How BDSM Helps Me Overcome Fear

A couple of weeks ago I was almost mugged.


Long story short, two guys pointed a gun at me and started making demands.  When I refused, the one without the gun started yelling “Shoot him, kill him, fucking shoot him, he’s a snitch!”

I still remember how he said the word “snitch”.  He said it as though I lacked the moral fiber.  As though telling the police about it made me a bad person and therefore I was just asking to be shot.  Yeah, I’m the bad guy here.

I wish I could say I tackled them and wrestled the gun away.  That I had held them at bay while the police arrived but I didn’t.   I was actually caught between fight or flight, I couldn’t decide what to do.  Eventually they realized they wouldn’t be getting anything from me and rode off.

Of course I called the police and the NYPD and I spent the next hour looking for them.   That part was pretty exciting actually.

I was on adrenaline for the next few hours.  I had shrugged it off and was even joking about it that night among friends.

The next morning was a different story.   I woke up in a panic.   I was afraid.   The scene kept running in my mind over and over again.  It would play out in different ways.  Sometimes they’d shoot me, other times I’d fight back, other times I’d run.   I couldn’t control it.

What if they had shot me?  What if Sade was with me?  What if they attack her next?

I found myself laying in the shower, sick to my stomach, vomiting, holding back tears and feeling dizzy.

Sade had me contact a friend of mine who’s a kink friendly therapist and we talked for a bit.   I was relieved to know that this was a normal reaction.

Eventually it subsided and I was fine until I tried to sleep the next night.  I could’t sleep.  I was overwhelmed with guilt.  I know it sounds silly but I felt guilty because I didn’t stop them.  What if they hurt someone in the future?   I felt it was my fault that I had the opportunity to stop them but I didn’t.    Maybe I read too many Spider-man comics as a kid.

I didn’t get any sleep that night.  I managed to doze off for a bit after 7:30AM.

Slowly the nightmares got better, I could start blocking it out of my mind but I was still afraid every time I walked in our neighborhood.  I was suspicious of everyone.

Everyone was a threat in my mind.  Everyone had a gun.  Everyone was dangerous.

Then, something started to help.

Sade would hurt me.

It wasn’t the hardest she’s ever beaten me.  But it was more than enough to put me into subspace pretty deeply, to make me feel more control and more pain than normal.

The mornings after she would hurt me, I would walk through the streets feeling stronger, less suspicious, less afraid….stronger.

The intimacy of the pain and loving touch helped me feel safer.

Now I’m walking home less worried about getting jumped on the street and more eager to get jumped at home.



Overcoming My Fear Of Needle-Play

My first exposure to needles I was drunk and at a party so there was a lot going on to distract me.

The second time I was sober, very very nervous, partially hyperventilating, whimpering and it took a lot of self control to keep from begging her to stop.

The third time went much better.

See here’s the thing. Sade really likes needle play. Ok, she loves needle play. I’ve seen photos of some of her needle play in the past and it scares the crap out of me.

It’s not like I’m afraid of needles when I go to the doctor. It’s just that the the idea of needles being fun is very foreign to me. Whenever I see some of the more hardcore images of needle play, I see what looks like permanent damage.   

My fear may come from an experience I had with cutting once. The dominant made a small pattern on my back (with my consent of course) with a razor blade. I was told the marks would be there for a month or two or three then it would go away. This is true for most people. Well it’s been three years now and I still have a scar from that cutting. So perhaps I associate any kind of breaking of the skin to be something permanent.

Or maybe I’m just a chicken-shit when it comes to needles.

It makes me self-consious as well since I know this is something she really really enjoys and it’s not something I’m good at. I want to be a good needle-bottom (if that’s even a phrase), I want to love it as much as she does. I want it to turn me on as much as it turns her on but I have the opposite reaction. I wan’t to please her in this way but it’s so hard for me to get over that fear.

Well the other night, Sade and a friend were at our place and they were talking about needle play and the next thing I knew I was half-naked, bound on our coffee table with needles penetrating my skin.

But this time it was different. Sade knew how hard it was for me. She would lovingly stroke my skin, gently kiss my lips, giving me words of encouragement telling me what a good job I was doing and even though I was still worried and nervous, she made me much more comfortable.

Even though she was making it much easier, I was still in a headspace that I’d rather not have been in.

She asked me how I was doing and I replied “Fine, but I’ll be better when this is over”.

The second it came out of my mouth I was kicking myself for saying it. Here I was, bound on a table with my amazing owner and her friend playing with me and I was commenting on how I couldn’t wait for it to be over. What an assface thing to say.

I bit my lip and tried to contain myself every time the needle went in.

She kissed me and I would forget all about the needles for a few moments.

She’d stroke my skin and I’d relax a bit more.

Eventually I was able to focus more on the dynamic of what was happening more than what was actually happening. I could feel myself submitting to the needles or more submitting to her through the needles. I was doing it to please her.

Eventually it was over and her friend thanked me and I asked Sade how I had done.

