domingo, 28 de octubre de 2007

Retro SM

Sm is funny.

I know, just a little, what I am talking about, because I very much have been putting into perverted practice, for about five years now, the sm tendencies I've had for longer than five years.

So, funny... funny how?

Well, I have to say first that it really depends on what kind of slave/pig/sub you are (and you know, in this world of sm, there actually are purists out there who would be outraged that I should be lumping all these very differentiated categories of a masochist together... how dare I? Sorry SIR (notice the capitals, SIR, please...), maybe I deserve a spanking, but just maybe... (... a masochist, for the uninitiated, has to kind of look like they lack initiave... you don't suggest; you can't boss the Boss around, obviously).
"A slave is oh so different from a pig!", the purists say; I say no (sorry SIRS)... we gay masochists are all gay masochists for one reason, and that reason unifies us all different sub-types: we want to be with a man (this sounds voracious, I know), because we are gay and not heterosexual (clever me), and it's difficult to find someone we see as a man, because the men we have sex with are gay too and not heterosexual, so we choose to go with gay masters/doms/tops, who can sometimes look more like men... and so, to many of us, this is how we can be with a man, by being with someone who, by looking like a extreme version of one, looks like he actually is one, all this in theory (in practice, I never learnt so much about opera until I started meeting masters/doms/tops... -thank You for the Caballé compilation, Sir Chris-; and not that I should consider opera not manly in any way whatsoever; let that be crystal clear).

Ok, so there are the kinds of slaves/pigs/subs who want to completely surrender, all the time, 24/7... I don't think they find sm funny; these are the type of slaves for whom sm is a religion, they need a master to complete them, to own them, etc...
... and then there are those (the majority), who just want to be dominated for a little while, during sex basically, and that's when sm is funny.

So again... funny how... what do i -notice the lower case, please, SIR- mean funny?

Come on it's common sense: it's just that suddenly you stop being turned on during a sex "session" (that's how they Sirs call them, "sessions") and you find yourself doing the most weird things... and in this sm world this thing of stopping being turned on happens a lot, because of the nature of sm, where you are often tied up or maybe even, dare I say it, mummified (uninitiated person: don't ask), situations in which you just have a lot of time to get just a tad bored; and you often get these masters who want long sessions and at some point during the session you go from being turned on by the idea of, let's say, being mummified (still, don't ask), and by the first five minutes of it actually happening (this practice is really quite nice actually; it's kind of like being pampered at the Tutankamon Spa), TO getting oh so bored with it; then you float just a little outside of your body (you are after all mummified and cannot move, so floating vivaciously is out of the question)... and then that's it; you don't see yourself mummified anymore, you see things a lot more literally, and that's a no no in sm sex... what the fuck... why do I have Tesco's cling film (because suddenly the brand matters) so tightly wrapped all around my body... or simply... I'm so bored, I want to move... my right hand at least; I'm itchy (and Scratchy...)... And that, in retrospect and in a wrapped nutshell, is the kind of thing I find funny about sm.

And yes, here I retro come: I put it all down, my masochistic practices that is, to the retrovirus... you may be thinking that I just have self-destructing tendencies and that that's why I got the retrovirus in the first place, bla, bla, bla... could be, I'm not into denying the obvious... but all I know is that until I went retro, I wasn't quite into this. The tendencies were in me before the retrovirus was, but I think that having the retrovirus made me feel more extreme... like I don't want to leave any obscure tendency untouched, but rather I want all these tendencies to be out there... the retrovirus has taken up my insides and pushed my masochistic tendencies out; maybe that sounds pathetic, well not maybe, it does sound pathetic, but what do you expect from a would-be-slave-for-five-minutes-(-until-you-ejaculate-in-my-face-...-soon-please-my-knees-hurt-) person...

... and anyway, this is my retro story and I am sticking to it.

sábado, 13 de octubre de 2007

Experience # 1: The retrovirus and me, on a retro date...




I, I, I...

I am hiv+.

And, more especifically...

... yesterday (fake date), just like that, I forced myself to go on a blind date...
it was my first blind date in years, literally, and it was with another hiv+ positive man… it happened in Barcelona, which is my city now and for now.

It was kind of good, as it was slightly exciting (and nerve-wrecking to the point of anoying: "Why am i putting myself through this? Why am I meeting someone I felt like meeting yesterday at 0:02 but not at all today at 18:30?");... other positives: I felt I like was out there (like the truth on The X Files), alive, and last and actually least, he was a really, really nice guy… but...

... it was a little bit depressing too: inevitably, we ended up talking about hospital experiences, and the words "meds", "fungal" and "sarcoma" came up with enough frequency for romance to not quite take off (and yesterday I wanted romance... when I asked for an orange juice --"look at me I'm so healthy and sporty, I drink orange juice constantly"--, I knew I wanted romance... fresh romance); we were not exactly doing what I saw actors and actresses doing on first dates in all those idealised movies… There was no fungal talk in those movies; a headache at best; never anything as ugly as infected toenails, or truly deathly/chronic like hiv.

It was bound not to work, especially since it was a calculated encounter, a calculated romance; how clever... and so, ok, it didn’t work.
But I tried. And I may try again. I am defiant in defeat. Because you see...

... I want to be out there like the truth on The X Files, and get my heart trampled on (I think).

What are my chances of this happening:

1) I either meet somebody by chance in, let's say, the bakery or the library, hit it off, then later “confess” my hiv status and hope for the best (no rejection of any sort on his part... on my part, well: no self-rejection, not feeling like I cannot keep putting on that childish I-haven't-broken-a-plate-in-my-life face, which I like and have to use on first dates; why shouldn't I be able to put the face then? The little demon says: Because now he knows you have the retrovirus, so he know you have broken a few plates you filthy slut), or...

2) I “calculate” a meeting with someone I don’t have to make so much of a confession to because he knows I'm positive before I meet him (the internet helps with this... a sharp scratch and it's done: you're exposed to a total stranger... fantastic!)... He could be hiv-, or we could both be hiv+ (how retro)... or...

3) I lie/don't metion anything about the retrovirus ever, ever, ever (I'd have to hide the pills and make sure I've got fake not-sexually-transmitted conditions for that chance encounter at the hospital... I have done this in the past and I do not, I repeat I do not, recommend it)... And yeah, I know: being dishonest is ultimately a no no in a relationship... or...

4) I remain single for the rest of my life, which is completely ok and probably better.

I will be honest: if the confession bit was not part of the picture, because I don't like that bit, then the bakery situation would be my first choice: romance, a chance encounter, all very casual because I am so cool, calm... and generally hungry.

And the sad thing is that, seriously, not so deep inside, I want this, I want it very much, depending on the day and the time of the day, of course.

So I am off to the panadería to buy a napolitana, and the retrovirus is coming with me, because, like or not, he has to be fed.