Why call this “My First of Four”?

Honestly there are days I wish there was some deep meaning behind it but there isn’t. I’ve taken these entries and chosen to share it with friends, and the rest of fetlife.

The first of four is really the first of the four entries I’ve written in my personal diary as I come close to ten years of bdsm, ten years of kink, but most of all ten years of the most challenging growth, self-acceptance, and love I’ve come to find.

There are days I wish I had the confidence to write “Dear Diary,” I sit here laughing, but honestly I know this is how most these pages start yet I refuse to start them this way.

Moving past the starting point I find myself looking at my ceiling. Some that know me know that this activity of ceiling staring over the years has become a way that I try to reflect on who I am. So what brings on tonight’s adventure in ceiling staring? Tonight it has hit me. It has hit me that in on month I enter ten of the most amazing years, ten of the most stressful years, ten of the most humbling years, and most importantly ten of the scariest (and to commit grammatical faux pas I use “and” again) and ten of the most amazing years I have experienced.

As I hope to read this down the road I hope that I look back and understand that of the ten great years I chose to focus on one thing at at time. This entry in a book I hope that I don’t loose I start with a theme of acceptance. A theme I want to grow the most in writing, and theme I have struggled with the most.

I should also go on to say that I wanted to start these four entries with identity. Identity has been something I’ve struggle with over the years. It is something I’ve judged myself on yet never been judged from friends, and partners. Identity is something I’ve struggled with as it has taken me a long time to understand that when it comes to identity there is no mould that you need to fit in to.

I start this writing looking at my blank pages and my ceiling and ask myself about my identity. So the golden question? Who am I?

I’m a submissive male. A term that once upon time scared the shit out of me to use. It was a term that I once hated, once was ashamed of, once started to enjoy, and now something I am very proud of. It’s taken time to come to this primary identity. It’s taken friends, mentors, partners and people I look up to yet I have not found the strength to tell them that. It’s taken years of seeing a few other male submissive in my life teach me about myself through their confidence. It’s taken workshops, munches, parties, and many conversations to proud of who I am. Over ten years I’ve struggled with the depth on who I am, and who I want to be. I’ve faced the challenges of being a male that “goes against the grain of society” and to honest it kills me that despite such a open group of friends there are times other males have made me feel “lesser than” since I identify as a submissive and not a dom. With each of those experience I’ve been lucky to grow. I’ve been lucky to take the insecurities of others and use it to grow the confidence of myself. Ten years of guidance from friends, mentors, and partners I look myself in the mirror smile and say I’m a submissive male. This is my primary and must raw identity.

So why use the term “primary identity”? Honestly its because despite the fact I identify one way doesn’t mean I can’t identify in the right situation in many other ways. I was once taught in my life that you should NEVER put the word “just” in front of your name. As I reflect on identity and self growth I will never call my self “just” a submissive. What else am I? A better question what else can I be? I’m a switch for the right person, I am sadist when I have the chance to throw a friend under the bus, and lately I’ve come to terms with that I’m capable of being a slave for a partner that hits those right spots. I am a guy who loves boardgames, video games, and enjoys reading. I am not “”just” one thing even though I identify primarily as a submissive.

Like anyone else there are tops, bottoms, dom/mes, submissive, masters, slaves, and switches that I look up to. Some of these peoples I’ve expressed this while others I’ve been sat their awed in their self confidence.

As I look back up at the top of my page I go back to say and refine my previous statement. I am 99% a submissive and 1% a thousand other things. That all being said I am someone who scare shitless of my personal growth over the next ten years. I am scared of who I might become, and equally excited. I am scared of the writings I’ll write over the next week, and the vulnerability it may cause, yet can’t wait to challenge myself in reflection, while excite myself over goals.

So I’ll leave this moment of fleeting honesty my dear journal and future self that reads this, and say with one last time with pride that I’m a male submissive, with great friends, mentors, and partners

I wrote this about a week ago. I was listening to a friend a few weeks ago as they attended their first party ever and I sat there thinking about my first event. i remember stressing out about ever piece of clothing I wore. However as I grow and have attended more events, parties, fet-raves…etc I look myself in the mirror and smile thinking about that fact that I like dressing up. I enjoy the fun on many elements dressing up for myself, or for a partner. I love how I can feel and I love how what I wear can make a partner feel. That being said I sit here thinking about clothing and found myself writing intemitley about myself and how I like to dress.

I post this because I have a few friends that have been unsure of what to wear, how to look, and have forgotten about that what you wear can be way more about yourself than anyone else. I have fallen victim on too many occasions about worrying about what others think and less about myself.

