IAmCanadian
11-26-2008, 10:04 PM
Let's talk about serendipity, you and I. Desirable discoveries by accident. The reverse Titanic.
To understand a run of good fortune one must first understand the opposite. Serendipity is the sweetest thing when it comes through. The one-in-a-million. That old, fabled reverse Titanic. The sinking of that particular ill-fated ship was caused by an improbable run of stunning miscalculations. mechanical snafus and human failings. One can only imagine what all those wealthy financiers and their shrieking wives were thinking whilst seizing up from hypothermia. I personally suspect it was something to the effect of "how could this happen?" And in that final, puzzling moment, they probably all felt very justified in cursing the heavens for an explanation, gazing starward and shaking frozen fists above frost-frigid moustaches.
Of course, the night sky over the North Atlantic never speaks and certainly never answers.
Now, flip that sordid situation around. What do you call it when a string of fortunate events lifts you on angel wings to some perfect and noteworthy result? Simple, friend. The reverse Titanic. Never as famous as the namesake event, for several reasons. First, people are less able to recognize their own good fortune than their bad fortune. Second, people love a good disaster story. But only the principles and their nearest and dearest tend to be enthralled at a rescue or triumph. In an era where a murder gets more pageviews than a rescue any day of the week, we can only conclude that the olfactories of 21st century man are keenest to the smell of blood.
Wait. Break this off a second. Put this on loop. Play it back and forward and back again and try to make some sense of it.
Born 1980, so what. Grew up lean, had half a brain and not half a chance in hell of fitting in. Feet cracking on the pavement every day to school to learn how to treat other people worse than they treated me and maybe salvage some respect. Spent time depressed in the heyday of grunge and chicken-burger-smelling highschool hallways- the fucking cradle of seratonin deficiencies, right? Father was a good guy- but he died before he could show me how to be one. Thanks, dad. Emerged in 1997 covered in black.
Ten years later I was a changed man, but still walking alone. That last bit changed about two months ago- the first step on the iunaugeral voyage of the fabled reverse Titanic.
I was attracted to this site by the stories, and in the beginning, I thought that writing stories was the entire point of the forum as well. I stepped in with the volume knob turned to 11 and almost got banned, but I learned my way around thanks to the help of some greeters who could see there was fun to be had beneath all of the bawdy talk. Whoosh...first iceberg successful navigated. I could have easily been banned, could easily have just left, sick of feeling the searing gaze of admins who didn't take kindly to me dropping N-bombs. Having made at least one connection, though, I decided to stay, and interact online with some true submissives.
I had great ideas and a lot of energy, but I wasn't sure where to take it. Fantasies I had, it was reality that I'd been lacking, after seven years of vanilla relationships and online dalliances with people who for all I knew could have looked like Jabba the Hutt. I got that first dose of reality and it was exciting, but sobering- it was like stepping behind the wheel of an Aston Martin when all I'd ever driven was a beat-up Yugo. It was a blast, but I had no idea what most of the knobs and buttons did, if you can dig that.
Of course, there's a lot of fun to be had even in first gear.
I was eager to learn more. Having read my way around the site and armed with an even greater understanding of the rules and tone, I started to contribute a little. My experience was limited, but my understanding of the dynamics was considerable. I'd been turning the ideas and precepts of BDSM around in my head since my balls dropped- I just hadn't known what to call it or how to feel about it. I'd been made to feel ashamed of it. Now, that background and familiarity with shame would be used as a tool. Drawing on my experience, participated in a lot of interesting discussions that helped to further enhance my understanding of the lifestyle.
It wasn't long before I felt ready to get put out a personal ad. (Insert ominous music here!). Earlier misunderstandings about my actual intentions with regard to BDSM made me want to be extra careful about what to write. I poured it all out honestly, but I didn't expect much of a response. Part of my ad had alluded to the fact that I was tired of compromising with sexuall unsophisticated or otherwise undesireable women. I'd been in many vanilla relationships just for the sake of being in them...for the security and occasional periods of emotional comfort. No longer, I swore to myself. I'm going to stay single until I find someone absolutely perfect. I suspected that that very stubborness and unwillingness to compromise might mean I would get few responses.
