Controlling my autopilot

My autopilot, my instinct, my gut … why does it sometimes betray me and some of the personal values I hold most dear?

I grew up in apartheid South Africa. At that time I was not very politically conscious, I still really don’t care much for politics. Politically apathetic at best. But as I aged I became more and more aware of the inequality between races in my motherland. It’s something I always hated. Life to me must be filled with variety and that includes friends. I befriended people of various races and loved them for who they are not the colour of their skin, the money in their pocket, their sexual practices …. When I moved to Europe this became much easier. Here there is no underlying uneasy tension in the air when two or more people of mixed race are socialising in public. When apartheid ended in South Africa racism didn’t magically disappear. In that new South Africa a young mixed race couple could now freely walk hand in hand down the street. But the looks and scowls they got didn’t change. I was quite happy to leave that shit behind. I deplore racism in any form!

Which brings me to that autopilot of mine. Say I am driving around town and there is a bad driver in front of me, making part of my journey more difficult than it should be. If as I finally overtake them and look at the driver, I see a black person behind the wheel, the little hamster in my head says “Awww fucking black person, typical!”. WAIT!!! WHAT??? Where does that come from? That really isn’t me. How can I think like that? It disgusts and distresses me that deep down in my core there is a racist little fucker!

But it’s not only racism. I am quite an old soul. Morally I am grey at best but I respect and value the older generations. I will always have time to help or listen to an old member of society. But as with the little racist buried deep within me there is a little ageist.

As is the case with the sexist me. I don’t believe I am sexist but occasionally it shows its ugly little head. A few weeks back after a club night out dancing I headed off to the bus stop. Sitting at the bus stop was someone I can met a couple of years ago but hadn’t seen in ages. We started chatting and it turned out we lived a few blocks away from each other. We went back to hers and spent the next few hours chatting and drinking. I was trying as best I could to get into her pants and was doing quite well. I told her that I had gone to a restaurant a while back and the waitress looked just like her. At that time I couldn’t remember her name so asked the waitress hers. It said … “IT?” She turned to me with a shocked look on her face. “IT?” Yes I had said it. WTF!!! Do I really objectify woman that way? **face plant** Needless to say them panties never came off and I eventually left questioning my inner self.

Discrimination of any sort pisses me off!! But deep within me there is an autopilot of sorts that can be racist, ageist, sexist, classist, sexualist, creedist … I suppress that whenever it gets triggered. But why is it there?

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Time marches on

Another heartbroken night … time marches on
Another sexless month … time marches on
A holiday abroad … time marches on
A new friend … time marches on
A new job interview … time marches on
A night out dancing … time marches on
Dreaming of out of reach love … time marches on
Deadline after deadline met … time marches on
Dinner with a friend … time marches on
Domestic arguments … time marches on
Kids acting up … time marches on
Peace of mind … time marches on
Queuing … time marches on
Sick again … time marches on
Unattainable dreams … time marches on
Unending traffic jams … time marches on
Vegetating on the sofa … time marches on
Waiting for freedom … time marches on

And time marches on … another step closer to expiration

New girl

13 months on I am still heartbroken about leaving K. But I can never return to her while I am still living with my wife. Replacing K is not what I want. I want K, the relationship we had and I never want the pain of heartbreak again. But it seems to be happening …

I have know M for years. An absolutely stunning lady, the type of woman everyone’s heads rise to when she walks over to the copier. We had worked in the same company but I had hardly ever spoken to her for more than a few minutes … then one day, one thing led to another and I am starting to forget K as my mind slowly gets consumed by thoughts of M.

Mutual friends would never put us together, hell not even complete strangers would. You see we are very different. Looks wise I am a realistic 6, she is an 8 pushing 9. I am 45, she is 29. I am an hard nosed atheist, politically apathetic, a parent, kinky and outgoing. M is very religious, interested in politics, long time single, vanilla and aloof.

We had a brief 2 month spell “together” at the tail end of last year. But she ended it. Like I said she is very religious and duly principled. Messing around with a married man was too big a hurdle for her to overcome. We kissed and made out for hours whenever we were together but never had sex. So we went our separate ways, before anyone got too hurt.

Several months later we were back in touch and now several months into our 2nd spell together little has changed. We go out (not daily or even weekly but regularly), we make out for hours and avoid the issue of sex. We still haven’t, which is something very unusual for me and the relationships I have had. Can I call it a relationship? It’s something, it’s more than just a friendship.

Whatever it is it works for us. We have each other. We both have very different but difficult issues in our lives to contend with. But in each other we have a companion (at arms length) to feel warm with.

I don’t want another relationship until I can get clear of my marriage. But I don’t want to give M up. All I am left with in that case is emptiness and loneliness. And I am not a complete idiot (naive and a dreamer, yes). I realise the chance of a future with M is very unlikely, for various reasons. And if I moved out tomorrow I need to go back to K. It will probably never happen with K again regardless but that is where my heart is.

