The Return of the Thin White Duke (Throwing Darts at Father's Eyes)

Wow, it’s been two months since I last posted anything on this blog.  I always wondered why people stopped blogging.  I would come across a real neat site with an interesting angle and would read all the old posts, only to then realize that it was a dormant blog.  Not that there is anything wrong with taking a vacation every now and then, but for quite some time I had managed to post something once a week, save the times when I was mourning the loss of one of my dogs. 

So what brought about my own recent lapse?  I think it was a combination of things.

I found out the local archdiocese donated $650,000 to try and pass an amendment to the Minnesota’s state constitution that would limit marriage to one man and one woman.  As a currently practicing Catholic – one who sings in the choir, cantors, and attends mass on a regular basis – that struck me as absolutely wrong.  Put aside the whole separation of church and state thing (although that alone should be sufficient enough reason to cause people to question just what a religious group is up to trying to alter a state’s constitution).  For me, personally, as someone who has given a portion of his paycheck to the church on a weekly basis, I had to ask myself – just how much self-hatred must I possess to be involved in an organization that will take my money and then spend it in order to pass legislation meant to limit and demean my life? 

I knew something was up when the local archbishop sent each church member an anti-gay marriage DVD that he had produced in 2010.  That’s when I first began to question my relationship with the church.  This DVD arrived in my mailbox.  Like a piece of hate mail designed to put in my place.   An anonymous donation of one million dollars was used to produce and mail this DVD.  ONE MILLION DOLLARS!  It arrived about a week before a visiting priest came before our congregation asking us to dig deep into our pockets to help the poor and starving in his native land.  So – here is an organization that is given ONE MILLION DOLLARS and then turns around and uses it – not to feed the poor or help our brothers and sisters abroad – but to fire the first warning shot in the war on my civil rights.  It didn’t sit well with me.

But I continued to attend mass.  And sing with the choir.  And cantor whenever I was needed. 

Then I reached the decision to stop giving money to the Catholic Church.  I didn’t want my money to be used against me in any way.  My sister reminded me: Jesus said ‘Love one another.’  And the man did not fucking stutter.’  Based on Archbishop John Nienstedt’s rapidly ramping anti-gay campaign, I was beginning to not feel the love.

You see, ever since the late seventies, the church had begun relaxing a little bit when it came to the whole homosexual thing.  They were having to heal the sick in the form of AIDS patients and that got a lot of people in the church who provide such services a real great opportunity to examine just what it meant to love one another.  Then the whole question of exclusion became a hot topic.  Who are we to exclude gay people from the church?  God made them.  Sure, that old dude in the funny hat over in Rome was still condemning gay folk, but the people in the trenches doing the real work?  They were starting to think differently.

Fast forward to a point in my life when I am feeling good about life and hearing really positive things about the evolution of the Catholic Church (or at least small pockets of it), and I start attending church again.  Then I join.  Then I start getting involved.

That all ended on Easter morning, 2012.  After sitting through a three and a half hour mass the previous night, trying to sight read music we never fully rehearsed (and I attended all rehearsals – never missed a one!), I went home and just felt depleted.  And angry.  Frustrated. 

To his credit, the priest at my local church has been incredibly fair about this whole thing.  He doesn’t insist on including ‘the marriage prayer’ as part of mass.  He has gone out of his way to let people in the congregation know that it is okay to disagree with the church, and that good Catholics, historically, have done just that.  His sermons often address the issues of inclusion, fairness, and unconditional acceptance and love.  So he is certainly not to be faulted in any way.

The same cannot be said for Archbishop Nienstedt.  If you want the real dirt on all of this, track down the June 20-26 issue of a local weekly called City Pages.  They have a website: http://www.citypages.com/2012-06-20/news/archbishop-john-nienstedt-crusades-against-gay-marriage/ (here’s a link to the actual article).  It contains all the details regarding just how divisive this issue is within the Catholic Church here in Minnesota and how destructive and hateful Nienstedt and his policies have become.

