A good mindfuck always comes in the moment you least expect it.

My sadism escapes in different ways, often when I’m in a room behind closed doors with you, sometimes via written out fantasies that I share with you here. Other times, when there is no other existential option, it erupts in a momentary remote mindfuck, for example, in an email exchange.

The first time it happens in that latter scenario is the last time it will happen with you. It’s the only time it can happen because it’s the only time you won’t know me quite as well as before, you won't yet be in the habit of reading me quite as deeply. Because every time after that first and freshest mindfuck, you’ll begin to really read me, you’ll know my mood through the cadence and construction of what I write to you, and you’ll better anticipate me. That first remote mindfuck is the purest, because you don’t know you’re going to be mindfucked, you can’t see it coming because you can’t see my face, you don’t know what I’ve been doing just prior to our communication, and you have no idea what level of topspace I’m in while communicating with you. When the moment comes and I’ve written something to you that feels blindingly cruel, you become completely unraveled, and you react instinctively. It’s an exhilarating moment for me, partially in that it's completely one-sided, because you don’t get to experience that moment with me, we’re not in the same place or time. I am appeased, and then I comfort you, and then it’s over. It’s an absolutely precious and bonding moment.

When I’m in a room with you behind closed doors, something happens that will never happen in a written fantasy such as the one at the bottom of this page, or in a written email exchange such as the one I reference above. When we’re in a room together, words and actions blur and sometimes get lost in the small but palpable distance between us. Sometimes when you leave that room, the words and actions that happened there are lost, and you often are left only remembering the feeling of what it was like to be so near me in that small space. The words and actions seemed so important during those moments, but it’s that feeling you’re left with that becomes a permanent part of you afterwards.

Earlier today I told a couple of close friends (not to mention everyone on twitter) that I was feeling particularly sadistic all day long. Later in the afternoon, in transit from place to place, I wrote down a Dexteresque roleplay, not quite immediately below. Having gotten this particular fantasy out of my system for the moment, I began to ponder what I might make happen on my plane of reality in the very near future, and I began fantasizing about a certain twink-in-training. I spelled out the logistics of how I wanted to express my sadism, which I anticipated would be happening right now, right here where I sit typing. (As an aside, in the end, other logistics prevented it, which is why I’m sitting here now typing it up for all of you. You’re welcome!) My email to the twink-in-training included the following instructions:

You'll walk in silently and strip immediately. No small talk. I'll put you in position and you'll take a whipping. When I see your ass I'll probably want to grab it and smack it a little bit, but I'm not going to warm you up too much because I want to see red welts, and they show up with more contrast when there's less warm up. That also means it will be more painful, but I promise you'll be able to take it, and you'll get as much aftercare as you need. I'm going to gag you out of respect for my neighbors. If you move around too much I may have to tie you down, but I won't want to waste time tying you down so you're going to have to try very hard to be still. There will be no safe word, but I'll be checking in on you constantly. I'll make sure you're okay and I'll give you a break when I decide you need it.

Can you imagine the topspace I was in when writing this email? And I had just written this, the aforementioned Dexteresque fantasy.

There is duct tape on your eyes and mouth, and a burlap bag over your head. The plastic wrapped around you binds you to yourself, and more layers are wrapped around you and the slab, holding you down, you can’t move anything. You stop trying. When I take the bag off your head you want to sneeze but you can’t. I rip the tape off your eyes and it hurts, it rips out some eyebrows and eyelashes, and your eyes tear up.

You see that the walls are covered in plastic tarps, and there are a few printed out photos taped up on the tarps around the room. You see me, smiling down at you. You look more closely at the photos and realize that they are of you and me, right now. You see yourself bound to the slab in the photos, and you see the real me watching you look around, and then you see that behind me there is a camera set up on a tripod in the corner, and there are others in the other corners, and that all the photos are freshly printed stills taken from different angles with these cameras.

I say to you, “See all these people in these photos?” I’m using a scalpel to point at the different images of you taken moments ago when you still had the burlap bag over your head. “See all these people you destroyed? You’re going to have to pay for that.”

Then I come towards you and make a tiny cut on your cheek, and a slow red teardrop makes a thin line as it drips down towards your collarbone. Your eyes start tearing again and I’m smiling again. Something in my smile is strangely comforting.

“I’m the only one who gets to destroy you, my dear. Self-destruction is no longer an option for you.” I set the scalpel down, and slowly start ripping away at the layers of plastic with my hands, eventually setting you free.

Later, when you’re on your knees at my feet worshipping me, you realize that freedom now has a much different definition than had ever occurred to you before.

I hope the above has thoroughly confused all of you. I will take your questions, but I will not promise to answer them. On a completely unrelated note to any of the above, tomorrow night I’m going to Palm Springs! The weather report says it’s going to be in the 90s through Saturday, and then in the high 70s on Sunday. I come home on the Sunday night redeye, but until I do, I will be wearing as little clothing (and as much sunscreen) as possible. I promise to wave as I float over you!