Healthy Humiliation & Degradation

When the Domina’s away the slave will fantasize. Or something. Put more properly without my lover I’m thrown back on my fantasies.

Darn fantasies, they just won’t cooperate.

To jump back in time shortly before Alexandra and I started talking I was in a relationship that was dying a death that was far too slow. As much as I loved my lover all I was doing was destroying myself.

Quite terribly the relationship proved to be the most sexually frustrating I’ve ever had.

Conventional affection denied I retreated ever more deeply into sadomasochist fantasy world. This isn’t to say that my slavish side is a product of frustration. No, it dates back to childhood. The exact context of my life caused me to eschew anything other than S&M daydreams.

Though I’d long had strong and violent fantasies on and off for years I was throwing my imagination to the limit. Pain, lots and lots of pain. Humiliation in wholesale quantities.

The real difference was that my imaginary sex life focused on nothing but the most extreme BDSM. Romance had failed so I tossed out romantic fantasies. (Actually after my late teens I’ve preferred to not have romantic sex fantasies. A fear of blurring the best part of real life with imaginary life.)

That development isn’t anything I look back on and regret. They were just fantasies. I know the difference between my imagination and fleshly life. And if I hadn’t been so hard-pressed I might not have opened up to my old friend Alexandra. You folks wouldn’t have this site to visit.

Recently when trying to evolve a fantasy I seem to focus strictly on the emotional side: humiliation, degradation, protocol so harsh it is best called a two person fascist state.

The images are all about loss of self, identity, personhood: I simply vanish before the personality of my stringent, unforgiving owner. The fantasies don’t work. I think that is because of Alexandra. Of all the many things she might want to do to me, reducing the real me to nothing isn’t part of it. She wants a real man, not some semi-human, subhuman, inarticulate animal.

So the fantasies die as quickly as they are born. No wanking material there.

Why is my mind turning to such intense images of psychological annihilation?

I feel pretty damn lonely right now.

I’m given to extreme fantasies.

Part of me does wish I could experience states that aren’t necessarily “healthy.”

I know there are levels that Alexandra and I probably can’t or at least shouldn’t aim for. Or, at least, I can’t imagine how we’d play these games in our D/s life as it has run. Or possibly how we’d try them safely.

It isn’t anything to worry about. She’ll be back in my arms eventually. Sigh.

This came to mind when I read Alexandra’s Is Degradation, Real or Imaginary, Harmful?

Richard, on the other hand, seems to just get happier and happier the more I torment him. He doesn’t have any emotional troubles or feel bad about anything, yet he’s the most insatiable masochist I’ve ever come accross.

The experience of feeling humbled and degraded are gifts only she can give me. With her they’ll never injure me.

Sure it does make me happy when she takes my mind in her hand and treats it like Silly Putty.

But I know I’m a smart, caring, sometimes even hardworking man.

Contradictions are imposed by the (Heisenbergian or postmodernist) perceiver.

I may be wishing I could feel her boots against my balls but I’m not unhealthy.