Since that Easter, I have continued to attend weekly mass.  My mother likes to attend and my father, who has Alzheimer’s, has become increasingly difficult to handle in public, so I help out.  I haven’t served as a cantor or sung with the choir since Easter.  I think it is confusing to many in the choir and specifically the woman in charge of the church’s musical ministry.  But I haven’t been able to bring myself to share my true reasons for stepping away.  I miss them.  Their spirits.

At the same time as my epiphany regarding the church bloomed, my ability to write left me.  A piece I have been working on for a year and a half went untouched for five months.  And then, I could not even bring myself to write anything for this blog.  I’ve used summer and the warm weather outside as an excuse, but the cause was actually something much deeper, that which I have chosen to share in this post.  It’s taken me all this time to write about the real reason. 

During that time, I certainly had plenty to write about.  Dan Savage and use of the word ‘faggot’ springs to mind.  Along with Madonna’s PR issues, Global Warming news, political craziness (Michele Bachman!), advances in HIV treatment and prevention, and, of course, a number of interesting sexual encounters I’ve experienced this summer.  I actually started a piece about the Dan Savage thing (along with several of the others), but abandoned it, unfinished.  I’ll probably get around to it eventually. 

So, for what it’s worth, I am back.  I’ve even managed to make some progress on that piece I’d abandoned, and, in fact, it is that progress that made me feel capable of writing this post. 

Oh, and other developments: I saw Kelly Rowland at Gay Pride this year.  I’m also planning on being in Madison, WI for their upcoming Pride weekend.   I have a new addition to my household – a twelve year old Boston Terrier (it’s been quite an adjustment for all of us).  And I’m attending an all-male, naked yoga class once a week!  My tan kicks ass, too, by the way.  So, it’s not like I haven’t been busy. 

Writing is good discipline.  I’m hoping that going forward I will be able to find my voice again o – both on the page and vocally – on a consistent basis.  That’s the plan, anyway.

Hope you are all enjoying the summer as much as I am.  Be good to yourselves.

Some Truths are Not Subjective: Being Gay is NOT a Choice!

I just cannot get over the number of straight people who believe that being gay is a choice.  Really?  And what is that belief based on?  Personal experience?  We need to start challenging these misguided souls.  Because unless they are a gay person who chose to be straight  - and if they are, I would love to hear their story – then their belief is baseless.  Unless they are a gay person who chose to be straight their belief is based on… what?  An innate knowledge of all universal truths as provided by faith?  Where I come from, we call that bigotry.  

Bigotry happens when you start making assumptions about people you know nothing about.  You know that old saying… walk a mile in my shoes?  Well, I wish every straight person could.  Because, you see, I, like many gay folk, did my level best to be straight.  It was made very clear to me from the get-go that it was in my best interest (if I planned to thrive and survive) to be straight.  So I tried.  For 28 years I did my level best.  I had girlfriends, contemplated getting married, planned on bringing children into the world… and I could have done just that, except for one thing… I was gay.  And I knew I was gay.  And ultimately I had to come to accept the fact that being gay was not something I could wish away or pray away.  It was something that was not going away.  It was who I was.

You see, the truth has a way of winning out – of coming out, if you will.  No matter how much you try to hide it, no matter how good you become at pretending otherwise, the truth will eventually make itself evident.  And the more you try to deny it, the more it festers and pokes at you.  It will not rest until you acknowledge its innate right to be (you know, kind of like those pushy gay folk). 

As a straight person?  I was miserable.  Have you ever tried tap dancing in a pair of tap shoes that are a size and a half too small?  I have.  It hurts like hell.  It messes up your timing and precision.  It messes with your head.  That’s what it feels like to be a gay person trying to pass as a straight man.   Have you ever worn clothing that still had that stuff that new clothing has in it called sizing?  Icky feeling, huh?  And maybe that clothing isn’t quite the right size, so you start to sweat, and you feel like crap wearing what you are wearing.  Yeah, that’s what choosing to be straight feels like for a gay person.  It’s awful, that feeling.  I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  It makes you despise the skin you’re in.  It makes you feel like you are dirty and that you stink and that other people can smell you.  It stinks to feel like you stink. 