Meanwhile, not a long long time ago but in what might as well have been a galaxy far far away, a certain special someone was bouncing back from a less-than-perfect relationship of her own by beginning to expand her interest in BDSM. This bit of serendipitous timing was iceberg number two on the voyage of The Reverse Titanic, hereafter perhaps referred to as "The Big RT" or just "TFRT" for short- if I remember. It could have all been for nought, that personal ad of mine- passed over by everyone- or I could have ended up tied up with various responses that, after some legwork, would have turned into dry holes. (No pun intended.)
I was spared all of that, because the very first person who responded was a young woman that I am now proud to call my property. And I'm not saying she's a knicknack shelf or a coffee mug- nothing so mundane. No, she's a possession of such shining import that my computer chair seems like a throne, and I feel like King Croesus. My pet is wealth.
And what about that other glaring iceberg? What about the fact that if I'd been one or two months off the mark in either direction, she would have either:
a) still been in a relationship
or
b) involved with another dom already?
Oh, gentle reader- I don't even like to imagine it. I'm absolutely sure that she would have been snatched up by any number of other eager Doms on this site- I refer you to the photo evidence in her profile and the documented fact (insert Wikipedia reference here) that she's an angel. Like a shining gold coin dropped in a busy thoroughfare, she wouldn't have gone unclaimed for long.
But there I was! Right place, right time- and with a personal ad that, fortunate for me, struck the right note.
So what then? Oh, vigilent reader, you can probably guess. We chatted, tentatively, but without awkwardness. Private message exchanges became email exchanges became text message exchanges became phone calls became webcam interaction. I tasked her and she surpassed my expectations in every way, and with a grace that...
But wait.
Have I told you how beautiful she is? Let's backtrack.
Within one day of meeting her she'd forwarded an avalanche of photos that made one thing clear- I had to get my fat ass on an exercise bike or I was going to be over my head. Her pictures told me everything I needed to know about her appearence, and I couldn't have been more pleased. If you could only see her, you would agree. Her skin is fair and white, providing a sharp contrast for marks, should I choose to inflict them on her. She has a great fashion sense, and impish, Cheshire Cat facial features that enchant me every time I look at her. Also, without being too bawdy, let's just say that she has about 5'11" worth of curves packed into an exquisite 5'2" frame. She's thick in the most perfect places and yet her hands are small and delicate, and her feet are so tiny that she can't shop for shoes anywhere besides the Nordstrom in Munchkinland.
Don't even get me started on her body art, because I could go on forever. Most prominent is a pair of wings on her back. I find those to be very apropos. Fallen angel, right? Must be. In the arrogance that is the priviledge of any dom I consider them to have been put there for me, regardless of the original purpose. And she would never gainsay me in that.
She is doll-like, electric, a live wire waiting to be touched. My girl. But that's not the complete story of her, oh no. I have often spoken about my desire to see angels plummet from the sky, and expressed my distaste for the rutting of pigs- and I was pleased to find out that this young woman was sharp in wit and humor, gentle and well-spoken, with morality and ideals that I could admire. This was a beautiful creature I could enjoy guiding into a world of discipline and humiliation. A fitting canvas for a brush 28 years in the making, the tip formed fiber by fiber from the hides of slain taboos.
Now, my friends- you all remember this feeling. Occasional messages became frequent. My pet made it clear that the issue of the distance between us was worrisome to her. I started writing her every day- my promise to her. We explored new methods of communication to bridge the gap, and we did this together- the effort was equal on either side, a wonderful tug o' war. In so many relationships, there is someone giving chase and someone playing hard-to-get...but that was not the case here, not by a long shot. When we'd talk about ways to make it easier, I would often think to myself that BDSM is a fine thing indeed, if only for the reason that it cuts out so many tiresome preliminaries.
We sat down. I told her what I liked. She told me what she liked. I made her laugh. She made me laugh.
That was it. She was mine from that point. Simple as that. Maybe not totally mine, not yet- but certainly willing to try. Certainly willing to give me the chance to prove to her that I could make her dreams come true, fulfill her protect her, cherish her, elevate her, bring her down lower than she'd ever been and then raise her up higher. She put that trust in me and I've been taking it for a spin around the block ever since. Like most people, she's been burned once or twice- but it isn't made her fragile, not my pet. Just wary. And so I tell her "Just watch me. Go into this with your eyes open. And let me earn your trust."
So far, so good.
