Finally, My Zen
By Paul M. Westin

There is an expression that I associate with the flower power 1960s and 70s. Along with "War Is Not Healthy for Children and Other Living Things" and "Peace and Love"-not to mention day-glow daisies and bright yellow smiley faces-bumper stickers and T-shirts in those days were emblazoned with "Today Is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life." Nice sentiment, if you're into guilt. While I'd like to live my life as if each new day was an opportunity to begin anew, make positive changes in my life, wipe the slate clean, give up bad habits, eat right, sleep right-fuck, it's all too much! Always, by evening it turns out that this was, once again, just another day.

Now, for the first time in my life, I feel like I have experienced the first day of the rest of my life. That day was Wednesday, September 9, 1998. The place was the new Lesbian & Gay Community Services Center on Little West 12th Street. The occasion was the first fall meeting of GMSMA for the 1998-99 year.

As the first meeting of the new season, following the announcements-I'm not listening to what the handsome man at the front of the room is saying, but I could just sit and look at him all night long-there was an orientation of sorts. Mini- "Dungeon Demos," if you will. Experts? Masters? Volunteers? Whatever you want to call them. Beautiful fuckin' MEN is what they were. They were explaining or demonstrating various s/m equipment, tools, techniques for bondage, torture, pleasure, what-have-you. I couldn't have felt more awkward at first. I didn't know anyone in the room. But I knew what I wanted. I had to find out what flogging felt like. I wanted to run straight over to that table, knocking down anyone in my path, but in an attempt not to appear too eager, I stood around the restraint table and watched someone getting into a straitjacket for a little while. That was about all the restraint I could exercise. I walked to the table with the whips and listened as patiently as I could while the expert explained to someone how to hold the various whips and different methods of swinging them.

Finally, I got the chance and I asked, "Could I feel it?"

(I couldn't believe how timid I sounded.)  I don't know who I was speaking to, but he was a beautiful fuckin' MAN, so I'll just call him, Beautiful Fuckin' MAN (BFM).

He raised his eyebrows and said, "Sure."

I didn't want to appear too anxious, but-what the fuck, man, I had to ask, "Can I take my shirt off?"

BFM:  "You want to feel it on your skin? Sure!"

That was it!  I had committed.  I was going to finally find out what it was about!  I remember thinking I was glad I had worn my boots and a jock strap. Bright white light.  Hot men standing around.  Fine.  All the better.  I was ready now, and I've never been shy.  I turned around, raised my arms above my head, and leaned toward a pillar for support.  Nervous, I waited.  Then I felt it.  It was a light one, and surprisingly, I didn't feel pain.  Oooh.  Another.  Another.  A little harder now and a little faster.  MMmmmm.

BFM asked, "You OK?"

"Oh, yeah!  I mean, Yes, Sir."

He kept swinging and still, it wasn't pain!  It was tremendous.  It was intense!  It was real!  But what was this feeling?  It was spiritual.  This was Zen!  This was being in this moment.  There is no past.  There is no future.  This moment is the only reality there is.  There is no good, no evil.  No right or wrong.  No need to judge.  There is only what IS.  The entire universe exists only in this moment.

It was fucking ecstasy.

BFM asked, "You want to try the braided one?"

I thought to myself, oh that one is gonna hurt, but, "Yes, please."  (There's that little boy's voice again.)

The braided one was even better.  Not more pain.  More intensity.  I suddenly realized that my cock was fucking hard as a rock.  I looked down at my crotch and saw it straining against my jock and my jeans.  Yes.  More.

After that, I had to try more.  What next?  Mmmmm.  Back to the straitjackets, yeah.  Another Beautiful Fuckin' MAN-BFM-2!  He strapped me into the canvas restraint. Oh, let me submit.  Beautiful MEN are telling me about the jacket.  I realize in an instant that I belong in it.  Submission.

I'm led over to another station and another Beautiful Fuckin' MAN!  This one is applying Vetwrap to men's heads to form a hood.

BFM-3: "Would you like to try?"

"Yes.  Please."

Oh, yeah!  Cover my eyes.  Eliminate the distractions.  Let me revel in my powerlessness.  The more I submit-the more I give away my power-the more powerful I feel.  The more alive I feel.  I hear my breathing.  I feel my heart pumping.  After the hood is complete and I've grown accustomed to it I begin to want more.  More submission.  If, somehow, I could give up everything, I could truly experience freedom.  BFM-3 is behind me.  His hands rest on my shoulders.  Oh GOD!  Yes.  Touch me gently.  MMmmm.  Yes.