It makes you wish you were dead.

I only tried to kill myself once. 

During my first year in college.  I was a theatre major at a small college – and the message I received loud and clear from everyone – other actors, directors, teachers, parents, even the guidance counselor at the college – was don’t be gay.  I kept thinking all throughout high school that once I went to college things would be different… that I would be different, that other people would be different, that the world would be different, but that wasn’t the case.  So I struggled.  And then I met an actor from New York.  I fell in love.  And then I spent six months living a double existence until I just couldn’t anymore.  I decided I would rather be dead.  So, I tried to kill myself, and, like so many things that I have attempted in my lifetime, it turned out I wasn’t very good at it, because (surprise) I lived.  You see, I forgot that I had an 8:00 am call for a 10:00 am children’s show I was in (I played a court jester with a full face of paint).  When I didn’t show up at the theatre, the stage manager came, broke in and found me.  I threw up all the pills, she dragged my ass to the theatre, and threw me on-stage.   Everyone was mad at me for being late.  They had to hold the curtain because of me.  I was a mess.  No one understood, because no one knew the whole truth, because I could not tell them.  I remember standing on the edge of the stage at curtain call yelling inappropriate things at the audience.  They were applauding so they couldn’t hear me… but my fellow actors sure could.  It was surreal.   And so it would remain for the next ten years.

So, having done that, having tried, however ineptly, to off myself, you would think I would have come out of it realizing that I could not escape from who I was.  But, no.  Instead, I went further into denial – further into the surreal.  I ended my affair with the actor in New York and cancelled my plans to move to New York to be with him – plans I had made secretively. .. only the actor and I knew.  I broke his heart.  I broke my heart, too.  It would take ten more years of self-hatred, bitterness, inner-conflict, denial, bad self-image, poor self-esteem, being marginalized, criticized, and ostracized, living in fear and isolation before I would finally come to realize that I was what I was… I was gay.

And I was not a great gay - still am not a great gay – for like most people, I am horribly flawed.  But I have come a long way… I never hide who I am these days.  Everybody knows.  And what they think?  Well, it’s not always my business.  I can’t change who they are – but I will also not allow them to treat me badly or differently because of what I am. 

I now like the skin I’m in.  My clothes fit better, too.  And I now know better than to try to tap dance in shoes a size and a half too small.  In fact, I don’t tap dance around anyone anymore.  I just tell people my truth.  That this is who I am.  I am a gay man.   And not by choice.  Like greatness for some, this – being gay - has been thrust upon me.  And I now wear it like a crown.

Because it looks good up there on my head. 

And the fit is to die for!

MDNA: A Few Strands Need to be Untangled

As a long-time fan of the Material Girl, I have to say, these are hard times to be a Madonna defender.  She hasn’t exactly demonstrated to the world that she gives a flying fuck.  There have been a number of incidents that have resonated in the media and on the internet that have made her a less than endearing person.  In particular the whole hydrangea debacle and the Molly incident at Miami's Ultra Music Festival, come to mind.  Both played like the acts of a woman with poor reasoning skills.  Her Superbowl  appearance was almost right on the money, spoiled only by M.I.A.’s unnecessary middle finger and a misstep on the bleachers.  She played that opportunity smart – appearing in an age appropriate dress and giving the fans what they wanted: the hits.  She definitely knew what an important opportunity it was and did her best not to piss anyone off.  Not that it’s helped her sell her latest disc, MDNA.  

Yes, it debuted at number one, but then experienced the biggest drop-off of sales that any number one had previously.   They also claim that she cheated by giving away a CD with each concert ticket she sold – but I think (considering the tickets were $200) that’s kind of nitpicking and a much less questionable practice then selling it for 99 cents on-line (Lady Gaga – looking at you). 

So, who the hell knows what is in Madonna’s head these days.  MDNA is certainly not the CD expected of a mature artist.  At this point, I would be very interested in hearing music made by a 53-year old Madonna, rather than one that seems to come from a place of insecurity about getting older and generally appears to feel entitled and angry.  Vulnerability really speaks volumes to the general public.  However, the Platinum Lady does not seem to want to expose any flaws in her armor.   Given that perfection is consuming and unattainable, a quest for such leaves one exhausted and irritable – which may explain why MDNA comes across so incredibly negative.  That negativity is a total turn-off, Madge.  Hey… you have a lot of money.  You can sleep with whomever you want.  So why so crabby?