Last week I mentioned that I can be a bottom, submissive and a slave, and this week I talk about how I love dressing like a guy, a women and a objectified rubber doll. that being said no matter what the scenario, and pending on the partner I am happy, and continue to look past those insecurities I once felt and look on to the pride, and sexiness (for the lack of a better term) I feel.

As I mentioned last week I share this entry with partners, friends, and anyone else to express the things I’ve learned over the years. Thanks for reading my entry as I reflect on ten years of the best, and most challenging growth of my life…

I use to hate dressing up. I sit here thinking about a time I use to had dressing up for events. I sit here thinking about the anxiety and stress I would bring upon myself as I figured what to wear.

I wasn’t stressed out because of the choice but I was stressed out because of a fear I once I had about living up to what others thoughts. I still remember hating myself because I always felt I was under dressed for any event. I remember looking at my wardrobe and stressing out because I was a student and I was unable to afford the beautiful outfits I had seen worn at events through porn, and informational means. It’s funny as I sit here writing about these moments of fear I smile, laugh, and feel ashamed at the many levels of insecurity that this brought on.

I find myself now thinking about what to wear in a much different way than I did at my first event. I sit here looking at my ceiling and writing in this “manly thought book” of mine reflecting on the growth I’ve made. My first instinct is to cut a joke at my own expense as I don’t do well sitting here having another honest moment with myself. In a haste I look at a better way of procrastinating than confronting myself, not in a negative way but a positive once. What joke do I make at my own expense?

I remember my first event and the stress I once put on thinking more about what others thought and less about how I wanted to portray myself.

I remember the pressure I felt my very first party I ever went to. I remember reading all black and looked in to my wardrobe and realized that I had some grey, some dark green, and a lot of red and other colours. I had this Oakley long sleeve shirt. I remember thinking it was the closes to a black top I had. I didn’t know what to expect since I’d never been to a play party before, but read the rules and in those rules was a dress code that stated all black… fetish preferred.

My first thought on this matter was “oh shit I guess I won’t be “preferred”. I’d be lying if I said I was okay with not being in the preferred category as I remember being a lot more insecure than. At this time I didn’t have really anyone in my life that could tell me to relax and just have fun so instead I sat there freaking out about the “all black” part of the dress code. I’ll never forget looking at that black Oakley shirt and realizing that there was a problem, there was a gigantic OAKLEY brand right across the chest of the shirt. I didn’t know what to do since I read ALL BLACK as no other colour allowed… period, underlined, PERIOD.

I was a student at the time so going out and buying a black t-shirt was not an option since the budget was tight and it wasn’t the time of the year to buy new clothing (I guess as i look back now a $20 shirt probably wouldn’t have been a huge stretch). I still can remember vividly looking for the right pair of pants. Pants that didn’t seem baggy, but pants that weren’t skin tight as I have never been a fan of these pants. In the far back side of my closet was a pair of not so baggy, but still baggy paid of docker black pants that I had worn for a job about six month ago. I remember pulling them out and looking at them. Wondering if these would be considered “acceptable” amongst the peers I was about to meet. So here I was a Oakley long sleeve shirt, a pair of kind of baggy black pants and a ton of uncertainty and in-security.

I calmed my insecurity a bit by taking the black shirt and turning it inside-out, however as I write this I blush and find myself even more shy admitting that I wore a shirt inside out to a public event. I felt the pressure by the words “all black” and took it probably a lot more literal that I should have.

I sit here writing about that moment and find myself still laughing to myself sitting in my apartment by myself with a coke zero beside me. I sigh as I think as times have changed over the years and now I feel insecure in so many different ways.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw a guy dressed up in latex but as a doll. I’ll forever remember that exact moment that opened my mind beyond what was “socially” accepted as a male and opened up the thought to be able to dress up as so much more. I’ve never really expressed it openly but I love wearing heels. I love wearing latex, and I love the chance to dress up as nothing more or less than a rubber doll. I sit here again looking at my ceiling using it as a crutch to the honest words to myself but I try to bring myself way from the crutch and back to the honest moment and that is I love to be a doll. I go back and find myself thinking about the first time I work a bra, heels, or a skirt for anyone, and for myself. I remember the first time I told a friend that I wanted to go in pure latex drag to a event. I was so nervous. I still remember where I was sitting how I was positioned, and the deep breath I took before telling someone. I remember the friend I told being amazing, supportive, and nothing shy of great. I remember her asking me the image I wanted to show and helping my portray it and most of all I not only remember that moment but also love how supportive she has been since than. I guess I should probably look myself in the mirror and admit that I’m lucky.

