Secret

Secrecy is a funny thing. I have spent a lot of time on this blog and in general talking about how important it is to be "out" as kinky players. I believe in that just as much today as I ever did. However, I do have to admit that lately I have been exploring a new interest. Something I hadn't really ever thought about except for a few times before a few months ago. And, I am beginning to understand one of the reasons some people prefer to keep some of their interests secret.

Most people don't have the opportunity in their lives to be very open about all this. I think some people, though, get off on how taboo this all is. Working at Nasty Pig, I hear it all the time. "I could wear this and people wouldn't even know where it was from". Seriously? Who cares if they knew where it was from? Is there really anything dirty about Nasty Pig? Maybe I am just too desensitized, but it always struck me as incredibly juvenile that people had such reactions to having this big secret.

Still, as I mentioned above... I am beginning to understand the allure of having a "dirty secret". Though I still think there is nothing particularly dirty about Nasty Pig, I am growing to appreciate the feeling one can have from feeling something privately. The interest I have recently taken plays into a lot of my humiliation fantasies, and taps into a lot of my inner most feelings of social right and wrong. The feeling that you are doing something very dirty, outside the scope of "how people are supposed to behave" can actually be exhilarating. More than exhilarating, having some dirty sexual secret heightens the sense of humiliation you have from doing the action in the first place.

I'm not going to reveal what my interest is, but it has elicited in me a feeling I have never had before. A rush of adrenaline like I have never known. It's sexual and emotional in a way I can not adequately describe. And what's more, the rush wouldn't be half as strong if I was out and proud about my new interest. By being proud of something, you take away its power to humiliate you. I don't want that. I have always been curious about humiliation, and now I have found a way for me to feel it in a way I never thought possible. I want to give guys the power to humiliate me, and as long as I feel that way, I'm gonna keep my secret. My own private dirty secret...

The human footstool

Last night I went to Sir Larry's as part of my weekly training schedule. There will be more on this to come, but for now I just want to discuss a specific service I provided last night. After we had fooled around and He came, he took me to the living room and ordered me on all fours. He took a seat on the couch, turned on the BBC, and used me as a human foot stool for about twenty to thirty mins.

This was the first time this has ever really happened to me, and I have to admit, I rather enjoyed it. For anyone who has ever read Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, you'll be familiar with his assertion that technology combined with the fast pace of modern human life leaves us almost no time to just think. To stop trying to engage and just think. Last night, on all fours with Sir's sneaker tied to my face and his feet resting on my back, there was a meditation-like quality to the experience. Whats more, there was a certain privacy I felt down on the floor. Maybe a privacy of thought. In many ways, I was in my own little world. And even more than my own room, or bed...I felt very much like I was in my own private space in the world.

Of course, I can't discount the feeling of the situation itself. Being a human footstool gives the tiniest twinge of humiliation, with the soft contentment of servitude. I was naked on all fours, objectified for the man I serve. It was exhilarating, for sure, and my cock remained full (though not stiff) the entire time. But it was these feelings of servile contentment coupled with the privacy of my own thoughts within that position that truly made the experience worthwhile for me as a boy.

I very much hope for this form of servitude to be a regular part of my training.