So It All Starts For Me...

....a bit farther back. This gorgeous, wonderful weekend that Nitebyrd and I reveled in has some roots that I need to share with you. I want you all to know, because I always tell the truth, and if there is any way that I can help anyone, this is one way. Not the only way, naturally, but one way.

And it starts in crisis.

Back in July, I was performing here in Chicago in a production of Cyrano DeBergerac. One of those summer playhouse things where you bring a blanket and some wine and food and watch. A lovely setting. Every night I would walk home, since the venue was that close to where I was living. Usually a warm, comfortable summer night.

I rounded a corner onto my street and was literally a block away from home when it happened.

I was jumped by three men. One kicked me in the side. One sat down on top of me and put a knife to the back of my neck. The third reached into my wallet and took out the cash, probably $40 or so. Then a car turned the corner and they scurried off me and ran quickly away. The car kept going.

I laid there. Trying to catch my breath. Wondering what the fuck had just happened. I was there about 10 minutes or so, I guess...and in that time, an entire array of emotions washed over me. First I was petrified...now Nitebyrd will tell you, I'm a pretty stout and strong guy; not much really gets to me these days. But this day. I shook like a baby in the cold. Then...anger. I was very angry....I stood up and started yelling profanities as loudly as I could. I kept yelling until I couldn't yell anymore. Not a person in the neighborhood stirred. Not one. No lights came on. No one came out their door to check the crazy fucker in the middle of the street. Nothing. And here's the interesting thing....I was pulling a case with my laptop in it. They didn't touch it. Not once. I had nothing missing.

Nothing but my calm. For one of the very few times in my life, I could not stay calm. And I did not like that feeling one fucking bit. No one in my life has ever seen me lose my temper...the way I grew up and the accompanying baggage had taught me to keep it all in check. But not this particular evening.

The police station was three blocks away. Three blocks. And not one police car came by. So I walked over to report what had happened. I could not have been treated more impersonally by the two cops who took my report. As I think about it now, I wondered why they actually didn't call someone for ME, I was so angry.

So I finally got home. This hour or so had altered my life forever. I took a shower, as I was wont to do. I got to bed....I pulled out some lube. And I couldn't concentrate on finding relief.

I cried. I cried like a damned baby for about a half-hour. I had no one to talk to. No one who gave a fuck, because the world is that way.

In these rare times of intense anger and frustration, my own history had taught me that strong physical exertion of some kind actually did help on occasion. So I rode a bike. I tried working out so hard that I would just fall asleep when I was done...no endorphins for me, for some reason. One day I walked 17 miles. WALKED 17 miles to downtown Chicago and back home. Nothing would work.

I'd had rare occasion to experience with a couple of women in my life some very rough physical sex. I have proudly a fairly wide experience sexually, and intellectually I knew that this would be something that would help. But no partner was available. I had shared such interplay four or five times in my life. Found it extremely satisfying. But it could sometimes be so strong that I was afraid to let it all go. And most of all, who could I trust? How could I get it out in a safe, strong way that wouldn't frighten a partner?

Nitebyrd and I have known each other for a few years now. We shared similar attitudes on life, people, work...and sex. But she had to convince me that what I was looking for was really okay. And I didn't acquiesce at first. I fought it. I wanted to share it with you folks...and I did try. But not understanding how I was feeling entirely only made the feelings more intense. Jesus fuck, what was I going to do?

Another friend out here (whose name I will keep to myself) made it possible for me to understand that what I was for did have a name. It did have a philosophy behind it. And it could be practiced in an intelligent, safe way. But when the entire realm of BDSM is put in front of people, it conjures up such conflicting and difficult-to-understand images that I had to do my research.

So I went to counseling. I went to a kink-friendly counselor who was, well, calm. In the meantime, Nitebyrd and I, in our exchanges, began talking more and more about the intensity of such an exchange. And it took some time...it took a lot of time. And talking. And thinking.

I'll tell you all, I promise. I know this is not necessarily what many might expect in this blog. But you know what? You know if you read me consistently that I am nothing if not honest...and bold. Stay with me....it's just important to me that I tell you all in this way.