Long Time, No See

Haven't been writing much, lately, have I? Truth to be told, I don't know what to write. That's not strictly speaking, true. What I meant was that I don't know what to write for the blog. I do write, and I do want to write and publish. I do write other stuff, not fit for the blog, and I have been focussed on that, lately.

Writing on this blog has really given me confidence, and that is thanks to you, dear Readers (if you still see this). I didn't think anyone would want to read what I wrote when I started. Gradually I have come to believe I can write, and that has been very important for me. So thanks!

Somehow I don't feel the urge to write my fantasies on the blog, like I did before. I'm not saying I'm closing the blog, just that I need to think what to do with it. If there are readers still, out there, I don't mind hearing from you. Are you, like me, interested in what hides behind the fantasies?

I have more and more come to be fascinated by the themes that fantasies touch upon, not just for pleasure, or entertainment, but for what they mean to me, to you, to us. I think, as you know, that there is more going on below the surface, that it isn't just a pastime, for a thrill. I think fantasies touch upon emotions and experiences that are hidden for us. I am not so naïve that I think we can analyse everything that's there, but still, to me, fantasies are more than just entertainment.

Tell me what you think. And if you don't want to, don't. Have a lovely Christmas, and a brilliant New Year, all the same.

I have started to moderate the comments, and that is not because anyone has been rude, but because the spam-filter has started to let through a lot of spam, and I will not be able to monitor the blog during Christmas. So if you comment, don't despair, I will read them. And hopefully this will be only a temporary measure.

I have added a picture to this blogpost, completely unrelated to the text, just to cheer you up.

Touching Happiness

This time I will use my blog to write about me. I always do, you know, but this time directly and not through some story or fantasy. Maybe what I write will be sad, I don't know, but this is how it is.

Don't get me wrong, most of the time I am a content person, happy with what is there, able to see the good things in life as well as the bad things, with a fairly real view of life...I think. What I wanted to write about is something else. I wanted to write about that underlying, always present, experience of being outside.

As long as I can remember I have had that feeling of being outside, left out and that things don't really happen to me. Reality is always beyond me, too far away. I am still like that.

Most of the time I don't think about it, but occasionally this sensation surface, becomes real. And then I know it is always there, always present. Holidays sometimes have that effect, emotions catch up with you and hidden feelings become real.

There is a longing, of course, to be able to reach that which I feel is real, that which is beyond me, that place where it really happens, where I am whole and complete and not lonely. Growing up has to some extent been realising that life is here and now and not over there, not that which I really long for. It is hear and tangible, at times, and not there and perfect.

When I met my first love, when my love, for the first time, was answered, I became happy. I was struck by a sense of reality, that things were really happening, now and to me. Whatever it was, it crashed through the barrier and became real. I was truly happy in all senses of the word.

It didn't last. The real reality made itself known, the distance between people became real and I crashed. I can't call it anything else. This was a terrible time, a crisis, almost madness. Not to the extent that I was admitted anywhere or treated it with anything, drugs or medication or that sort of thing. But I crashed and it was hellish.

I have had similar experiences since, not as powerful and not as terrible, but it has always been connected to powerful emotions, when I break through the barrier, when something good happens. The truth is that I cope better with misery than happiness.

The barrier is not complete, not impenetrable. There is sweetness in life, sweetness that makes me feel real. I can see that now. A caress can be so immensely sweet that I can feel that this is the only reality I ever need. Sometimes a smile or a kind word can get through and touch my heart. Growing up has been to learn to see these small holes in the wall, the moments when I am not alone and miserable. It makes me more content, more satisfied with life.

I will not return to blogging and connect it to what I am doing here. Fantasies are to some extent a way of dealing with that longing, that desire for not being outside, but being inside, where things happen to me for real. Entering into my imagination is to enter into a world where I can create that reality I deep down long for.

