn't have any kind of political message or any apparent motive--he just sat there wearing a Max Headroom mask and talking shit like some kind of babbling brook of incoherent douchebaggery. They never caught him and, even more amazingly, he somehow has fought the urge to confess even decades later. He never went on Usenet to brag, never published a print zine hacktivist manifesto. He just fucked with the airwaves a couple of times and then was gone forever.
So when I got home I looked up the footage on YouTube and it suddenly occurred to me that when I was like 11 years old I was in fact watching Dr Who on WTTW when this shit went down. I had written it off as some kind of weird hallucination and then forgot about it for over two decades, but watching the footage I suddenly had incredibly vivid memories of being a little kid watching my little nerd show when all this happened and literally being totally unable to make any kind of sense out of it. In hindsight, this is probably why I still find Dr Who creepy as fuck.
So anyway, here is some kind of brilliant bored douchebag (who must have had rich parents, they figure the equipment to do this would have cost about 25k back in the 80s) taking all his elite hacking skills to do something so surreal and so gorgeously wasteful:
< src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tWdgAMYjYSs?rel=0" frameborder="0" width="610" height="310">
Added comments:
As someone who has done a lot of hallucinogens in his hot youth, I believe this dude was on mushrooms, which must have made it an even more impressive technical feat.
Near the end we can see his accomplice who seems to be a teen or 20something girl, who is definitely wearing a French maid costume, and who sort of mutters "Bend over bitch" and then begins to languidly flog an ass with a crop for a few seconds. So there's that.
All in all just so fucking weird and wonderful. |
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Someone asked where my grossout fetish started. I can't answer that, like, psychologically. I mean, I have no idea what peculiar set of circumstances led to me being aroused by the thought of a girl exploiting my extreme squeamishness to torture me. But I do remember what my first fantasy was. I was in prep school, and I used to fantasize that a couple of "bad girls" (like punk girls in Dead Kennedys shirts and spiky hair or something) would kind of abduct me. They'd corner me someplace, hold me down, maybe handcuff my hands behind me (punk girls always have handcuffs with them right?) and make me sit on the floor while they sat on a couch above me. They'd both light cigarettes, and when they figured out how annoyed I was by smoke they'd blow it in my face to make me cough. One of them would announce I was going to judge a belching contest. One of the girls would go off to get some soda and the other would sit with her foot pressed into my chest, talking shit to me non-stop. Her cohort would get back. They'd giggle, guzzle warm, flat soda, and take turns belching directly into my face. I'd freak out but there was nothing I could do. To this day I've never had anyone actually belch in my face, but just the noise grosses me out and the thought of the smell is horrifying. After each "round" they'd force me to say whose was raunchier, and usually the loser would get pissed and belch again, and try to give me a dead arm or something. As silly as this fantasy is, it really was the first time I remember actively thinking about a lot of my fixations: humiliation, bondage, grossouts, predicaments bondage, coercion, punk girls and girls with sick senses of humor who love seeing me suffer. |
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We're sitting at a table, finishing our drinks, and I can see the beginnings of a smirk playing across her face. We've been drinking margaritas and, as usual, I got drunker faster than I'd realized while she had only had one or two. She sighs, crosses her legs, looks at me, and I say "Okay I just need to use the bathroom before we go."
"Nope." Smirking radioactively now.
"What?"
"You're going to sit here until you piss yourself." She sighs, laughs, looks me up and down.
I'm blushing and feeling defiant. "No, I'm not. I'm going to get up and go to the bathroom."
"Do you have your wallet?"
"No, you told me not to bring it."
"I see. Do you have your phone?"
"Well, it's in your car."
"I see." Smirking and giggling. "If you had to walk back, how far would you have to walk?"
"A long way?"
"Do you even know the way?"
I'm beginning to see her point. Feeling frightened, I answer "Not really?"
"Well, if you get up to go to the bathroom, I will have the check paid and be gone long before you get back, darlin' ."