I ask him, "Sir, do you have a bandanna in your pocket?"

BFM-3: "No.  Why?"

"I thought, perhaps, you could use one as a gag."

BFM-3: "That's no problem.  I can make one with the Vetwrap."

Yes!  It was tight, too.  Perfect.  There goes more power, or what I realize now was the illusion of power.  No movement of my arms.  No sight.  Now, no speech.  Who needs it?  All my needs will be met without having to ask.  Just trust.  I am completely safe in this moment.  I am totally secure.  I feel stronger and stronger.

BFM-3 said to someone, "I think this one wants some heavy metal."

I stood up.  They took me out of the straitjacket.  I was led across the room and told to sit.  No sight.  No sense of direction.  I had to trust.  I sat and felt the chair under me.  I was told to put my arms out in front of me.  Heavy shackles with a heavy chain were placed on my wrists.  It was great just feeling the weight.  Then a heavy metal collar was placed around my neck.  Oh God.  It was glorious.  It felt like a fucking crown.  An iron crown.  Oh, fuck.  FEEL it!  Feel the fucking weight of it.  I don't know how long I was there.  Someone came along and told me I would like my arms behind my back.  I nodded my assent.  It was done.  I discovered he was right, of course.  Once they were there, I did want them behind my back.  Another someone spread my knees wider and stroked the inside of my thighs.  Oh, touch me.  Yes.  Someone came up behind me and gently stroked my shoulders and then my chest.  Oh, that touch.  Had I ever experienced touch so intensely?  He squeezed my nipples for a moment, and then he was gone.  No sight.  No movement.  No speech.  Only that touch!  Perfect.  Perfect.

Eventually the evening had to come to an end.  It seemed like an eternity, and it seemed like the blink of an eye.  The Vetwrap was undone.  BFM-3 shielded my eyes from the bright lights for a few moments until they could adjust from the black, dark, void.  The chains were removed from my arms.  And finally the crown was removed.  I felt like I was going to start crying at any minute.  I wanted to sob.  It was all so fucking real.  I grabbed my jacket.  I looked for all the Beautiful Fuckin MEN who had been so generous.  I thanked as many as I could find.  It wasn't enough.  How could I tell them what they had done for me.  I didn't even know.  I was so confused.  Thank you.

What I do know is that afterward I had never felt so pumped-up in my life.  Walking home I felt a new power in every single step.  Were my legs suddenly stronger or had my boots become like a magic carpet, carrying me swiftly down Hudson Street?  I literally blew the air out of my lungs with each breath I took and I loved the sound of my own breath.  My dick was still hard and straining at my jock and about every ten steps I heard myself whisper, "FUCK!"

I know that I have never -EVER- felt so good about myself.

Later that night, at home, alone in bed, still hard, I wanted more.  More submission, dominance, powerlessness, strength, intimacy.  Oh, please, somebody-Strip me.  Tie me up.  Suspend me.  More heavy metal, please.  Shackles.  Yeah.  Now flog me.  Yeah!  Harder, please, Sir.  Sir, please add some tit clamps and a hood.  Flog my back and my ass.  More, please, Sir.  Yeah, Fuck, that's it!  Oh, yes, let me suck your gloved fingers.  MMmmmm.  Taste the leather.  Deeper in my throat.  Whip my thighs.  Oh, a gag?  Yes, Sir!  Fucking ecstasy!  I can't help it, Sir.  It makes my cock so fuckin hard!  Oh fuck, yeah, slap that cock!  A ball-stretcher, Sir?  Oh yes.  Yes, Sir.  Please, Sir.  Thank-you, Sir.  Yeah!!!  Hang that heavy fuckin' chain to my nuts.  Oh yeah, whip my ass some more now.  God, my balls ache!  Fuck, they hurt.  Yeah!  KICK that heavy chain.  Fuck!  Make my purple, swollen nuts swing.  Make 'em drag on the floor.  Yeah, do you like that Sir?  Ooohh, fffuuuccckk!  Oh, Please. What ever you want, Sir!  Do it.  Use me.  Do it.  DO IT!

Perfect.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Sir.

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