Fantasies are not just about sex but they are fuelled by desire. This is because sex is real, sex is something that breaks through, a little, and at times. Not always. Sex is something that really happens and that makes it real. It is dangerous too because when it is really good, the returning to the world can be harsh.

Fantasies about things that are arousing, is a way of being transported to that other world of real things, that world of longing, where things are simple and sweet and delightful. Sex and arousal are good things in that world and that is why they are so prominent in fantasies. But they are not the only thing I long for.

Maybe the kinky side of fantasies functions as a battering ram, to break through the wall. It is by shocking the system, by breaking the norms that I am crashing through and can allow myself the sweetness of my fantasies. I don't know, I am just writing down my thoughts.

Blogging, for me, is not just about writing stories, it is about admitting to that strange inner world where my longings and desires exist, even those that are truly beyond anything that can ever be real.

I see, now, that I have used 'reality' and 'real' in two different ways. On the one hand it refers to the world where we live, where we watch tv and eat food and can be lonely, and on the other hand it refers to that other existence, that inner world, the one I long for, that world where things really happens, the imaginary dreamworld. I hope I haven't confused you too much.

That Other Side

Before I write about that other side I will talk about this side, the one that is here, on the blog, the one I usually write about.

In many ways I came to this kind of fantasies as an observer. There are so many damsels in distress out there, in stories and films, and I couldn't help being fascinated by it. Films sometimes depict scenes of abuse, even rape. There are book covers with muscular heroes battling fierce monsters while a scantily clad woman struggles in her bonds, hoping for the hero to succeed.

I have been fascinated by those themes, wondering what it would be like to be chained to the wall, clad in almost nothing and having to rely on some barbarian prince to rescue me. Or being the subject of abuse and horrors from villains and criminals. The crucial point is, of course, that it didn't just scare me, it attracted me. I felt a kind of thrill thinking of those situations.

Being as I am, I had to try to understand why a scene from A Clockwork Orange, where a girl is stripped naked to be raped, only to be rescued by accident by the protagonist of the film, why such a scene gave me this thrill and not just the horror one would expect.

Lots of things pop up, it's about not being responsible, being vulnerable, allowed to be sexual without guilt. But I will not go further down that road, at the moment. What I am trying to say is that it has been a gradual process, from being scared and fascinated to identifying and even trying to find some kind of beauty in being subject to abuse.

On this blog I have tried to explore this side of me, the Yin side. It has been a great relief to accept this side, the side that isn't what you are supposed to be, at least not where I live.

There is another side, however, albeit less dominant. Maybe that is the spot of Yang in the Yin and only goes to show that it is the balance between the sides that matters, not just expecting one to reign supreme.

He is there, of course, in my stories, like a shadow, or rather a dark undefined force. In my very strict division of things, in my fantasies, he tend to be male. I am of course talking about That Other Side now.

I am immensely fascinated by that side too. In my fantasies he takes the form of the arrogant man, the ruler, the conqueror, the one with confidence and power. Sometimes it is a woman, although she tends to be more balanced, more like a real person, balancing a desire to be cruel with a care about the other.

I have done a bit of writing, trying to see things from the other side, allowing myself to be fascinated by that sense of power. What is it like to be cruel and ruthless? What is it like to feel that power and enjoy it for yourself and care little about the other.

I have been reluctant to post any of those scriblings, since they are so completely different and strange compared to what I usually put here.

Sometimes this person is a young man, who discovers that he gets away with spanking his girlfriends. In fact, they like him to do it. He gains in confidence and may discover that he doesn't even have to limit himself to one girlfriend. He finds he can do what he pleases and in this strange, twisted world, the women allow him that, they are as fascinated as I am by his ruthlessness and confidence.

He may be a slaver, a man who deals in women as commodities. He loves women, in his own way, they bring him profit and are generally pleasing for him, as long as they are in chains, belong to him and obedient enough to do his biddings.

I think this slaver comes from my fascination by and love of those strange and exotic lands were women are slaves and can be bought and sold for gold. I am fascinated by being a slave there.