“You did very well, the only way it could have been better is if your cock was hard from the experience”.

Someday, I’m betting it will be.

Here are a few photos of what when down….or…in.



My Biggest Fear


Not really failure, but the fear of failure.

Fear of failure is what’s kept me from doing many things in life.

Multiple failures in small tests kept me from taking the big tests, kept me from going on stage or from taking big risks. I’m brave in many ways but in other ways I’m a big coward.

Up until a few years ago, the only thing I wasn’t afraid of was love. I’ve risked everything a number of times for love.

I went all in a few times. Every time I did I’d lose in the end but always had something left over, except for that last time. That last bet left me with nothing. I’m still paying for it in many ways.

Failure still freezes me in my tracks. Asking someone out still does it. Every now and then I’ll be brave enough to approach a woman but the fear is still there. Even sending an email scares the crap out of me. The fear makes the the part of me a woman would actually be attracted to hide under a rock. Her answer usually justifies my fear.

A friend once expressed interest in playing with me. I told her I was eager to and to let me know when. I haven’t heard anything on the subject since and don’t want to be pushy, so I wait. If I did push it may ruin the opportunity. I try to hint now and then but that’s the extent of it.

It’s why I don’t make the first move. Rejection and failure bring back so many bad memories that I try to forget. Thankfully there are women out there that do make the first move.

Recently I was presented with a service opportunity. I’ve been looking forward to it for along time but a task has been added that I’m probably going to fail despite weeks of preparation. Part of me wants to cancel. To save myself from disappointing someone would canceling be more of a disappointment? If I did fail and my failure resulted in my tears, would that experience be worse than no experience at all?

When I was younger I was bucked off by one of the horses on our farm. I was knocked unconscious and kicked. I never did get back on the horse. I lived on a farm with horses and I never rode one again. It’s not that I’m afraid of horses, I just never trusted one again.

In that respect, horses are like women. It just took getting bucked off more than once to lose my trust in women.

Would I like a relationship one day? I like the idea of it. Maybe someday. It’s a gamble and I just don’t have anything to bet with right now.

I need to learn to ignore my fear or conquer it. Living with it isn’t doing the trick.

Maybe I’m not a masochist after all.

Turns out…I’m An Asshole

I’ve been writing this post for a very very long time.

I keep coming back to it, writing it, rewriting it, getting frustrated and angry with myself and starting over again. Every time I’m no closer to writing something that makes sense because frankly, none of it does.

The thing is, I’m really scared.

There’s someone I really like and she really likes me. She wants more and so do I. The problem is I’m scared shitless.

See, every woman that I’ve ever loved, has left me. Every instance (all vanilla) has been the same, they said they loved me and then all of a sudden the just didn’t anymore. The last time this happened was seven year ago, and that knocked the wind out of me so hard that I didn’t really do anything but work for two years.

Since then I haven’t had anything but casual relationships. There were people I was interested in more than just casual but they didn’t feel the same. Now I meet someone I care about, someone I like and someone who likes me back. That hasn’t happened in seven years.

She’s everything I’ve been looking for and yet, I’m flinching before anything happens. It’s like I’m anticipating the punch before it’s thrown. I can’t help it, I’m stuck.

I have this wall that I didn’t know I had. I didn’t even know I had a wall until I met her.

She’s frustrated and understandably so. She knows all about my fears and why I can’t go forward from here but still that doesn’t help.

I’m frustrated and angry at myself.

How is it possible that I didn’t know I had this block all this time. All this time I’ve been crying, complaining, bitching and moaning about not having an “owner” and when I meet someone who may someday want that, I get scared. Scared that she’ll leave me before we even come close enough. It’s so sad it’s almost funny.

I’m such an asshole. Who does that?

How is it that I’m scared after all this time of looking for her?

She has said that she’s a transitional woman, since I’ve never been able to deal with it before now. That makes me sad because she deserves to be so much more than that, she deserves more than a title of “transitional woman”.

It’s not fair to her for us to continue the casual thing. She deserves more, she deserves to be adored outside of the bedroom as well.

I miss cuddling with her, miss all the dirty stuff and the clean stuff.

Every time we meet up I’m always taking lots of photos of her, she asks why and I always say the same thing, “I just like looking at you” and I do. The other reason is because I know someday I won’t be able to see her anymore, even as just a friend and I want to keep the memories and images of being with her for the rest of my life.

So now that I know I have this wall, how do I get over it?

Seven years.

She’s the first person I’ve been close to in seven years. I’ve shown more of myself to her than anyone else and still I can’t take my wall down.

It hurts me to know I’m not ready yet. All this time I thought I was.

Seven years.

It may take another seven years to find someone who’s even close to her.

Here all I want is to give her pleasure and I’m causing her frustration. Vanilla guys aren’t this much work. I’m not exactly the poster-boy for why women should date submissive men.

Seven Years and I didn’t even know.

How in the hell didn’t I know this about myself.