To be blunt, Madonna’s MDNA release isn’t one of her best.  The lyrics are frequently hopelessly lazy, some of the songs go on for far too long (a little judicious editing would have gone a long way), and the pop glean that once seemed to shine so easily for her is hopelessly absent.  But the worst issue with the CD is the sequencing.  It undermines the story arc – a story which is very much evident if one muddles their way through the disc.  Why exactly the songs are in the order they appear makes no sense: it’s not like they front-loaded all the potential hits (there are none).  In short, plenty of fodder for the critics to gripe about. And trust me, the haters did just that.

Maybe she didn’t care enough?  Maybe she only views new music as necessary product at this point.  We’re a long way away from the meticulous sheen and polish of “True Blue”, “Like A Prayer” and “Ray of Light” – three of her best efforts.    Let’s face it – things have not gone well in Madonna-town since “American Life”.  Still, I must admit I found a lot to like on “Confessions on a Dance Floor”, though, once again, the sequencing of that CD did a lot to undermine what could have been a very good release).  “Hard Candy”, her last effort, was not very good.  It came across as hard, brittle, angry, and crass.  As with MDNA, Madonna herself seemed to be absent in the mix for that one.  And since the reason people care (or used to ) about Madonna’s music is because it is all about Madonna – to have her show up M.I.A.(no pun intended) gives everyone an opportunity to totally opt out: she didn’t care enough – why should we?  

Which is why I think the sequencing of the CD is so important.  If you create a story… begin somewhere – then we will follow you to the end, because once involved, we begin to care. 

Here is the CD I think MDNA should have been, with explanations and suggestions along the way.   Stand out tracks have been indicated with a * before the title.

Track One: Turn On the Radio

It all began there – on the radio, with Madonna.  So, since this is the first release on a new label, it should begin there again.  It is, in fact, lack of radio support that keeps killing her singles.  This is also an upbeat way to begin.  The lyrics support that this should be the kick-off song: “There's a glow of a distant light, calling you to come outside.  To feel the wind on your face and your skin, and it's here I begin my story…”

Track Two: Give Me All Your Luvin’

This song plays out like something Madonna would have gotten on the radio, pre-American Life or maybe even pre-Erotica.  It’s a trifle of a song, but is fairly light and uplifting.  It would seem to say (and did) that Madonna is on top of the world; the apex from which all others are to be compared.

*Track Three: Some Girls

Thematically, it only makes sense to assess the competition and to differentiate in the market she was born to rule.  Which is something one does at the top of their game.  What separates Madonna from the rest of the pack?  This has become one of my favorite tracks.  It has enough tiny hooks to satisfy my pop demon, the vocals are interesting, and it makes me want to dance.

Track Four: I’m A Sinner

This track works – if edited right before all the stupid Jesus/Mary/St. Sebastian rhymes.  Cut it early and is a bit charming.  Let it go on too long, and those stagnant, meaningless, school-girl couplets will have you throwing up just the tiniest bit in your mouth.   Sometimes less leads to success.

Track Five: Girl Gone Wild

“I’m a Sinner” sets up the spoken intro to “Girl Gone Wild” perfectly. As a lead off track it made no sense and only reminded one of how magnificent “Like A Prayer” was years before.  So at this point in the story we have a diva at the top of her game, one that is perhaps heading off the tracks.  Oh, what in the world could possibly save her?  Why, love, of course.

Track Six: Superstar

I hate this song.  It is stupid; a name-dropping song without the usual knowing wink.  I include it because on even Madonna’s best CD’s there is always one really stupid track, without which, the rest of the release loses something.  “Superstar” is that point when our heroine – so full of herself and high on life – comes in contact with that one person who can bring her back to earth. And yes, it is no surprise that the object of her affection is a combination of all the greatest male icons ever to live, but, hey… it’s Madonna!