But as it happens, I get this image of the man who is the owner, the slave trader. I wonder what motivates him, why did he become a slaver? Does he have to be this swine, this villain, this evil creature? Isn't it far more interesting if he is a man with a heart, who loves his family, who has friends he cherish and who have loyalties and values? It is just that his world is a man's world, where women are there to please men, for the simple reason that men rule that world. And that there is no contradiction for him to be loyal to his friends and at the same time, completely disregard the wishes of a woman he has put his chains on.

How is it to be that man who actually enjoys spanking a woman, his woman, the woman he loves and cares about? How is it to be the man who feels elated and happy when he uses his power over someone to cause them to suffer, not out of hatred but out of sheer love for that power, being selfish and ruthless enough to admit to himself that he really enjoys it.

As you can see, I do have a lot of thoughts about this and they are, of course, as far removed from reality as my submission fantasies and as close to it as they are. What I mean is that they happen in a world that doesn't exist but are still concerned with real life emotions and thoughts.

A little disclaimer here. Please don't think that this discussion about a more dominant side of my thinking means that I have opinions about those of you who consider yourselves as being dominant. I know there are a lot of other things going on and that you regard trust and care and love as being crucial as much as any submissive person. These are aspects of my mind, thoughts about how people behave and do in fantasies, not a statement about real life people.

Who Am I?

If you write, you know, perhaps, what I am talking about, if you don't, it may be hard to explain. Sometimes when you sit down to write you start out with something, often something you don't even know what it is, it may be a sentence, a word, an idea. Then you start writing, a word follow another, you begin to reason, think, associate, try different things. You get carried away and the text itself seems to decide where to go. It is very immersing, very confusing, wonderful in a way, sometimes frightening. Then, when you are ready, you read it and wonder where all that came from. Sometimes you know, sometimes you understand, sometimes you have to realise that you really had that in you but just didn't know it.

I didn't write this for the blog, it just happened but now I decided to put it here anyway.

I am sweet. I am sweet in all senses of the word. My body is small, my limbs slender and delicate. My skin is smooth, my belly is soft and smooth and flat. It curves from my midriff down over my lower belly to the valley between my thighs and in its centre there is my belly button, a sweet but shallow hole.

My hips are narrow but my body still possess the right curves, the roundness that makes it sweet and touchable, not square and hard. My breasts are small and sweet, proud and round. They are like perky animals peeking out, sweet round mounds, crowned with my rosy nipples, small but lovely, sometimes soft as my skin but sometimes hard as small pearls.

My legs are soft and round, my thighs are slender but still with the softness, that roundness that is unmistakably female. Me feet are rosy and untouched and unconfined. They are vulnerable and helpless, still they are what I walk on, what makes me move in the world.

My shoulders are narrow but soft and my arms slender and delicate, my hands are the sweetest things you have seen, with those fingers that can touch with curiosity and gentleness.

My neck is slender and my face is pretty. I have that kind of face that makes you want to protect me, vulnerable and innocent but also curious and alive. My eyes are big and my nose is small. I may even have some freckles, just a hint of them on the back of my nose. My hair is not long not short, auburn or perhaps red, maybe reddish.

I am that kind of person you want to protect, the kind that would seem to break in contact with the harsh world. I am the girl you want to hold and comfort, to keep and protect, because I am so vulnerable.

But those eyes, my eyes, tells you of something else too. They are not just vulnerable and sweet, they are curious and hungry too. They speak of something else, they speak of a kind of desire that is not just innocent and gentle.

I am that kind of girl you don't just want to protect but the kind you want to have, as well. My body is the kind of body you want to touch. I am the kind of person whose clothes you want to rip away and whose body you want to expose and look at, ogle and stare at.

I am like a sweet, wrapped in paper. My clothes are like the paper around the sweet and you can't wait to unwrap it. I am not desirable because I dress in a certain way, it is not the paper that makes you want to eat the sweet, it is what you know is underneath it, what you see peeking through.

