Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Review: Portable St. Andrew's Cross

I attended a few street fairs in San Francisco and Los Angeles, before I finally realized what was right in front of me.  There is a wonderful design for a metal, tubular and portable Saint Andrew's Cross that is rock-solid, but collapses into a smaller collection of parts:

To give an idea of the size, I'm six foot five.
There is a chain that tightly connects the three legs, 
but I hadn't installed it before photographing.

This is what it looks like, set up in a bar, 
decorated with 600 lights, powered by three "D"-cell batteries.
It takes two slaves to set it up. 
I don't have the patience to get the lights untangled. 

These parts can all fit into a large-sized, hard-shell golf-club travel case with wheels.  I bought mine off of Craigslist for forty bucks, instead of full price elsewhere.

I can't install a permanent dungeon into my home, no matter how much I would like to.  However, modern designs for spanking benches, fuck benches, rim-chairs, portable slings and the like allow me to store these items away in a closet or the garage while not in use. It's nice to finally add a truly portable St. Andrew's Cross to the collection!

This is the center core piece that everything else attaches to. The entire assemblage is quite light in weight (compared to the extra-tall sling frame in my collection), though reassuringly stable and strong. Putting it together requires no tools.  It's elegantly engineered.

The back side.  Again, there is a nice chain that connects the three legs at the bottom, but is not shown here.

Pleasantly in use: The slave is 6'1", to give an idea of its use during the cross's break-in ceremony! The slave is a real thrasher, and there was never a moment of instability. I could never say that about the huge, heavy wooden Saint Andrew's Cross in my shed, which never gets used because it is worryingly unstable.

This young man is 5'9", and I think that he will need longer ankle-restraint chains than a taller man.

He disagrees!  He was determined to make it work.

Turns out, he was right!


Send an email to macdaddydesigns @gmail.com and order from Brian.  He sells the crosses for $299, plus $50 for shipping & handling, in whatever color you want.  I chose gunmetal gray.

The four-foot-by-one-foot-square box was awkward for one person to carry when it arrived, but very easy for two.

It didn't come with assembly instructions, but the only part that we got wrong at first, was the chain that attaches at the BOTTOM of the legs.  The parts just slide together in an obvious way, otherwise

I am very pleased, and can't wait to take it to play-parties in town, and other public events.

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

New Flogging Videos and Pictures Posted

I was invited to do a flogging performance at the Faultline Bar in Los Angeles on January 23, 2016.  I asked a buddy to video-capture some of the goings-on. The occasion was the monthly fund-raiser for the Tom of Finland Foundation, hosted by, among others, Marc Randell Bellenger.

Photos with text saying "TOM's Garage!" are by Motorboot Photography:

My handsome play-partner is the well-known performer Christian Mitchell.  

He is a pleasure to play with, and brilliantly creative!  I was ably assisted by my good friend Sir Gerald.  We were the tallest men in the bar, towering over poor, helpless Christian!

Marc, our host for the event.

Plain, Simple Flogging

I tend to use my very favorite flogger for ninety percent of my flogging needs.  It's the Mister Thuddy from FlogMeBaby.com, and it's currently selling for 45 bucks.  I have owned dozens.  Why so many?  Because I teach Tops.  I will loan a flogger to a new Dom, and teach them to use it, and then I watch to see what happens.

If they go forth and start thrilling the public with their practiced skills, I will create an impromptu ceremony, praising them publicly, and presenting them with the flogger.  As a Tribal Elder, I see it as a crucial part of supporting a healthy Tribe. Generations of happy bottoms will thank me, long after I'm dead!

Here's my video of the Mr. Thuddy, in use at this event.

If I had to give away all but one toy, this is the one that I would keep.  

If you are looking for something shorter (for smaller Doms), I strongly recommend the Napoleon.

Florentine Flogging

I always like to include some Florentine flogging (using two at once). It's a real crowd-pleaser.
Here is the video that shows them flying around, during this event.