*Track Seven: I’m Addicted

Ah, obsession becomes addiction.  Not so healthy.  Not so happy.  This is one of the best songs on the CD.  Love it.  Captures unhealthy emotional addiction perfectly.   That and, “I need to dance…”

*Track Eight: Masterpiece

This is the best track on the CD.  As it is, it gets buried on the actual release, kind of put there as an afterthought.  Fact is, it demonstrates just what a good songwriter Madge can be when she isn’t obsessing over those veins that stick out on the back of her hands.  This is a beautiful song and her best performance on MDNA.  

Track Nine: Beautiful Killer

This is where our diva starts waking up.  She realizes that she is dancing with danger and starts to look for an escape route.  Ends with the sound of a bullet casing hitting the floor… hello?  This is where I wish we could insert “Revolver” from the” Celebration” release, but that belongs to Warner Brothers, so no dice.  However, this track still dovetails nicely into:

Track Ten: Gang Bang

Diva is pissed.  And that’s why it does not work as the second track of the CD.  It is too angry.  Too negative.  Too harsh.  Better it appear here, where it thematically makes sense.  By this point in the story our lady love needs to get angry… in order to evolve.  This is another track that could benefit from some editing.  I hit the fast forward right after she tells us she has a lot of friends in hell.  After that point, well, I just don’t think Madge screaming ‘drive bitch, die bitch’ is very… effective or meaningful.

Track Eleven: I Don’t Give A ****

Diva is indifferent.  Having rid herself of Prince Alarming, Madge has to look at starting her life over without him.  She needs to reclaim herself.  And in order to do that she must be honest with herself…

Track Twelve: I Fucked Up

She has to admit that she was part of the problem.  OH – VULNERABILITY!  She shares her flaws and the world can once again relate to her… empathy garners CD sales.  So, Madge isn’t a heartless bitch.  In reclaiming herself, she is also realistic enough to realize that she is not perfect or infallible.

Track Thirteen: Best Friend

Sums up our story – Madge’s story and the reason this CD exists pretty well, don’t you think?

*Track Fourteen: Falling Free

Also one of the best tracks on the CD.  Lovely.  Well written and demonstrating a deepness absent on most of the CD.  And it leaves us wanting to know what happens next to our beautiful, fragile, very human princess. Seriously, though.  This track indicates what a whole CD done by a woman of 53 years could have sounded like.  Which is a nice place to start, should Madonna ever decide to record another CD.

86’d Tracks or ones regulated to the bonus/deluxe disc:

 Love Spent - (A nice bit of melody – but the lyrics sink it big time, it is just an embarrassment). 

Birthday Song – a throwaway, but kind of refreshing 

So, try this out.  Burn yourself a re-ordered CD and see if it doesn’t feel more like a piece of work rather than a bunch of songs thrown on a CD.  The story I’ve outlined pretty much is the story MDNA was supposed to tell.  But for some reason the strands of that DNA got all tangled up and out of order.  Which is a shame.  People are going to start turning their back on her unless she has a reality check.  The same sense of entitlement caused the world to turn their back on Marlene Dietrich.

I hope the same thing doesn’t happen to Madonna.

She’s too smart a cookie to lose.

Remaining True to Nature: Power Dynamics in Role Play

I feel like a ripe seed pod set to burst.  Spring brings out the horny little monster in me.  All I want to do is run around naked in the sun getting my nasty on.  Spring Fever equals Cum Fever?  Sure, but it goes beyond that, too.  There’s another component to my psyche that keeps rearing its ugly little monster head time and time again.  It has something to do with being submissive and perhaps humiliated.  I can tie it to my recent (?) obsession with water sport vids and dominant, hot, hwp daddies talking filth to their bareback laddies.  Last night, I caught two such features on my current favorite free porn site: chandlerbingay, a blog filled with photos and embedded gay porn to tickle the delight of almost any homo.  The site is French, but I have started to recognize certain words and can therefore find the type of content that titillates my horny. Needless to say, these vids had me grinding the mattress last night and have my heart racing yet this morning.   In fact, if it were just a tad warmer, I would go for a run outside sans jock strap this morning.  But, unfortunately the sun is refusing to cooperate, so I may just have to play with that idea in my head a little longer.