I am not beautiful, not perfect in any sense of the word. I am desirable for my sweetness and my youth, for my smooth skin and my soft body, for my sparkling life and for my delicate limbs and my perky breasts.

When you see me, your mind is struck by my innocence, my youth and my sweetness but in the next moment your desire strikes. You start to undress me with you eyes, you start to study my movements, how I swing my hips, how I stand and move my arms. You see my uncertainty and you see my confidence. You see me move, maybe dance. My movements are desirable to you and you think that by touching me you will be touched by that magic I have. The magic you want.

But you don't just want to touch and caress and embrace. No, you want to have. You want to have me and take me. You want to undress me, rip the clothes from my body. You imagine I would protest, say no and despise you but that only makes you want to do it more.

You invent some kind of excuse for doing it. Maybe I deserve it, maybe I need it. Maybe it is your right. But it all comes down to you touching me, having me, taking me.

In your mind I am already in my knickers and you can see for your inner eye how the fabric clings to my bottom. You can imagine my breasts under my top and your hand is already moving towards them and you think how lovely it will be when your fingers touch those mounds.

But you don't just want sweetness for me. You want more. You want to have me and take me despite what I want. You feel helpless and angry with me for being so youthful and sweet. You want to punish me for it.

In your mind you don't just have me, you don't just want to put what you have into me. That would, after all, be too sweet. I may enjoy it. No, you want me to suffer. You want pain for me.

My knickerclad bottom makes you want to spank me. You want to pull those knickers down and smack my bottom. You want to let your hand land on my sweet and innocent bottom – hard. You want to feel your hand smack into the soft skin of my bottom and you want to feel how hard it is for me, how much I suffer. You want to hear me cry and plead. You want to feel the power over me. You want to rule me and you want me to feel your power on my body.

You know a smile from me is a blessing for you, a gift you should cherish. Still you want to punish me for my power over you, the power I have to smile to you or not smile to you. The power I have to just walk you by and be gone. The power I have to make you feel old and lonely.

Those are crimes that are unforgivable. Those are powers someone like me should not be allowed to have. I must be punished for it. I must be whipped and suffer for my youth and my sweetness and my power over you.

You are free. You control your life and you can and should get what you want. You cannot get me. I am free and you cannot get me unless I want to give me to you. That is a crime worthy of punishment, that is a wrong that should be set right.

You want to take possession of me. You want to be the one to decide, how and when I shall take my clothes off, how and when I shall please you with my body. You want to have that power over me and in your mind you want to have that power.

In your mind you capture me, you tie me up and put your collar on me. Someone as sweet as me should not be allowed to go free, should not be allowed to choose for herself. Your power should be asserted. You should take possession of me.

In your mind I am your slave. I kneel naked before you, my body at your disposal. My knees are open, the path to my sex is clear. I am naked and everything is open and exposed and touchable and there for you. I have no say, I have no power and that is how you want it. I am a sweet, lovely body that is there for you, that is yours to do whatever you want with it.

But in your mind, when I am already your captive, your slave, your possession, I am not just a body. I am your willing body. I am your happy slave because I want to be your slave. And if I don't want to be your willing slave you want to persuade me that I am. You want to hold the whip in your hand and I would be just like the horse at the circus, the animal you tell what to do, the animal you whip to submission, the animal that is rewarded if she does what she is told.

But you want more. You want my enthusiasm and my desire. You want me not just to dance for you, wait on you and touch you and satisfy you on command. You want me to want it too, you want me to desire it too, to long for it and be satisfied by it too. In your mind you want to know that you possess that magic, that kind of power that not only overpowers me but also makes me desire it, desire you, the power that makes me happy and satisfied by being your slave.

You want me to resist you so you can defeat me and conquer me. You want to have to whip me to submission. But you also want me to see what a desirable creature you are and you want me to accept your power over me, to love your power over me. You want me to love and desire you to whip me into submission.