The first time I wore heels and a skirt I was scared. I was so scared that the friend I was with that night was probably six inches shorted than me yet I hid behind her like she was a brick wall and I was on the opposing side of anyone who could see me. Against I need to state to myself I was lucky to have those friends in my life. I still remember being scared wearing heels, hell, I still remember being scared wearing leather pants and a “manly” shirt. I look at myself now, and than back at my ceiling understanding that all those “firsts” are moments I wish I could re-visit. They are moments that I wish I could go back in time and slap myself in the face and say “hommie (this is me making a joke to take away from a honey moment) stop stressing out, give your friends a hug and fucking rock what ever you are wearing… also P.S. you are lucky to have the supportive people you have in your life.”

I guess I sit here writing about the things I love to wear because as I grow away from the guy who once wore a shirt inside out to desperately fit in I find myself still worried about what others think. Sometimes this is a after thought and other times it is a primary thought.

Ten years late and many night shitting myself about the clothing choice I have made I sometimes look back at days of wearing a black shirt and pants and enjoy those moments. However that being said I love dressing up. I love being the rubber slut, and the manly man. I love wearing a kilt and knee high boots, or a skirt and six inch heels. I write that last sentence so confidently yet there are day s I question the choices I make. The factor that drives me to enjoy all aspects is that I need to remember that the friends I have supported me and continue to do so. Everyone else is simply white noise so if they want to hate… fuck them.

I’d be lying if I felt like writing comments on my own journal entry made me feel a bit overly egotistic… comments is a bad term but more a editorial… either way I feel like this might be overkill.

I’d be lying if I said this was easy to write. This challenge I brought upon myself has been simply that… a challenge. I find myself asking myself why I am writing this? Why am I exposing myself more and more, and lastly why do I care to share something so private so publicly. This week the answer was easy. I share this because it would seem many friends and people I have looked up to over the years have found themselves at one point saying the three words I talk about. I write this week because some part of me knows that I am leveraging the public to hold my self accountable int e my future growth. Lastly I write this because I promised myself I would be more open to my friends, partners, and people I look up to and I thought this would help that prime I made to myself.

Each week I find myself more scared shitless wondering if I have exposed to much about myself. So this week as I wrote i thought a lot about the hurdles that I have set, not the ones that were naturally presented but more about the those hurdles I have caused.

It’s funny, I sit here looking at the white ceiling above me and know what I want to write about. I reach forward at my notebook and look at the notes I’ve written of my feelings though out the week.

Procrastinating from getting to the point I find myself nervously hesitating as each time I write in this book I know I’m going to post it publicly. I feel nervous thinking about opening up some of my most intimate thoughts, but at the same time I’m happy I’ve found the strength, and more so the confidence in myself to air them out. I guess that leads me to the perfect chance to write about what is on my mind tonight as I think that once upon a time I would never have openly talked like this to even the closest of friends.

There is someone I respect a lot, not kinky person, but someone who has been part of my vanilla life and someone who I look up. That person once taught me that the four most powerful words in the english language is “I Need Your Help.” Why do I find myself writing about this, because I think of the reversal to that tonight. I think about the three most growth limiting words I’ve ever used over the last years. I think about the words “I Will Never…”

As I sit here trying so hard to continue to procrastinate opening up to myself I find my thoughts wandering back to the many times I’ve started something off with those words.

“I will never try needles…”
“I will never like D/s…”
“I will never enjoy watersports…”
“I will never try anal play…”
“I will never enjoy playing with a guy…”

I guess i sit here looking at the five of many “I will never”s and catch my self smiling, blushing, and feeling a bit proud. As I have already written I sit here thinking about how these three words for so long were so crippling to my own self growth. I still remember reading about a munch, and a play party and thinking “I will never… go to one of those since i don’t think this is worth my time” I laugh here putting my pen down and think about how foolish I was, and how insecure I was. I would like to say I’ve grown but there are days that insecurity still haunts me in ways I wish it wouldn’t. I find myself still insecure to let go completely with play partners, and partners.

i think about how despite letting go of the words “I will never” 10% of me still thinks it, however I no longer say it. I look at a few of my more intimate “I will never” whether they be physically, or emotionally intimate and I find myself still reflecting on a a few of them.

Chastity…

It’s a topic I really have a hard time talk to with friends, play partners, partners, and people I’m in a relationship with. It’s a topic I find myself always blushing about.

Once upon a time Chastity was a topic that was on my “I would never…” list. It was once something I didn’t understand because that it was something I pushed out.