I just HAD to include some spanking, too - With a pretty ass like that, can you blame me?

Dragon's Tongues

  Here is a clearer view.  They are in between a flogger and a single-tail whip in intensity.
I also (briefly) used a single-tail whip, but it was hell to aim properly in that dark bar.  
So, we gave up fast, for safety's sake..

Flame Whip

Fiber-optic, digital "Flame Whip" (that's just my nickname - they are actually called "Space Whips"). I only used one, because the other one is in repair - the digital circuit-board malfunctioned, and it is being replaced for free.

Here is the video, showing it in use.

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Great Price For A Pair Of Floggers!

Item #PL-01A - The Red Menace II.

I asked Steve about the Red Menace items that are on sale until the end of 2015, and he says that, compared to the standard “Mister Thuddy” flogger that I’m always raving about, "It's probably about the same length, but a bit lighter. They are around 10-12 ounces each, total weight. The tails are suede.”

This means that they would be a very good choice to buy, two at one time, for the purpose of Florentine Flogging. Until December 31, they cost THIRTY BUCKS FOR TWO OF THEM!


 I bought a pair, they arrived today, and I could not be more pleased. Perfect weight, size and balance for Florentine flogging. I plan to use them a LOT. I have seen floggers of equivalent quality and features for as much as $180 (EACH!) elsewhere.

Here is the page for learning Florentine flogging (if you don't live in San Diego, in which case you WANT to take Travis' class!)

Friday, December 25, 2015

Coming Out, Forty Years Ago Today

I was walking with my niece, and she asked me how I came out to my family.  I suddenly realized that the story that I was about to tell her, happened exactly forty years ago, on Christmas day, 1975:

This photo was taken a month or so before the fateful day.
I lived in a matriarchy, with no support from my older brothers, or my father.
Yes, Navy boys could have facial hair back then.

After twelve years of Catholic school, I was done with going along with everybody's expectation of what a good Catholic boy meant.  I had spent all of high school with a girlfriend, and yes, we had had sex, but I had to fantasize about my male friends in order to go through with it.

I had been in the Navy for a year and a half or so, by this time.  I had been the youngest male in my generation, and my mom had been trying her hardest to make me a "Momma's boy".  I was tired of it, and I needed to cut the apron strings.  I achieved that goal.

I showed up on the back of my boyfriend's motorcycle, with both of us in full leather.  We walked in, and I handed my mom her present, saying "Merry Christmas, Mom - This is my boyfriend Mark, and he will be sleeping with me tonight"  After a few minutes of stony, shocked silence, my mom blew up, disowned me, and ejected us from the house.

Try to understand - I had no better ideas on how to come out.  My role-models as a gay man were Charles Nelson Reilly, Paul Lynde and Liberace.  In other words, freaks, pansies and objects of ridicule, as far as society was concerned.  Elton John would take another year to come out, after I did. I was the VERY FIRST openly gay person in my entire family's genetic history.  This was unknown territory.

Also, I was an angry punk in those days - I had attempted suicide twice (the world doesn't allow for gay Catholic boys), and I had recently nearly died from a drug overdose.  It shocked me into finally seeing a (luckily, gay) Navy psychiatrist, and he helped me to quit fighting my nature. I spent the last 2-1/2 years of my enlistment being VERY OPENLY GAY. Back before Reagan came in, bringing the Moral Majority with him, we were the new Civil Rights movement, and nobody dared to hassle me.

I quit having anything to do with anyone in my family, and I spent a few years diving deep into the gay culture of the 1970's.  I pigged-out, and did my best to give up on ever seeing my family again.  However, right around the time that so many of my beloved friends, lovers and mentors died, my sisters sought me out.  They made it clear that they loved me, and wanted me in their lives.

My family was deeply dysfunctional, and I never had any relationship with my much-older brothers that was losable in the first place.  Same with my father.  I never regained any kind of friendly relationship with my mom, who died fourteen years later, STILL opening every conversation with "You DO know that you're going to hell, right?"