What do I want? Do I want that? Perhaps I want a little bit of that, perhaps I want some of that, a fraction of it, a hint of it.

But only if I decide I want it.

Scary Stories

When I started writing my fantasies I did it because I was amazed by the sense of seeing my own ideas becoming text, words on a paper, combination of letters that made up a story. It became real in a sense, like a real story and that is magic, I still think it is magic.

But there is one side of seeing it as a text, when it becomes a little more real, that is a little scary, too. Things that are ok in your imagination and even very exciting and nice can become more horrible when they become a text.

In my imagination some really harsh things can become quite exciting and even romantic when I disregard the grim reality they are similar too. There is something terribly romantic about being whipped by the grim sheik in his tent and imagining your body turning and moving under the lashes. His cruelty becomes a kind of overwhelming love and your whipping becomes a touch that excites and arouses.

That sort of thing can be quite nice in your imagination but when you write it down and then read it, you become a little removed from it. Sometimes I stumble on the imagery, getting too close to a reality that was never intended but still is there in the words, and I start to think about how cruel a real whip would be on a real body and how immensely brutal and wicked someone has to be to whip another person.

This happens with my own texts and it happens even more when someone else has written it. It doesn't happen all the time. Sometimes I am in the mood, I go with the flow, stay in the imagination, the romantic and arousing, and then it is alright, then it isn't too brutal or too cruel.

It is strange because I can sometimes find someone else's story too brutal when I am fully capable of being as brutal and harsh myself. Inconsistency seems to be the name of the game, when it comes to fantasies.

Does this ever happen to you, dear Reader? I don't think all of you write your own stories but you have your own fantasies.

Naked

Naked, taste the word! Its meaning is simple, it means no clothes, no covering, to be bare. Still there is magic in a word. It conjures up ideas, images, excitement, resentment, anger, humiliation, desire, lust, pleasure. It means almost nothing without a context but it can be the magic of a text.

Naked, nude, bare, unclothed, stripped, uncovered, unclad. Words that are similar but mean slightly different things, used in different ways. To be naked is not exactly the same as being nude. The artist model is nude, not naked. A nude is someone in a painting, in a gallery. There is something elevated something acceptable in the word nude. It is nakedness being cultural and grand.

Scholars and art critics and educated and sophisticated people can look at nudes in paintings by great artists and find it aesthetic and an expression of pure and fine emotions worthy of the greatest minds. A nude doesn't conjure up the sensations and thoughts that without doubt lurks at the bottom of the finest minds.

Naked, on the other hand means something less sophisticated. Something more direct. Naked means being without clothes, your body uncovered. That is what it means to be naked. That is simple.

There are so many kinds of nakedness. There is the proud kind. The one you see in glamour models who wear there nudity as clothes of the grandest kind. Their bodies are a source of strength, a target of desire and show the power they have over the poor onlooker. They say, 'look at me, I am worthy of praise, I am beautiful and now I allow you to look at me and my body.'

There is another kind of nudity, when you are devoid of clothes, poor and pathetic and just vulnerable and ugly and helpless. That kind causes pity or even worse. That is the kind of nakedness that makes you ashamed and hurt. The one that shows how weak you are. No one wants that...except for others.

But there is so much more in between. There is a kind of nudity that means you are stripped, bared and seen. You may be ashamed, even humiliated by it. It definitely makes you feel vulnerable and defenceless. It is the kind that makes you feel that your whole person is on display, that the one watching you can see...you.

That kind of nudity may also carry the promise of pleasure for what you display may be desirable, what you bare may be touched and loved and you open yourself for scrutiny but also for pleasure. That is a kind of nudity to desire.

Naked is also pure, natural, not concealing anything. It means to enter into something without anything in the way. It is to strip off what is old and touch what is new and beautiful.

But you are also vulnerable and easy to hurt. Baring the skin may mean making you feel a touch more but it is also the humiliating preparation for the whip to bite harder.