Around the 1-month mark in the relationship, things really started to rapidly improve and go into overdrive. The webcam had a lot to do with this. Being able to see her and command her on a regular basis was the seed that we needed to allow our mutual desire to blossom. My pet is a student, an empowered woman of grace, dignity and class. She will one day do great things. She has all the reason in the world to feel pride. In that first month I made it my mission to burn her to the ground and build her back up anew with every task, every command, every test. Before it was over she had done things she would never be able to live down or forget, and been grateful for the doing of them. That begging, mewling part inside of her that could only be satisfied by lowering itself into subhumanity was frequently satisfied by her participation in these tasks. I, for my part, was well-served by her completion of them. We burned so brightly for each other, and it was working out so well, that it was only natural that the issue of distance would come up again.
I loved putting her through her paces on webcam, teaching her how to properly display herself, instructing her about tributes, the significance of positions, and proper responses to verbal commands. I would instruct her to discipline herself, and she would do so eagerly, as hard as her little hands could manage. We talked into the night and didn't stop until the sun was rising. I would roll into bed at 7 AM with her orgasmic gasps the only thing on my mind, perhaps only bothered by one small detail.
Her hand. Too small and delicate for the task of disciplining herself. It should have been mine.
In the afterglow she would often ask me in jest: "So...tell me again why you're not here?" and the intimation was clear, even through the humor. It was perhaps time, only a month and two weeks since we'd first met. And the time had arrived faster than either of us had expected...but then again, so had the obedience, the comfort, the promises of devotion. After three weeks we decided we would be exclusive. It took only that long, and it was not a hard decision for me.
Look at another woman? Me? The very thought was absurd. How could another woman give me what my pet does, understand my desires, obey my commands, sacrifice so much for me, and serve me so well? A woman could look like a million bucks, but her lack of sexual sophistication, her lack of wit, her sense of entitlement would kill any spark.
"No," I told her, "taking up with another woman would be the worst decision of my life. You're the one I want. The one I want to train, to empower, to own, to keep in a gilded cage, opening the door only when you need to fly."
She agreed to be exclusive as well, despite the fact that her ex-boyfriend allegedly was People Magazine's Sexiest Man Of The Year In 2007. I was glad.
It was after one of our 6-7 hour chat marathons that I made the decision. She had learned positions, promised to observe tributes and rules, subjected herself to innumerable indignities, reveled in them for me, and obeyed every command to the letter. Her knowledge of how to display her body properly was surpassing all my expectations. Even when moving in and out of the camera frame on some meaningless errand, she would give her hips that proper swing, showing off the parts of her body that were most important.
I was worn from so many late nights with her, and I was running on adrenaline and yearning heartbeats that seemed barely enough to keep my limbs moving and my eyelids un-drooped. Something about her seemed to allow me to transcend fatigue, though, and I soldiered on through the morning. She signed off, having said that she liked me very much, having thanked me for all that I had done to her and made her do to herself.
Her collar had been ordered and was on its way, due to arrive by mail. Things had acquired a momentum all their own. In the dim light of that morning I sat alone on my couch and ran my hands through my hair.
The sun peeked out over the rusted chemical boilers, an ocean of industry far on the horizon, and lit up my living room. In that moment I knew that I didn't just like her, as we'd been coyly saying for weeks, but loved her, and wanted her in my life, not as some lark or experiment or fuck-buddy but as a partner, just as I had said my personal ad. I looked out the window and asked the melon-colored horizon how it was that I'd been so lucky, that she was the one to answer, that things were going to well, that they seemed perfect.
But of course, the morning sky over the Great Lakes never speaks and certainly never answers. I didn't ask again. I didn't want to jinx it. The fabled reverse Titanic.
The next step was obvious. Despite having known her for only six weeks, I went online and booked the hotel. What hotel? The best one I could afford, of course. I made a promise in my heart, you see, on that same morning. To give my pet everything I had, inside and out, every effort, every drop of sweat off my back, every minute of time, until the day I was buried in the ground. Submission is the greatest of gifts, but it should never be given to the unworthy, and proving worth is a man's greatest test when he sits down to play this game.
I was going to go and show my pet how serious I was about the two of us. She was many hours away by car, but I was going to go- to let her feel the hand she had been longing for since the day she arrived here. How could I not? How could I do any other?
She's a good girl, you see. A very good girl. Nothing could have kept me away from her.