I realize she isn't bluffing. Weigh my odds. She's completely right. I start to whine "No, seriously, this is one of my big fears."
"I know Isn't it perfect?"
I cross my legs, try to think about something else. She's pointedly sipping at her drink, sloshing the liquid around the ice cubes. "These drinks are so cold" she says.
"So are you."
"Yeah. Have you ever seen a waterfall?"
"That's so 9th grade and it's not going to work."
"I know how suggestible you are. I'm pretty sure it will. Can't you just picture a giant waterfall, water cascading down...."
She talks shit for a long time, interrupted only by an occasional laughing fit, as I try to think about other things and squirm like mad. She talks about waterfalls, beaches, rainfall, she plays with her drink, she asks me about my bladder...on and on and finally I can't take it. She sees the horrified, humiliated look on my face, peeks under the table and sees that a stain is spreading where I've lost control. "OH MY GOD DID YOU JUST PISS YOURSELF?" She yells, laughing riotously. Everybody turns around to look at me, natch.
By now I'm blushing, burning, almost ready to cry from sheer embarrassment. She says "Okay babe, now all you have to do is take the loooooong walk up to the register and pay." She hands me some cash out of my wallet (which she had in her purse) and as I walk up I'm aware of the eyes of customers and waitresses crawling all over me. I can hear stifled giggles and the cashier who takes my money has to keep holding her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing outright. We walk out and she has ahold of my arm, forcing me to walk exaggeratedly slowly, on display all the way out to the car. |
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Into: "do you like huey lewis and the news?" (everything to do with it), american psycho turns me on!!! (everything to do with it), are we not men? we are devo!, atari, atomic wedgie (receiving), atomic wedgies (receiving), b-films/cult classics (everything to do with it), being bound with my own brooks brothers tie (wearing), being forced to drink gross things (receiving), bully/victim (receiving), camel clutch (receiving), chess (everything to do with it), chubby punk girls (everything to do with it), classical music (everything to do with it), clive barker (everything to do with it), cocktails, cold war nuclear holocaust movies as porn (everything to do with it), consensual nonconsent (receiving), converse all-stars (watching others wear), crust punk girls (everything to do with it), cumming on the portable nietzsche (everything to do with it), dead arms and charlie horses (receiving), dead kennedys, dostoyevsky, douglas adams (everything to do with it), dungeons and dragons (everything to do with it), forced dutch oven (receiving), futurama, getting a swirly (receiving), girls in glasses (watching others wear), gothic girls (watching others wear), handcuffs and zip ties (wearing), hanging wedgie (receiving), haruki murakami (everything to do with it), having food or drink tampered with (receiving), hello kitty duct tape bondage (receiving), horror (everything to do with it), jock lock wedgies (wearing), little lebowski urban achiever (everything to do with it), locked in a dog cage by obnoxious punkgirls (receiving), locked in a porta potty and abandoned (receiving), locked in closet while you play xbox (receiving), locked in the closet (receiving), lucian freud, making people "gross out" (receiving), manson cult girls (receiving), masturbating to nabokov, joyce and pynchon (everything to do with it), my life is a kinkier john hughes movie (everything to do with it), pink bellies (receiving), predicament bondage (receiving), psychology geeks (everything to do with it), punk girls (everything to do with it), riot grrls, saran wrap bondage (receiving), shakespeare quoting, sleeper holds (receiving), so-shitty-they're-awesome 80s horror movies (everything to do with it), stomach punching (receiving), stoner girls, sunglasses at night (everything to do with it), surrealism (everything to do with it), swirlies (receiving), the george costanza trifecta (everything to do with it), the smiths, tied and gagged in a locked closet (receiving), tied up trying not to piss my khakis (receiving), tied up, gagged and locked in a car trunk (receiving), urban legends of the 1980s (everything to do with it), valley girls (everything to do with it), when sterling archer says "danger zone" (everything to do with it), zines (everything to do with it). Curious about: given a wedgie in public (receiving), james ellroy narrating my day. (everything to do with it). |
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[true story first printed in a blog i kept years ago]
Everybody knows masochists are notorious for making bets they intend to lose so that they can suffer the consequences, but when I said offhandedly to this girl "I'd give you 100 bucks if you could make me puke right now" I honestly did not expect to be sending her 100 bucks the very next day. I felt fine, we were just talking online, and even though I'm squeamish, I'm not generally so squeamish that I can go from feeling fine to kneeling over a garbage can during the course of a single anecdote.
