I took part in a sort of survey recently about alternative lifestyles. One of the early questions asked me to describe my sexual orientation. I thought about putting "Dom", but thought I should add "straight" and further wondered whether I should say something like "females only" or "speciality: intricate bondage and mummification". But there was, to my dismay, only room for about 2/3 words. I take these things too seriously I know, but I thought about summing up my whole sexual fantasy in such a comfined space and decided that it would be better to try to dodge the question.
A phone call from an editor, attaching only mild and vague threats to his carefully chosen words, prompted me to rethink. Then, in a chat with someone on AOL, I came up with Benevolent Sadist. My interlocutor laughed (LOL) and said that that was an oxymoron and that I could't be. I pleaded my case manfully and stuck with it.
I guess I was wrong. It winds up pleasing no-one. Vanillas or newbies see only the word sadist and condemn me out of my own mouth. Subs would see the word benevolent and lagh so much they might have to remind themselves of the necessity to breathe in. But it struck me as just right. Me to a "t". This is what I think one is.
In a former life I would probably have been a pirate. I get seasick now walking over a bridge, but in days of yore I see myself strutting the poop deck (whatever that is) and chatting to mt number two about maps and trease and princesses being transported to suitors. My demeanour would be firm but probably ineffective. Me 'arties (my crew for the landlubbers among you) would qualify for paternity leave and sick pay as well as the firm's outboard. Mutinies would be dealt with carefully and with a single gesture: I would jump overboard. Recalcitrant princesses would be tied to the mast then asked to sign a consent form the the rape part. Foreign vessels would be boarded with the deeply menacing words, "Sorry to bother you."
You see. It doesn't work does it? One of the chapters which tells the story of my life is about girls who have laughed at me. Sometimes they laughed shortly after I said something funny and I think people generally find that and endearing quality. A girl at university said that she would love to be tied down to a bed and "taken". When I suggested that I would be happy to oblige, she simply said, "What? You?" and began to laugh... giggle... go red in the face. I tried to change the subject (I was a long way from being hinest about myself) but the tears by now streaming down her face were a little offputting. I was a laughing stock for months.
I used to be a teacher, in the days when teachers had a great deal more input than I think they do now, and music was a keep 'em quiet subject anyhow. I never had a class go out of control and often had them laughing, sometimes even when I wanted them to. I had a sterner side too. While I can't recall sending kids out of my room very often, I certainly had a look about me which could stop them in their tracks if they were not paying attention. Meeting ex-pupils years later they were soon kind enought to say very pleasant thing about me... such as how they remember laughing. Music? Not really. Were they scared of me? What? You? And then the giggling starts.
But I'm no wimp and my manner is generally assertive (if you don't mind my saying so). My friends and family look to me when it comes to impotant decision making. Oh ask Michael, my mother says to this day... he's the clever one. And they do. I also appear to be fully self controlled and generally carefree. How wrong can you get. Why is it that people never seem to say of you the things you long for them to say. I have been troubled by periods of clinical depression, self doubt, self loathing and paranoia. I was in therapy for three years or more. In 1989, shortly after the death of my father, I attempetd suicide twice. No, they weren't cries for help - just comically inept. I had failed again... my true feelings hidden away. Very few people know about those attempts on my own life - those closest to me have no idea (my mother will not read this!).
Thank the lord for bdsm. Well probably not personally, but I did find my way out of the slough with the help of a couple of people in the comminity. I found myself in the same company - if I was sick for having these fantasies, then so were they. And they were two of the nicest and kindest people I've ever met.
They told me to accept the pirate. To love him and let him in. To understand that there are as many different sorts of pirate in the world as there are types of freshwater fish. Don't try to change, they said, just accept the way you are and go for it ... don't be hard on yourself and, above all, don't be ashamed.
So today I happily strut on the poop deck of life, smile at the canonballs of life and laugh heartly at the oncoming stranger, dressed all in black, who is advancing toward me with cutlass raised. Oh shit, no I don't.
Man overboard!!!!!!!
Stay safe and consensual, won't you?
Michael was born in Sheffield and has recently returned to live there again. He wants everyone to know that he's now fine - a happy, secure and relatively sane Master. Having also been told as a child that he hadn't got a musical bone in his body, he recently went to visit the person who told him that to play her Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto. He believes in lengthy childhoods and there are few signs at the moment that he will ever emerge