I think a simple word like naked, used in a story, in a fantasy can mean some of these things, all of them and most likely a lot more. And that is what makes stories and language and fantasies so amazing and powerful. It means so much, so many different things and all at once and a little at the time and different things for different people.

Merry Christmas

Dearest Reader. Today I will not say anything except wishing you all a very Merry Christmas (regardless if you celebrate it or not). This journey, I am on, has been a strange one but also a lovely one. I know I have readers, people who come back to my blog and read what I write and it means the world to me. I have been that kind of person who really believed my fantasies were the worst and weirdest imaginable and that it had to be something seriously wrong with me. To share and realise that there are others who even enjoy my thoughts and fantasies is such a fantastic gift that I can't describe how great it is. You, my dear Reader means the world to me. Thank you for being there, new reader or old reader, it doesn't matter. You are all more than welcome to read and if you want, share your thoughts.

So, again, dear Reader, a Merry Christmas to you!!

Reflections and Confessions

Firstly, thank you, Dear Readers, for your comments on my Gothic horror fantasy, The Dream. I am a little disappointed, though, that no one spotted the cleverness that was in the text. A gold star by your name if you find it.

The other day a friend posted on his blog a story or rather a scene where he let go of some of his inhibitions. In this text the narrator is rather cruel to some women. This person is far from the narrator in this story but to some extent, I think, it expressed some of his feelings. Some of his readers were a little taken aback by this story, as I understand it.

This prompted a discussion in which I participated and it brings up a very important issue: the difference between fantasy writing and ordinary writing. I don't want to make too much of it but there is a kind of stories, call them surreal, dream stories or fantasies that are a little different from just writing about something, whatever it may be. The difference lies, among other things, in how the main character, the one which the story is about, relates to the what is around them.

This may sound a little cryptic but what I am saying is that if you write a text about a subject, be it religion, a place, an event or whatever you write about real thing. If you say something about Africa you are stating something about Africa or if it is about angling, or Christianity or some person. If you write about a fantasy of yours, however, you are writing about yourself. If you describe a dream or a fantasy and you find yourself in Africa or in a church or together with some people, the story is not about Africa, that church or those people. In a dream story, the stage is yours, and all yours. Everything besides yourself (even in the disguise of some hero or heroine) is there for you.

So when this friend was cruel to those girls in his story there were not really anyone he was cruel to. He didn't state anything about how to treat girls or even about how he want to treat girls. He wrote about a fantasy, about an emotion. Perhaps he was angry or just didn't want to care about others and this was expressed in a cruel story.

I am not writing this to defend this person. He is capable of doing that himself. No, it is to point to something really important about fantasy stories. That they should be free. We should write them and read them for what they are. They are not statements about something or the world in general. They are a statement about a state of mind that is expressed in a symbolic way in the story. Killing someone in a dream story means, perhaps, anger, not a genuine wish to kill.

I do this all the time and I am sometimes reluctant to write freely, fearing I will be misunderstood. I do have settings that are vaguely Middle Eastern with people who look like Middle Eastern people. I fear that someone will construe them as being racist if some of them are cruel to me in my story, as if I am making a statement about people from the Middle East. I am not. It is a setting from my romantic store of settings, perhaps inspired by some film or by Arabian Nights or something like that. Or if I was abducted by black savages in Africa. That kind of image stems, I think, from Tarzan films from childhood and does not reflect my ideas about Africa. But in my imagination I do want them to be cruel and wild and very different from me. It is not about them but about my imagination and my emotions. They are not there to represent anything that is real. They are there to play a role in my fantasy.

I can understand the argument that this imagery stems from racist films and notions but I can't do anything about that now. It is too late. They are there from childhood and they form a part of me and if I am to let my fantasy be free and not comply with political correctness it will turn out some images that are not very nice should they represent real opinions. But they don't represent real opinions. That is my point.