She immediately began telling me a story about her high school days, when she was given a defective fetal pig to dissect. I'd retype the story in full, but I'm honestly not sure I'd make it all the way through.
What got to me wasn't the gore or the guts of a dissection--the insides of lab animals are one thing that has never bothered me. I was always the kid who blew the curve in biology. What killed me were the sensory details. She typed four or five solid blocks of text, each one getting a little more graphic than the last. It was when she started to really emphasize the smells and the textures of the pig (which hadn't been treated properly before being shipped off to be dissected and was full of blood and fecal matter and all other manner of fluids) that I realized I might not make it.
For me, there aren't many more helpless feelings than throwing up. There's a point where I know I am not going to be able to hold it in, no matter how hard I try. When I hit that point, around the time she started describing what the air around her lab table smelled like, I said something like "Okay, seriously, mercy" and in response received a "Ha ha ha" and then another chunk of text heavy on sensory details.
I'm insanely suggestible so when someone tells a story, I tend to experience everything. The more she went on, the worse it got, until I finally just lost it in a garbage can next to my bed. It was the most sickened, the most helpless, I have ever felt from just reading text and the more I pictured how much she must have been laughing as she realized what kind of effect the story was having on me, the more helpless and drawn in I felt.
So, less than 24 hours later, I went to a Wal Mart near the hotel where I'm staying and sent her 100 bucks. She'd totally earned it, with about five minutes worth of typing that was so vivid, so cruel, so sickly funny that it left me, literally, on the floor (head hung over a receptacle). |
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In Chicago on business right now, so I met a friend at the bar at the JW Marriott for a couple of hours last night. The tab can grow grotesquely high in a hurry at specialty cocktail rates, but the drinks are fab and I like the feeling of drinking myself into a state of deliriousness and then stumble to the elevators and down the hall and back to the suite.
My friend and I met online a couple of years ago and fucked around a little but nothing ever really came of it. We started exchanging stories about how weird the world can get when kink and technology intersect. I'm going to keep her stories to myself because it is not classy to tell tales out of school and I am classy as fuck, but one of the stories I remembered and told her last night is weird enough to recount.
So I used to talk to this woman via Yahoo messenger (we met in a chatroom back when those were still things and we lost touch a year or so ago) who actually identified as a submissive/brat but who had a sadistic streak all the same and a fucked up sense of humor. She knew about my own masochism and we used to flirt a lot.
It must have been a weekend because I had come home from a bar pretty wasted and she was online and started teasing me. To make a long story short, she said she'd been thinking about ways I could tie myself up so that I'd be "Well and truly fucked" as she put it and she wanted to know if I was "Drunk enough to make some bad decisions."
I'll spare you the minutiae of her diabolical instructions, but about twenty minutes later I was on webcam with her watching as I sat in my desk chair with a fucking shit-ton (technical term) of duct tape around my legs and with one arm plastered to the arm of the chair with about a roll of tape. She had me handcuff the other arm to the chair and then throw the key awkwardly as far as I could (it landed in the hallway).
So uh at this point I could kind of type one handed and I was in a position where with a whole lot of exertion and more manual dexterity than I was likely to have until I sobered up I could probably get myself free but it was going to be a serious and time consuming pain.