(to be continued...with details from the actual visit)
To understand a run of good fortune one must first understand the opposite. Serendipity is the sweetest thing when it comes through. The one-in-a-million. That old, fabled reverse Titanic. The sinking of that particular ill-fated ship was caused by an improbable run of stunning miscalculations. mechanical snafus and human failings. One can only imagine what all those wealthy financiers and their shrieking wives were thinking whilst seizing up from hypothermia. I personally suspect it was something to the effect of "how could this happen?" And in that final, puzzling moment, they probably all felt very justified in cursing the heavens for an explanation, gazing starward and shaking frozen fists above frost-frigid moustaches.
Of course, the night sky over the North Atlantic never speaks and certainly never answers.
Now, flip that sordid situation around. What do you call it when a string of fortunate events lifts you on angel wings to some perfect and noteworthy result? Simple, friend. The reverse Titanic. Never as famous as the namesake event, for several reasons. First, people are less able to recognize their own good fortune than their bad fortune. Second, people love a good disaster story. But only the principles and their nearest and dearest tend to be enthralled at a rescue or triumph. In an era where a murder gets more pageviews than a rescue any day of the week, we can only conclude that the olfactories of 21st century man are keenest to the smell of blood.
Wait. Break this off a second. Put this on loop. Play it back and forward and back again and try to make some sense of it.
Born 1980, so what. Grew up lean, had half a brain and not half a chance in hell of fitting in. Feet cracking on the pavement every day to school to learn how to treat other people worse than they treated me and maybe salvage some respect. Spent time depressed in the heyday of grunge and chicken-burger-smelling highschool hallways- the fucking cradle of seratonin deficiencies, right? Father was a good guy- but he died before he could show me how to be one. Thanks, dad. Emerged in 1997 covered in black.
Ten years later I was a changed man, but still walking alone. That last bit changed about two months ago- the first step on the iunaugeral voyage of the fabled reverse Titanic.
I was attracted to this site by the stories, and in the beginning, I thought that writing stories was the entire point of the forum as well. I stepped in with the volume knob turned to 11 and almost got banned, but I learned my way around thanks to the help of some greeters who could see there was fun to be had beneath all of the bawdy talk. Whoosh...first iceberg successful navigated. I could have easily been banned, could easily have just left, sick of feeling the searing gaze of admins who didn't take kindly to me dropping N-bombs. Having made at least one connection, though, I decided to stay, and interact online with some true submissives.
I had great ideas and a lot of energy, but I wasn't sure where to take it. Fantasies I had, it was reality that I'd been lacking, after seven years of vanilla relationships and online dalliances with people who for all I knew could have looked like Jabba the Hutt. I got that first dose of reality and it was exciting, but sobering- it was like stepping behind the wheel of an Aston Martin when all I'd ever driven was a beat-up Yugo. It was a blast, but I had no idea what most of the knobs and buttons did, if you can dig that.
Of course, there's a lot of fun to be had even in first gear.
I was eager to learn more. Having read my way around the site and armed with an even greater understanding of the rules and tone, I started to contribute a little. My experience was limited, but my understanding of the dynamics was considerable. I'd been turning the ideas and precepts of BDSM around in my head since my balls dropped- I just hadn't known what to call it or how to feel about it. I'd been made to feel ashamed of it. Now, that background and familiarity with shame would be used as a tool. Drawing on my experience, participated in a lot of interesting discussions that helped to further enhance my understanding of the lifestyle.
It wasn't long before I felt ready to get put out a personal ad. (Insert ominous music here!). Earlier misunderstandings about my actual intentions with regard to BDSM made me want to be extra careful about what to write. I poured it all out honestly, but I didn't expect much of a response. Part of my ad had alluded to the fact that I was tired of compromising with sexuall unsophisticated or otherwise undesireable women. I'd been in many vanilla relationships just for the sake of being in them...for the security and occasional periods of emotional comfort. No longer, I swore to myself. I'm going to stay single until I find someone absolutely perfect. I suspected that that very stubborness and unwillingness to compromise might mean I would get few responses.