That scenario is definitely part of what I have in mind these days – to find myself being dominated in the woods by a group of men who want to piss on me and fuck me senseless. This most recent ultimate fantasy is probably something every fag with a submissive bent has contemplated. And because of that probability, there is also a strong probability that someone out there is actually into the dom side of this particular scene.  In Minnesota?  Not so sure.  But somewhere.  Hey, I’d settle for a tea room scene with me kneeling next to the urinal trough. 

Humiliation play and degradation play walk the same thin line that rape scenarios tip-toe upon.  All can play hell with one’s psyche (if, for example, the submissive has poor self-esteem) and all involve a type of subjugation that the bulk of society would deem unseemly, inappropriate, and just plain wrong – as in very insensitive and politically incorrect.  The standard response to such criticism is that what takes place between two consenting adults is cool.  But does that include the most dicey of role play?  I think it depends upon the emotional stability and discipline of those involved.  In order to successfully role play one needs to be able to compartmentalize or compart-mentalize (get it?).  It’s about where our heads and hearts are at, and more importantly – where they are not!

With that in mind, let’s look at role play that involves the taboo.  This would include rape fantasy play, incest play (daddy-son), and even racial dominance play. 

The term rape is thrown around in a sexual manner pretty carelessly by many, including me.  I can’t tell you the number of times I have told a dude to “rape my ass”.  In fact, I have (had) one fuck bud for whom rape scenarios were his big thing.  I was happy to oblige, since it involved the type of subservience that gets me off.  He’s raped me in my garage several times over the years (and once even pimped my ass out to four other dudes with me blindfolded). The rape scenario (for us) typically involves him spitting on me, him choking me (once to the point where I think I blacked out – SCARY), and physically, forcibly, holding me down (once – when another dude was fucking me – he put his boot on my head and pressed it to the ground and held it there).  The last time we played the whole rape thing, he fucked me in his car – the front seats lying flat, me face down being force-fed poppers, with him riding my backside.  It was hot.  We did this in the parking lot of a local park I go to.  It was winter and we waited until it was dark.  I’d arrived early and was good to go when he arrived.  He parked next to my car.  I got out of mine and then sat on the passenger side of his.  He’s a very verbal top and I like his banter.  The fact that he loves force-feeding me poppers only makes it that much hotter.  Physically, he’s bigger than me, muscular in that Viking/Woodsman kind of way – he has the long hair and facial hair to be cast as either.  On this particular occasion there was one other dude in the parking lot – a redneck type who only likes really old dudes to watch him jerk his big fat dick in his truck (or so I have been told).  Apparently we were making enough noise that he had to come over and tap on the windows to see what we were doing.  My rapist was actually mid-fuck, both of us naked as hell when this happened.  Dude fucking me just reached over, lowered the window and asked, “What the hell do you want?”  The redneck just wanted to know what we were doing.  My rapist shot back, “I’m raping his bitch cunt.  You want some?”  The redneck declined and walked back to his truck.  Yeah, it was pretty weird (and awesome).  Since then, I’ve kind of cooled on this dude.  Not sure why.  It could have to do with the actual quality of the fuck, or maybe his dick size, or maybe our energies just no longer click.  

Daddy-Son role play is hot.  I’ve been on both side of the equation and have been both a daddy top and a daddy bottom.  I used to have this cute-ass red-headed boy that loved to be my son.  He would show up at my rehab properties and we would get nasty with one another.  The verbal interplay was key.  And, yeah, it can get a little too porn movie at times, but I like improv, and really do my best to keep my dialogue fresh.  This redhead is fifteen years younger than me, which makes the whole scene plausible.  His body is kind of fleshy and edible.  A pale redhead with freckles always gets me going, and when they have nice calves, a beefy butt, hot pecs, a nice dick with a pair of lowhangers, and a kissable mouth – all the better.  We started out pretty timid with one another, but by our third get together the gloves came off (literally) and we got into some real nasty interplay.  I loved telling him to show daddy what kind of man he turned out to be and to prove to his old man that he wasn’t a total waste of my seed. We were both into jock straps and I loved making him soak the pouch of mine with his mouth, talking trash to him the whole time.  He proved to be a good boy, a great top and a great kisser. 