She talked some shit and then said she was actually on her way out again to meet up with some friends and blew me a kiss and her cam went black. Maybe an hour later she was back, amused as fuck and asking me how I was doing. By that point I was sore and queasy and still drunk and had to piss and so for the next couple of hours she fucked with me pretty hard. Told me gross stories and made fun of me for having to hold in the piss and when it became clear I really really fucking wanted to get myself out of the situation that was when she doubled down.
By the time it was said and done she had a ton of web cam captures of me: In piss soaked grey slacks, getting sick, struggling and failing to get loose, awkwardly giving her the finger with my one half-free (but handcuffed) hand and, finally, passed out at my fucking chair. When I woke up super early (hung over) there were a ton of IMs from her many of which just read "mwahahahha." Sober but miserable (and horny as fuck and also legit pretty pissed at her) I was coordinated enough and strong enough to finally get myself free after a lot of scooting and leaning and ripping and after I was able to shower there was a last text saying something like "Hey yuppie, I think you said you had an early day today too right? lmao lmao lmao have fun."
The whole thing was so fucking weird and so fucking embarrassing and (before anyone scolds me) reckless and unsafe by the standards of "omg safe sane and consensual" and I'm positive that there are still fucking humiliating pics of me on her hard drive and probably on the hard drives of some of her friends and I would abso-fucking-lutely make the terrible choice to do it again in all likelihood much as I'd like to pretend I'm above it now. |
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New fetish: Being tied to a chair and trying not to piss my khakis while an obnoxious punk chick talks shit to me about waterfalls and films the whole thing on her phone. |
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I think about meeting up with some drunk punks after a shitty local show. We grab some booze and go back to the Hilton where I'm staying and head up to the suite. It's a couple of dudes, a couple of punk girls, and I'm talking a lot about how punk rock I used to be back in the day, before I became a total yuppie.
Back in the suite, we're watching television and bullshitting. They're getting me drunker. I try to keep everybody from smoking but that's basically a lost cause. At a certain point the guys start posturing and preening and acting macho and we're teasing each other.
We kind of start wrestling and the girls are sitting there in their jean jackets and boots and fishnets smoking and egging it on. It's not getting super intense, just shit like arm punching and some wrestling moves and shirts come off and we're all pretty ripped but they're definitely rougher and better fighters and suddenly one of the guys has me in a sleeper hold and the girls get really excited.
I'm slapping at his ripped, tattooed arms trying to get some breath and the girls are losing their shit, laughing and drinking and one of them is filming the thing on her camera and the other is cackling saying "Dude you're gonna take a fucking nap" and "Nice sleeper hold."
I'm gugrling and trying to get the girls to get the dudes to let me go but the punk chicks are laughing too hard and pointedly refusing to help. "Getting dizzy dude?" "Getting sleepy, preppy boy?"
Finally the one who isn't filming digs into her backpack and gets out some duct tape and says "Uh. Hate to put any pressure on you but...it's def in your interest to get out of this and not pass out bro."
Now I'm frantic but I'm too weak and dizzy and the struggle is futile. I wake up fucking plastered to a spinning office chair with duct tape and for the rest of the night the punks alternate between fucking with me and ignoring me completely. They keep feeding me whiskey and I'm begging to be let loose but they've done a really good job with the tape.
Finally one of the girls yawns and they say they're bored and they take some cash out of my wallet and one of them kisses my cheeks and says "Good luck dude, hope you get out before housekeeping shows up," and they all shut the lights off and turn the television up so no one can hear me if I call for help and they're out the door. On her way out one of the girls says "Oh hey dude I'll IM you later, send you a link to the YouTube video" and I can tell she's serious because she's laughing so fucking hard. |
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into: "do you like huey lewis and the news?"
(everything to do with it), american psycho turns me on!!!
(everything to do with it), are we not men? we are devo!