Meanwhile, not a long long time ago but in what might as well have been a galaxy far far away, a certain special someone was bouncing back from a less-than-perfect relationship of her own by beginning to expand her interest in BDSM. This bit of serendipitous timing was iceberg number two on the voyage of The Reverse Titanic, hereafter perhaps referred to as "The Big RT" or just "TFRT" for short- if I remember. It could have all been for nought, that personal ad of mine- passed over by everyone- or I could have ended up tied up with various responses that, after some legwork, would have turned into dry holes. (No pun intended.)
I was spared all of that, because the very first person who responded was a young woman that I am now proud to call my property. And I'm not saying she's a knicknack shelf or a coffee mug- nothing so mundane. No, she's a possession of such shining import that my computer chair seems like a throne, and I feel like King Croesus. My pet is wealth.
And what about that other glaring iceberg? What about the fact that if I'd been one or two months off the mark in either direction, she would have either:
a) still been in a relationship
or
b) involved with another dom already?
Oh, gentle reader- I don't even like to imagine it. I'm absolutely sure that she would have been snatched up by any number of other eager Doms on this site- I refer you to the photo evidence in her profile and the documented fact (insert Wikipedia reference here) that she's an angel. Like a shining gold coin dropped in a busy thoroughfare, she wouldn't have gone unclaimed for long.
But there I was! Right place, right time- and with a personal ad that, fortunate for me, struck the right note.
So what then? Oh, vigilent reader, you can probably guess. We chatted, tentatively, but without awkwardness. Private message exchanges became email exchanges became text message exchanges became phone calls became webcam interaction. I tasked her and she surpassed my expectations in every way, and with a grace that...
But wait.
Have I told you how beautiful she is? Let's backtrack.
Within one day of meeting her she'd forwarded an avalanche of photos that made one thing clear- I had to get my fat ass on an exercise bike or I was going to be over my head. Her pictures told me everything I needed to know about her appearence, and I couldn't have been more pleased. If you could only see her, you would agree. Her skin is fair and white, providing a sharp contrast for marks, should I choose to inflict them on her. She has a great fashion sense, and impish, Cheshire Cat facial features that enchant me every time I look at her. Also, without being too bawdy, let's just say that she has about 5'11" worth of curves packed into an exquisite 5'2" frame. She's thick in the most perfect places and yet her hands are small and delicate, and her feet are so tiny that she can't shop for shoes anywhere besides the Nordstrom in Munchkinland.
Don't even get me started on her body art, because I could go on forever. Most prominent is a pair of wings on her back. I find those to be very apropos. Fallen angel, right? Must be. In the arrogance that is the priviledge of any dom I consider them to have been put there for me, regardless of the original purpose. And she would never gainsay me in that.
She is doll-like, electric, a live wire waiting to be touched. My girl. But that's not the complete story of her, oh no. I have often spoken about my desire to see angels plummet from the sky, and expressed my distaste for the rutting of pigs- and I was pleased to find out that this young woman was sharp in wit and humor, gentle and well-spoken, with morality and ideals that I could admire. This was a beautiful creature I could enjoy guiding into a world of discipline and humiliation. A fitting canvas for a brush 28 years in the making, the tip formed fiber by fiber from the hides of slain taboos.
Now, my friends- you all remember this feeling. Occasional messages became frequent. My pet made it clear that the issue of the distance between us was worrisome to her. I started writing her every day- my promise to her. We explored new methods of communication to bridge the gap, and we did this together- the effort was equal on either side, a wonderful tug o' war. In so many relationships, there is someone giving chase and someone playing hard-to-get...but that was not the case here, not by a long shot. When we'd talk about ways to make it easier, I would often think to myself that BDSM is a fine thing indeed, if only for the reason that it cuts out so many tiresome preliminaries.
We sat down. I told her what I liked. She told me what she liked. I made her laugh. She made me laugh.
That was it. She was mine from that point. Simple as that. Maybe not totally mine, not yet- but certainly willing to try. Certainly willing to give me the chance to prove to her that I could make her dreams come true, fulfill her protect her, cherish her, elevate her, bring her down lower than she'd ever been and then raise her up higher. She put that trust in me and I've been taking it for a spin around the block ever since. Like most people, she's been burned once or twice- but it isn't made her fragile, not my pet. Just wary. And so I tell her "Just watch me. Go into this with your eyes open. And let me earn your trust."
So far, so good.