I use to read posts on irc (sort of dating myself a bit). When I talk about reading posts I don’t mean reading post about people who would beg for release, but more about people who tried to understand the connection between, chastity, BDSM, and D/s (yes I get that D/s is part of the BDSM acronym). i still remember the first time seeing a photo f a chastity device, and reading about someone who talked about how it is one of the best things about their relationship with their partner. I can still remember thinking “who would ever wear one of those!” which quickly followed the thought “I will never”

As i look back now and reflect on how it is something I would do for a partner in a heartbeat i smile, laugh, and feel slightly embraced as I look at the version of myself that was so closed minded that he didn’t even want to respect the love that someone had in something.

Male Play Partners…

It’s still a bit hard for me to write about this. not because I’ embarrassed but more because it is something I find my most recent self trying to understand more.

I think about this “I will never” because really it is the most fresh one I am currently finding myself thinking about.

I’ve been fortunate enough to find myself with a few male friends in my life that I would engage in some sort of play with in a heart beat. These friends don’t know who they are, but I’m pretty sure they have a good idea. I never understood the connection in playing with other guys. I never thought there was anything wrong with it, but when it came to MY personal life I never found it in the cards. I still remember some of my other male friends having incredibly hot scenes with other guys and despite them being hot to watch they never were something I wanted to engage in.

I had put the “playing with other guys” in the “I will never” category of my life.

I look at these two examples as I try to grasp the growth I’ve made and still feel like I’m sitting at a stalemate with myself.

I write about “I will never” because I hope ten years from not I can look back and understand that those are words I’ve removed from my vocabulary.

I feel like before I sign off on this and close my book I should think about some more positive stuff. I feel I owe it to myself to think of some of the “I will never” that have leads to amazing moments in my life.

Needles…

I have a medical fear of needles. I’m serious! If you are a doctor and you are to draw blood from me there better be a good reason or I will CUT YOU.

I once had needles one the old “I will never” list. Trying needles was about a year of work. I still remember the first time the conversation came up. I was sitting in a shawarma place with Seeking_Serenity, Morpheous and a few other people. Morph was in town (ottawa) teaching a rope workshop (shocking surprise) and Seeking_Serenity and I had only been friends for a month or so.. if that. I was invite out to do dinner with them as Morph had just taught a workshop and was looking to grab a bite to eat before the play party that night. We were at this Shawarma place and we were talking about needle play. I still remember Seeking_Serenity asking me how I felt about the topic. I think my answer might have came out as “um… well…uh.. hmmm maybe… something… I could possibly be… kind of…. ahh.. interested in”

This was a moment i still remember, I still remember Seeking Serenity asking me over a year where my thoughts were on the matter. I had gone from a bunch of “uh, ahh… maybes etc..” to more definitive thoughts. After a year of checking up on me I still remember sitting at Seeking Serenity’s halloween party and her asking me if I want to try needles. I laugh at myself because I think of what a normal delayed reaction to a question is and what my delayed reaction to a question was. She asked the question and I say there for an hour at a hollowed party full of twenty people completely stuck in my own thoughts and terrified of answering the truth versus playing in to my fears.

A long hour goes by and I still remember looking at her and saying “Can we try that needle thing”’ So we went downstairs and it was the first time I ever had two whole might needles put int o my back. I write this because I need to remind myself that a lot of the “I will never” that I have used have become things I love, and things that have become a huge part of my life.

I write this lastly because I hope over the years I flip back to these pages and understand that “I will never” is crippling to my growth in both my kink and vanilla life. Lastly I write this because my insecurities tell me that I need to remind myself occasionally that I have conquered some fears and have actually grown over the years.

The last thought I can honestly have before I close this book, put down my pen and watch some cheesy movie is I wonder what “I will never” I can change over the next years? I have to say I’m pretty excited, and incredibly scared.. I’m okay with this.

Nine years, and fifty- one weeks ago I attended my first event. I’ve been thinking a lot about every minute, and second of that time. I’ve been writing in my diary (a.k.a. “manly thought book”) trying to figure out who I am, and who I want to be. This week was hard because found myself thinking about the people in my life. These are the people at all levels in my life. The partners I have, and have had, the people I have played with, the friends who have come and gone, and lastly the friend I have lost.

I wanted to do good to them (I know great gammer). I really hate letting people down, so this week as I thought about every single one of them I asked myself if I have grown in the way that would justify the time that they have spent with me.

As I finish this quick “editorial” comment on my own entry, I feel a level of happiness, pride, and still some insecurity. Lastly though I know that I should feel happy, lucky, and privilege for the amazing people in my life.

I look at back at the last few pages, and i think about how much I don’t like being honest with myself. Okay, I think that’s a lie, but I still get nervous reading the past pages knowing I ended up sharing them.