Yet here I am sitting in a coffee shop in Old Str in London on my day off waiting for M. Wondering if this will ever turn into the relationship we want it to.

A virus in my city

There is an nasty virus spreading across London Town. You may not see it. It disguises itself well. It is hip, happening and the kids (young and old) are all signing up.

It has taken that beautiful antique table, the patinaed typewriter on the table and the rusty bicycle on the wall and sucked all the appeal out of them. You see this virus is quite the leech. Its sucks the beauty out of architecture, books, fashion, menus … the list is endless.

Taking key pieces of something and placing it perfectly opposite a different piece of something unrelated, but equally beautiful so that the juxtaposition between the two is perfect no matter how crappy the lens of the bright eyes tourist is.

The not so delicate, amazingly creative grunge gets replaced by the soulless manufactured grunge coated in just the perfect amount of scuffs.

And slowly my city rots. It rots as gallons of beard oil seep deep into its soil. It rots as the creativity washes away, pushed out to somewhere affordable.

Another boutique clothing store who’s single pair of vintage twead trousers carries a price tag that could provide the annual nourishment for the extended family of the miserably poor Turkish villager who’s hands created them. Another ethically sourced ingredient’d menu appears with words most good dictionaries would struggle to stomach. Another rockabilly girl parks her designer bicycle in a colour that the factory stopped producing back in the 50’s and sits down on an old school bench that has been repurposed by the restaurant owner handing her Canadian Arctic water. Another tear falls down my cheek as I sit on the bench opposite her in my new trousers and look down at the new menu.

My type

Do I have a type? Yes, no, I can’t be sure.

I am quite a slut. Walking down the street in my head I count the women I would be happy to shag. The percentage is surprising high! Age makes little difference. Race sometimes does (this really pisses me off, I  wish it didn’t but we are being honest here). Something like height … no difference but size sometimes does (again something I am not proud of). Orientation, kinkyness and goodlooks have a minor impact. Gender makes some difference. I am bi but attracted to few guys. Transgenders I am also open to…

What does seem to have a massive impact is if the person is (excuse the term) a cunt. Nasty personalities are a massive turnoff. Sure if its just casual sex with a stranger this is unlikely to affect things. But if I know the person and the are a cunt it doesnt matter if they are Tabatha Coffeys twin, I won’t go near them. For anything!

Ohhh Tabatha Coffey? … yes top of my dreamlist. A strong lesbian with short hair and a pointy face? Yip 100%

For guys I don’t really know. The guy I am most attracted by looks a bit like Marilyn Manson but with muscular arms and an equally hot wife.

I usually go for quite strong women. Even if they don’t appear strong or think they are, if in my eyes they are strong it is a massive plus.

Obnoxious, pretencious, attention seeking, socialittes or princesses … no, no, no

Adventerous, nice, tolerant, open, warm, considerate … yes please

Control through fear

This is one of the default setting my wife and mother of my kids employs in the day to day running of family life.
She is a lovely, very hard working person. Stereo-typically oriental personality I guess you could say.
All the positive personality traits are however coupled with several negative (standard issue human). She is a control freak and has always had a temper. I have learnt to dampen the bad temper when it makes an appearance and we as a family have learnt to deal with it. But there is no denying there is an element of living in fear, and of her using it to control things.

Examples:
An obvious one (directed at me) was the “…if you leave the next time you see me and the kids will be at our funerals…” to stop me from moving out!
The not as extreme (directed at the kids) “…if you don’t do ________ I will hit you…”
My daughter who volunteers at the local petting zoo every weekend and lives for her volunteering day, was recently inconsolable when she was told “…if you don’t do _____ you can never go to the zoo again.”
There are tons more examples of various degrees of gravity that I can’t think of right now.

None of these consequences are every usually carried out but I cannot comprehend why on earth someone would deliberately threaten things like that just to get things done the way they want them done.
One of the biggest reasons I haven’t left yet is not being able to leave my kids in this environment. I am not saying it would be a bad environment (she is usually a good person and good mother). But there would be occasions when the monster comes out, and what if I am then not there to mitigate? My son is soft and calm and he will “conform” but my daughter can be stubborn and hard headed. When mother and daughter collide it’s dramatic and neither gives an inch. I fear what could happen if I am not there. I fear …

A Sadist Looks In A Mirror

The term sadist, I hated at first. Cruel, grim, tough, dangerous, harmful  … does not define who and what I am! I failed to see the beauty in the term “sadist”. I was seeing it the way someone outside the kink community sees it. “Sadists” bring Nazis, murderers and all kinds of human garbage to mind.

It has become a term I cherish, for at least in one aspect of my life it defines me very accurately. What is a sadist, in the kinky sense of the word? Simply, someone who derives pleasure from inflicting pain on another. I don’t expect the majority of people to understand. That’s ok, it’s not for the majority of people. I get that. How can someone get turned on and enjoy hurting another? How can you disrespect and treat someone so badly as to inflict suffering and pain on them just for your sexual gratification? I have cared for and often loved everyone I have “played” with. Anyone I have played with has consented to these sadistic acts I performed on them. Most (all, I hope) derived pleasure from the acts themselves or / and the results of those acts.