And to return to the cruel imagery of some stories. I have them too and I am reluctant to write about it even here, in my blog, the blog that was supposed to be free. I have fantasies that are not always nice, about rape and humiliation and even cruelty, disturbing images that are both horrible and exciting. They point to emotions and thoughts that are contradictory, they represent, I think, conflicts in me and maybe they are even a way of dealing with very unpleasant memories. But they are there and I am reluctant to share them even if I think I should be honest and open.

How Does It Work?

One thing that has always been obvious to me but is not obviously obvious for everyone is a certain distinction between fantasies and reality. It is about control and the reality I am talking about is not necessarily real reality but anything that involves others.

This was a cryptic beginning. Before I explain what I am getting at there is the inevitable disclaimer. This is how it works for me. It is my blog and I think like this. I am not saying that fantasies in general have to work like this or that other ways of seeing it is wrong. There, please, stay with me and hear me out!

The difference I am talking about is the one that exist between being on your own, in your head and interacting with others, even in the simple way of reading someone else's writing or even watching a film. The important difference that I am talking about is that in your own head you are in full control. That is quite obvious but it has some consequences.

First a reflection about fantasies in general. Many people are perfectly happy with watching Star Wars or reading ghost stories where all kinds of strange things happen. But, when they talk about sexual fantasies, it is about what you want happen and what you want to do – for real, in reality. It is like fantasies are like planning, a stage for playing out what you really want shall happen. Nothing, whatsoever, is wrong with that but it is different for me (I am sure I am not the only one). For me fantasies are like Star Wars, a place where strange things happen, things that are not real, never will be real and never was meant to be real.

And to return to the opening, In my fantasies I am in complete control and that is one thing that makes it impossible for some fantasies to become real. An example, Imagine you have fantasies about a certain rugby team. You have these images in your head of how they tackle you, form a scrum around you and, well, strip you naked and have you in the mud on the playing field. Or something outrageous like that. Kind of exciting, isn't it? This does not, I repeat, not mean that you would ever be comfortable with it happening in real life. This is stating the obvious but bear with me a little while! The important difference between the fantasy and the reality is that in the fantasy you are in control of the team. Everything that they do to you are what you decide they should do. That makes it exciting and not horrible.

This is the reason why you find stories about girls being enslaved and whipped and things like that in my blog. I find it exciting since nothing ever happen to them (or me) that I am not in complete control of.

When reading someone else's story, sharing a fantasy, roleplaying or watching a film you are not in complete control. This means that the rugby team or the slaver are not yours any more. They become something else, a tiny step closer to reality and therefore far more frightening.

This is one of the important reasons for all of you people out there who play with this, who incorporate it into your lives to ensure that there is trust between you. You can't control the whole thing and what may be nice in your imagination may be scary in reality or closer to reality. But if you trust one another then you may be brave enough to relinquish some of that control and still know that you are safe and secure.

Inspiration...

I will start with a disclaimer. Remember when you read this, that it is just me and just now! I am not saying anything about fantasies in general or what I think is good or bad or anything. This is just how I feel...now.

I get feed up with myself and my fantasies at times. I look at them and see pain and humiliation and bad things. It strikes me in the face sometimes and it hurts. I can't turn away from it since it is me, my fantasies, my imagination but it hurts.

Then I want to go back, to visit each and every scene in the cinema of my head and do it right. I want to throw down all the whips and canes and break them and shout out loud that there will be no more whippings. I want to untie all the ropes and unshackle all the shackles and set free all the slaves and captives and...and myself. I will tell them, us, to dress and go somewhere and cuddle with someone they love. I want to touch all the bruises and caress away all he pain and humiliation. Then I want people, myself, everyone to be loved and love. Not to hurt and degrade and cause pain.

I know, it is all fantasy, it is not about bad things. It is about love and trust and all that is good. I know that. I really, understand that. But sometimes the images, the themes, the events in my imagination seems so brutal, so full of pain and humiliation that I wonder how it can be. How is it possible to have that in your head.