Around the 1-month mark in the relationship, things really started to rapidly improve and go into overdrive. The webcam had a lot to do with this. Being able to see her and command her on a regular basis was the seed that we needed to allow our mutual desire to blossom. My pet is a student, an empowered woman of grace, dignity and class. She will one day do great things. She has all the reason in the world to feel pride. In that first month I made it my mission to burn her to the ground and build her back up anew with every task, every command, every test. Before it was over she had done things she would never be able to live down or forget, and been grateful for the doing of them. That begging, mewling part inside of her that could only be satisfied by lowering itself into subhumanity was frequently satisfied by her participation in these tasks. I, for my part, was well-served by her completion of them. We burned so brightly for each other, and it was working out so well, that it was only natural that the issue of distance would come up again.
I loved putting her through her paces on webcam, teaching her how to properly display herself, instructing her about tributes, the significance of positions, and proper responses to verbal commands. I would instruct her to discipline herself, and she would do so eagerly, as hard as her little hands could manage. We talked into the night and didn't stop until the sun was rising. I would roll into bed at 7 AM with her orgasmic gasps the only thing on my mind, perhaps only bothered by one small detail.
Her hand. Too small and delicate for the task of disciplining herself. It should have been mine.
In the afterglow she would often ask me in jest: "So...tell me again why you're not here?" and the intimation was clear, even through the humor. It was perhaps time, only a month and two weeks since we'd first met. And the time had arrived faster than either of us had expected...but then again, so had the obedience, the comfort, the promises of devotion. After three weeks we decided we would be exclusive. It took only that long, and it was not a hard decision for me.
Look at another woman? Me? The very thought was absurd. How could another woman give me what my pet does, understand my desires, obey my commands, sacrifice so much for me, and serve me so well? A woman could look like a million bucks, but her lack of sexual sophistication, her lack of wit, her sense of entitlement would kill any spark.
"No," I told her, "taking up with another woman would be the worst decision of my life. You're the one I want. The one I want to train, to empower, to own, to keep in a gilded cage, opening the door only when you need to fly."
She agreed to be exclusive as well, despite the fact that her ex-boyfriend allegedly was People Magazine's Sexiest Man Of The Year In 2007. I was glad.
It was after one of our 6-7 hour chat marathons that I made the decision. She had learned positions, promised to observe tributes and rules, subjected herself to innumerable indignities, reveled in them for me, and obeyed every command to the letter. Her knowledge of how to display her body properly was surpassing all my expectations. Even when moving in and out of the camera frame on some meaningless errand, she would give her hips that proper swing, showing off the parts of her body that were most important.
I was worn from so many late nights with her, and I was running on adrenaline and yearning heartbeats that seemed barely enough to keep my limbs moving and my eyelids un-drooped. Something about her seemed to allow me to transcend fatigue, though, and I soldiered on through the morning. She signed off, having said that she liked me very much, having thanked me for all that I had done to her and made her do to herself.
Her collar had been ordered and was on its way, due to arrive by mail. Things had acquired a momentum all their own. In the dim light of that morning I sat alone on my couch and ran my hands through my hair.
The sun peeked out over the rusted chemical boilers, an ocean of industry far on the horizon, and lit up my living room. In that moment I knew that I didn't just like her, as we'd been coyly saying for weeks, but loved her, and wanted her in my life, not as some lark or experiment or fuck-buddy but as a partner, just as I had said my personal ad. I looked out the window and asked the melon-colored horizon how it was that I'd been so lucky, that she was the one to answer, that things were going to well, that they seemed perfect.
But of course, the morning sky over the Great Lakes never speaks and certainly never answers. I didn't ask again. I didn't want to jinx it. The fabled reverse Titanic.
The next step was obvious. Despite having known her for only six weeks, I went online and booked the hotel. What hotel? The best one I could afford, of course. I made a promise in my heart, you see, on that same morning. To give my pet everything I had, inside and out, every effort, every drop of sweat off my back, every minute of time, until the day I was buried in the ground. Submission is the greatest of gifts, but it should never be given to the unworthy, and proving worth is a man's greatest test when he sits down to play this game.
I was going to go and show my pet how serious I was about the two of us. She was many hours away by car, but I was going to go- to let her feel the hand she had been longing for since the day she arrived here. How could I not? How could I do any other?
She's a good girl, you see. A very good girl. Nothing could have kept me away from her.
(to be continued...with details from the actual visit)