Bdsm was something I was turned on by from an early age. It took me a long time to gain the courage to enter that world. Turned out there was very little to be apprehensive about. Everyone was so welcoming and it was so very easy and chilled. I felt like finally coming home. But the first time I played with someone I didn’t feel comfortable. My second playmate became a more regular partner. I started feeling more comfortable. Then I fell for a masochist. She completely changed my world. We fell in love but even without that she helped me open up to my inner sadist. Love and trust helped me and us to explore this world of bdsm deeper and deeper. I have no interest in becoming a student of the lifestyle. Not interested if my technique is correct or what I should or should not be doing … I did what came naturally, what I wanted to, the way I wanted to … Sometimes it was like walking on ice but that’s what playing on the edge is. It was magnificent. I was born again if you like.

There is a title I do not go by and that people often associate with me. That term is dom. Dominant. That I feel I am not. Sure you can be dom and a sadist, am many usually are. But I am not. I am sadist … not domly dom dom … Not naturally anyway. I can be if the scenario requires it and its not too uncomfortable a push getting me there. I will not have you crawling around on all fours, calling me sir or master, kissing my feet, performing humiliating tasks. NOPE. Restrained (even contorted), screaming out (even crying) as your mind gets overwelmed by pain and waves of pleasure, finding new ways to push you to the very edge and dangle you there before allowing you release. Yes, yes, yes. That’s me.
I have been with a submissive partner who I have sensed has paused and is awaiting my instruction … waiting to be told … to be commanded … Siiggghhh … really? Arrrghh, I hate the pressure. Now I need to come up with something good. Damn can’t we just have sex instead? Oh wait, I am in charge. Get over here! … haahaahaa.

Go give your local sadist a big hug.
We don’t bite … well, unless we really, really like you 😉 :p

 

 

I am

What I am?

I am man
Not alpha man
A soft, quieter man
Often gentle lamb
Yet unmistakably ram

A father I am
Twins I fathered my man!
Father and husband I am
Not husband for long, the plan
The plan? A free man!

Weird yet ordinary man
Morally grey at best I am
Too twisted for you ma’am?
I’m comfortable with who I am
You not? I don’t give a damn!

A kinky man, that I am
A kinky sadist I am
I ain’t a domly dom, man!
When I need to I can
But natural born sadist I am!!

Not bacon or bourbon man
Instead a bbq and rum fan
Bald, bearded, tattooed I am
Leather kilted, flogger in hand
Wham, wham, wham, wham!!

Night creature I am
On the dancefloor a happy man
From blues to metal a fan
Clubnight, gig or jam
Fetish events? Hot damn!!

What I am?
I am soft, gentle, quite, easy going, rum drinking, bbq eating, tattooed, dancing, kinky, bottom spanking, sadistic human.

 

Shredded heart

When I met you, all I wanted was one night
Being honest, didn’t think I stood a chance
Way too gorgeous, but I had to try my luck
No one nighter, but the start of so much more

That short year, you gave me the time of my life
Unrestricted, every second was a highlight
So much passion, what you gave me changed my life
I was whole again, days full of wonder, fun and love

Honest and open, traits that rarely defined me
But in your arms, completely truthful I became
You beside me, I was who I always longed to be
The new me, a man proud, strong and free

But the day came, a perfect union blown apart
Deep in my gut, I knew it just had to end
My hands shaking, telling you we couldn’t be
Gigantic tears, instantly shredded up my heart

One year on, lost love still haunting me
Miss you daily, but I know it was no mistake
Had to step back, let you live, love and be safe
Fighting demons, a lonely journey I endure

Lonely drowning, a shadow of whom I’d been
Can’t explain it, doesn’t make much sense to me
I keep on trying, hoping one day I’ll be free
Don’t forget me, but goodbye … fair well … cherie

forgive me angels

To my children

I hope that one day you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.

Forgive me for the uncomfortable and tense home life you have been subjected to over the recent years. You are the completely innocent victims of a marriage falling apart. You in no way deserve to listen to the late night fights in the other room.

What you have experienced I know will always live with you. Hopefully those wounds heal well and the scars are not too ugly.

All the days out and trips away that we should be taking but can’t because I have no desire to take part in any family activities. I promise you it has nothing to do with either of you. You know that, don’t you? I would love to be exploring the world with you.

I never was the father you deserve. Sure I am the fun, easy going, always there for a laugh parent. But I know when it come to your formal education and your day to day health, I was never the parent you needed me to be. It’s a good thing your mother was there for those things and she did a very good job at all those aspects of your lives. I knew I was never the father you deserved long before any of this divorce business started.

I try to make this as easy on you as I can, but I know you are hurting. I love you and will always love you, no matter what path our lives take.

I won’t blame you if you exclude me from your future for what we are going through now. Just hope you understand and maybe one day, you can forgive me.