Fantasies

One thing I think a lot about is how my fantasies relate to my reality, or in what way they should relate to my reality. A great many people see their fantasies as an extension of their real life, things they fantasise about are things they are planning for or want for real. In one sense it has to be like that. What I fancy in my mind has to come from my desires and wants to some extent or fears that needs to be addressed. They come from me and I am real and so they relate to reality.

On the other hand it is a great thing that what happens in your mind does not always become reality. You can express anger and even hate but you don't have to act upon it. You don't have to go killing someone just because you have fantasies about that. Those thoughts may come from great anger and fantasies may function as an outlet rather than as a planning stage.

Fantasies, wild and strange, are an inspiration for stories and daydreaming and that is something I enjoy. In fact I have come to realise that the thought of having to realise my fantasies hampers the free flow of thoughts. If I let my mind be thrilled with the thought of a cruel whip or something a little more brutal it scares me if that has to become reality. I then try to control my fantasies to include only doable and nice things. That is not very good.

At the moment I think I prefer to have reality, boring and ordinary, in one place and wild and strange fantasies in another. And enjoy the free flow of thoughts.

Why Slavery?

I can't help trying to understand the whys about my fantasies. Perhaps I do analyse too much, think to much a do too little. I know that but, still, I can't help it. I can't help wondering about the appeal of being a slave. We all know that slavery is a really horrible thing and no one really wants to imply that there was anything good about it.

So why do we (I know it is not only me) return there in our minds? Why do we travel there, only to be stripped, bound, chained, shamed and sold? I believe there are a multitude of explanations and reasons for fantasies. Some of them are obvious and others have been discussed at length and the area is, most likely, too complex for a single blog entry so, for that reason alone, I will talk about one possible reason now.

I think it has to do with status, with social standings and such matters. Most of us are caught up in the eternal struggle for acceptance and social standings. We do what we do to gain recognition and status. In addition we do fear losing face, to do something that is frowned upon, disliked by our peers. At least some of us are very concerned with such matters and the ones who claim they aren't, are often more caught up than they dare to admit.

So being enslaved should be our darkest nightmare. What could be more humiliating than to be stripped naked, chained, paraded through the street and sold to the highest bidder (I know different fantasies deal with different situations but I think you know what I mean)? Being enslaved must be the ultimate losing of face, the definite loss of social status. The slave is the lowest of low, she is only property. She is nothing in society.

I think that is the reason why it appeals to us. When you have lost everything, you don't have to struggle any more. You are, in some sense, free. You can concern yourself with accepting your situation, accepting who you are. When you have fallen you don't have to fear falling any more.

And you are free to indulge in activities that are not acceptable in ordinary circumstances. Sexual indulgence is not for good girls. As a slave you are free to enjoy your body, your sexuality. It is required of you, you can even do it without the stigma of wanting it.

I Am Pleased

Lost friends are refound and Janice is pleased. In fact, she was so pleased that she went kite flying on Sunday (poor winds, though).

Slave Trade Act

Yesterday it was two hundred years since the Slave Trade Act received Royal Assent, in practice outlawing the trade with slaves within the British Empire. At last the abolitionist movement had gained an important victory in the struggle against slavery. The most well known of the British abolitionists, perhaps, is William Wilberforce who had campaigned for the cessation of slave trade since 1789.

In this context it feels silly and almost wrong to talk about fantasies about slavery. The grim facts about the trade in humans make a terrible backdrop to the exciting and even arousing fantasies about being captured and enslaved.

Slavery is wrong and it feels almost trivial to state that. Only very ruthless and cruel people can think otherwise. The reason why I talk about this here is that I have to struggle a little to distinguish between fantasies and reality at times. The themes of my fantasies scare me. That which alleviate that feeling and allows me to continue having my fantasies is the knowledge that fantasies do not necessarily represent real life event or wishes. I would not want slavery for any human being, not even myself, but still the fantasy of being someone's captive can be something pleasurable and good. It is a romantic and basically silly fantasy but it is a nice one, however scary at times. But who said that humans were simple beings?