,atari
, atomic wedgie
(receiving), b-films/cult classics
(everything to do with it),being bound with my own brooks brothers tie
(wearing), bully/victim
(receiving), camel clutch
(receiving), chess
(everything to do with it), chubby punk girls
(everything to do with it), classical music
(everything to do with it), clive barker
(everything to do with it), cocktails
, cold war nuclear holocaust movies as porn
(everything to do with it), consensual nonconsent
(receiving), crust punk girls
(everything to do with it), cumming on the portable nietzsche
(everything to do with it), dead kennedys
, dostoyevsky
, douglas adams
(everything to do with it), dungeons and dragons
(everything to do with it), forced dutch oven
(receiving), getting a swirly
(receiving), girls in glasses
(watching others wear),gothic girls
(watching others wear), handcuffs and zip ties
(wearing), hanging wedgie
(receiving), haruki murakami
(everything to do with it), hello kitty duct tape bondage
(receiving), horror
(everything to do with it), jock lock wedgies
(wearing), little lebowski urban achiever
(everything to do with it), locked in a porta potty and abandoned
(receiving), locked in the closet
(receiving), lucian freud
, making people "gross out"
(receiving), manson cult girls
(receiving),masturbating to nabokov, joyce and pynchon
(everything to do with it), my life is a kinkier john hughes movie
(everything to do with it), predicament bondage
(receiving), psychology geeks
(everything to do with it), punk girls
(everything to do with it), saran wrap bondage
(receiving), shakespeare quoting
,sleeper holds
(receiving), so-shitty-they're-awesome 80s horror movies
(everything to do with it), sunglasses at night
(everything to do with it), surrealism
(everything to do with it), the george costanza trifecta
(everything to do with it),the smiths
, tied up, gagged and locked in a car trunk
(receiving), urban legends of the 1980s
(everything to do with it), when sterling archer says "danger zone"
(everything to do with it), zines
(everything to do with it).
Curious about: james ellroy narrating my day.
(everything to do with it). |
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Now when I talk mind control, I'm not talking scenarios in which I'm caged and dosed with drugs and eerie messages are played over a loudspeaker while I huddle in the corner and shut my eyes and try to figure out if the white rabbit in front of me is real or an hallucination or a dude in a bunny suit. I'm also not talking stern behavior modification by a Lilith Sternin Crane type with a lab coat and her hair in a bun. Don't get me wrong--all of this is hot and I'm willing to go on the record saying The Parallax View would be the hottest movie ever if the scientists and agents had been women in leather jackets and Clash tee shirts and had been cracking jokes instead of somber dudes hanging around being sinister and scientific.
But look, I'm in danger of losing my audience here so I'm going to get right to it: When I talk sadism and mind control, I'm talking more about the sadistic urge to wear somebody down over time. I can see the appeal to mad scientists and grandiose plans and all that but a salient something that turns me on for real about many (real) sadists--especially those with sick senses of humor--is the almost unconscious calculations about how to really break somebody down and laugh about it later.
This gets pretty meta. I get hot thinking about a woman thinking about how if she grinds my face in the carpet a little more, I get a little more pliable. If she gets me to take one more drink, I get a little easier to fuck with. If she gets into my head a little more, keeps me a little hungrier, if I get a little less sleep...well you get the idea. The more she fucks with me--the more she gets into my head the more she breaks me down--the more fun it gets.
In a real sense, this goes back to the sadomasochistic obsessions with dependence and dread and it erodes the line between LoL Play and OMG REAL LIFE. It erodes this line in a way that (most people's) ideas of Real Power Exchange or Livin' the Life 24/7 never quite do.
I've no urge to replace the Weird with the Mundane. We are still talking eccentric, garish bullshit here--I'm still thinking being locked in dog cages, having my head dunked in toilets, being given wedgies, being tied up and left in motel rooms, games that get out of hand--it's just that with the knowledge that this kind of play takes its toll, that everything takes its toll and breaks a victim down, the line between "Play time" and sadomasochism is obscured more and more.
In the immortal words of Elvis (no no the other one, the one who wasn't a racist creep): I don't wanna be your lover/I just wanna be your victim. |
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| Age: 46 |
| Longwood,
Florida |
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