But by our fifth tryst, the power dynamic between us began to shift.  I began to get a lot more interested in my boy’s ass.  Rimming had always been a part of our scene, so it was not uncommon for us to end up in a 69, with both of us eating the other’s hole.  The kid had a sweet, beefy ass – the kind just ripe for spanking and fucking, so it should have come as no surprise when I started to play around with the idea of daddy doing just that.  I’m not a serious spanker, more of a playful one, so that became part of what we did without either of us missing a beat.  Routinely, when being topped, I will smack a dude’s ass and really, the spanking that took place with this son was pretty much the same thing. (Although, I must say, the idea of the whole disciplinarian / over-the-knee thing is kind of hot – as long as it doesn’t go on too long or is taken too seriously).  So, while the spanking was incorporated without so much as a blink of the eye – the topping thing was a whole ‘nother matter.  Dude had been barebacking my ass ever since the third time we played – but when the reverse became a possibility, he kind of clammed up on me.  He was house-sitting and we were mid fuck on a big queen-sized bed.  Things had been proceeding nicely and he had already fucked me for a bit – but then he lost his hard on and that’s when daddy decided to start working the boy’s butt.  But the boy got all quiet and a bit pensive.  I offered to put on a condom, but that wasn’t it.  It was the power dynamic.  We haven’t played since that time and, in fact, other than saying ‘hi’ to each other on-line, we have never broached the subject of getting together again.  So, as long as it was “Breeding Daddy”, or ‘the boy showing his old man’s hole who was boss’ - he was cool with it, but the moment the boy’s ass was on the line – the boy went off-line. 

Power dynamics are very important to any role play scenario.  I can think of another type where if the roles were reversed, things could get really ugly, really fast.  I have this dom black dude I used to play with.  He’s definitely one of those on the down-low types and what he sees in me (other than someone who is willing to keep his mouth shut and whom he will never see in the circles he travels) I will never know.  I would say it was a matter of convenience, except that the role play we engage in routinely would not be everybody’s cup of tea.  You see, he’s all about calling me a ‘white bitch’ and fucking that ‘cracker pussy’.  Seriously.  To get him off, all I have to do is start telling him about how wonderful his big black cock feels up inside of me.  He works himself up into a lather – and our sessions always end with us both part of a big, sweaty, heaving mass.  I let him call me names.  I even let him call me racially charged names.  But the term ‘black’ is as far as I feel I can go.  I loathe the n-word (no matter who says it or in what context) and could never imagine a scenario where I would feel comfortable using it.  The same is true of the term ‘boy’.  He can call me that, but I could never call him that – even though he’s significantly younger than me.  To use either terms in this case would spoil the role play.  The n-word is simply too powerfully abrasive and charged.  It would upset the power dynamic of the relationship.  This is one of those ‘too far over the line’ cases –something I place in the same category as scat, blood, and anything to do with children..  

At play in each one of these scenarios is a kind of power dynamic with specific language and physical actions attached.  In order to successfully navigate a given role play, you really need to know your script – or at least the outline of one.  Adherence, in these cases, is not optional (which for a sub like me makes it all the hotter).

So, what am I to do with my longings?   I tried Recon.  Too many rules.  Too many uptight leather queens with lots of limits and demands.  I need something more spontaneous.  Which probably means the whole getting dommed by a group of dudes in the woods is not going to happen anytime soon. 

Unless I just happen upon a group of sex-starved woodsmen, who are looking for an ugly, old faggot to use and abuse.  Ah, hope springs eternal and it is that hope that keeps me hiking on almost a daily basis each and every spring.  Brings to mind a song…

“I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood, I know I could, always be good…”

Heavens!  Goodness has nothing to with it.