I look over the pages of hand writing and I see the word “I” appear a lot. I don’t enjoy talking about myself. I don’t enjoy being the centre of attention, yet I find myself looking over these pages thinking, and noticing the word “I” appears more than what makes me comfortable.

I’m a lucky guy.

This wild adventure I started a long time ago has seem to have lasted more than I ever thought. As much as I know I have overcome fears and anxiety, and I know that I’m not even half the person I am without the friends who’ve been there on the way.

I’ve been lucky.

In a parallel universe I walked away from everything two years. I didn’t mean someone who has been one of my best friends, play partner and partner. I should start with her since I don’t think with out her I would have grown the way I have.

The luck didn’t end with there. I have made some great friends in my close to ten years. I’ve made friends to have made me feel like I can do anything.

When I talk about friends I think of the ones I have, and love. The friends I’ve had and have moved on to other things in their life, the friends who I’ve grown a part with. The friends who I am only just starting to get to know, and sadly the friend that I have lost.

Every person I’ve met over the past years have taught me something, and have helped sculpt me in to no longer the person I want to be but instead the person that I am.

The friends I have, and that I think of menthe world to me. I could tell a hundred stories to remind myself of the things they have one but instead I find myself closing my eyes lying back on my bed and thinking about all those amazing moments.

I know I owe a lot of thanks to all of them. I know that they are at least a minimum of 50% of the reason I am here and doing what I do. I try to remind myself that they don’t judge, but push. They laugh with you and never at you, and most of all they have your back in every way.

*Edited for Fetlife post

Before I end this I want to and owe a Thank you to those friends of the past present and future. I want to say thank you for listening to my crazy ideas, and encouraging every single one of them. I want to say thank you because honestly half my insecurities you my friends have taught me to let go. Thank you for doing all that.

Thanks for pushing me. When some people see the words pushing they thing of kink but I want to go beyond that. Thank you for merging the two versions of me in to one. Without those friends I would be split in a hard way between the person I want to be and the person I am.

Lastly I share this entry because for anyone who is starting off on their adventure I wanted to let them know that the real friends are the ones that listen to you. Those friends are the ones that (as I mentioned already) never laugh at you but with. They push you because they care, and they love you. However most of all the people you get to meet and that you (my readers) bring in to your life want to see you grow in kink, become super rad in your vanilla life, but most of all encourage the balance between both.

I was going to in a high school year book way thank specific people but I realized that I’ll eventually tell those people face to face about the impact they’ve had and most of all I know they know.

So I leave this last week looking at nine years, and fifty-one weeks in to so many great things.

Thank you friends, thank you for humbling me, encourage me, and helping me grow. I can’t begin to express the impact you have all had in my life.

I want to hit my breaking point. There is a point I want to feel when the tear’s slide down the side of my face. I want to know that when it happens I look at the person causing it and they know it it s a look of love, fear, enjoyment, pain, and happiness. I want to feel that moment where my mind hits the point where it no longer knows what to do.

This breaking point doesn’t only come from a love of masochism, but can come from a place of submission. My breaking in a point where it is no longer about the pain or what you ask of me but more becomes a element of getting to what you feel is satisfactory.

My breaking point doesn’t need to be caused by a partner I love, but can be caused by a partner I enjoy to high five, or someone I laugh with.

When I give you my breaking point I feel I don’t have the write to ask, but instead I will express that you get that you have rendered me to nothing but a primordial element that only cares about you, and that my reward is making you smile, laugh, or indulge in your sadism.

What is my breaking point?

It is a point where logic disappears, and a element of myself is left to serve. It is a place where the pain I want, urge and love is no longer about me, but now is a place that you want to be in. It is a place where I give in to you being greater than me. It is a rare occasion where I submit to you, mentally or physically and you get a reaction that might scare you, and I promise it will scare me.

When I break I hope I sleep. However as much as I selfishly want to sleep, I want more to see you do the same, and better and me. I hope when this happens you have a better sleep than me because part of this breaking point is knowing that you are sleeping better as I struggle to sleep out of pain and discomfort.

Lastly this breaking point is something that I am lucky to share with you. This is something you my partner, or you my friend, or even you a casual play partner that I had a random intense click with understands that we hit together. I hope you understand that I gave this to you, that you earned it from me. You might earn this intentionally or un-aware.

So when I think of the moment of hitting that breaking point I say thank you. Thank you for bring me there. Thank you causing the tears, the whimpering, the begging that may or simply may not occur.

So why write this? I write it because I want to give you the understanding that this is my breaking point and I can’t wait to give it to you.