From the perspective of four decades further along, I can tell you that it turned out a lot better than I ever expected, back then. I get together with my sisters twice every year, and we celebrate family with our loved ones around us.  Somehow, I became the family patriarch... the most-loved uncle, and the grandpa-substitute for the youngsters whose own grandpas don't care for them.

I've had two sisters and a niece come out in the last few decades, and I like to think that my own path made it easier for them.  I have no regrets.  If I had to do it all over again, I would.  The experience helped me to become the man that I am.

Thursday, December 17, 2015

New FLOGGER Recommendation For Shorter Folks!

This article is part of my Mentoring for Tops/Sirs/Doms/Masters curriculum.

My buddy Steve at FlogMeBaby.com has sent me a sample of a new style of flogger, and I can honestly say that I am thrilled.  THRILLED!

Click here, and scroll 3/4 of the way down.  It’s item number MMT-01, costs $29.95, and it is named “The Napoleon", though “THE MINI-DOM’S SECRET WEAPON” is my own preferred name for it!

For decades, I have owned probably a total of a hundred or so floggers, and most of them have been long, heavy floggers, which are great for ME, because I’m super-tall ("five foot seventeen, when standing fully erect").  I'm astonished that I've never seen this exact style before, in 38 years of throwing floggers around.

My reasons for enjoying the new, shorter and THUDDY flogger are:

- Body kinematics - The longer floggers are fine for those of us with orangutan arms, but people with shorter forearm bones can’t match up to the longer tails comfortably, long-term. I’m sure that I wouldn’t like a 4-1/2-foot flogger, if that was my only choice!

- Chest flogging - I like a shorter set of tails for beating the chest area, preferably while a third party HOLDS the bottom.  The shorter tails take the stress out of hitting the face accidentally, from the usual arms-length.  Unfortunately, most shorter floggers are CRAP.  Flimsy, or sting-y, or even just made to look STYLISH to look impressive, but useless otherwise… Inappropriate for the job. THUD is what is needed on the marketplace in this size-class, not more damn sting.  This new one is perfection itself, so far.

- Fashion - I can arrive stylishly decorated with the longer floggers hooked to my belt, because I am tall.  Not everybody can do that, without dragging the tails along the ground.  A LOT of shorter Doms will like this one.

- Quality - The handle is using the same weave-pattern and leather-quality as my $350 custom-built “Olde Guarde” flogger, for less than 12 percent of the cost.

Just testing it upon my palm, I REALLY like it.  I'm currently lining-up feedback from some shorter Doms, who will help me to evaluate it from their perspective. I will add it below as time goes by.

This looks like a whole new market-segment that has been crying out for a change!

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Grieving on My 60th Birthday

On December 6th, 2015, I am turning 60.  And, I keep on crying.

I miss my brothers from decades ago, who died of AIDS, and who will forever be young, slender and handsome in my memories.  When the server asks me to make a "birthday wish" as he brings me a dessert with a lit candle upon it, I wish that I could simply REMEMBER those men's names.  And I cry.

I wish that I could see them with me, ogling the server's cute ass; they should be gray-bearded, with Daddy bellies, bad hearing and eyesight, and having health issues related to old age. They never got the chance.  I did, and I'm feeling a big old load of Survivor's Guilt.  It's not rational, but it's ever-present.

I've done a couple of hundred hour's worth of therapy, self-help workshops and the like, trying to deal with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but nobody has been able to help me grieve for a GENERATION.  It feels like one lifetime is not enough to deal with such pain.

Following my sweet and patient husband's advice, I want to tell a story about a glorious gay-male subculture that existed for a brief time, and then died.  This is a story that I have never told before:

This is what I looked like, back then.  
I am with my nephew, who I raised as my son.
Yes, even in my early twenties, I was a "Daddy"! 

Some of you may be familiar with the documentary called "Paris Is Burning," which tells the story of a New York subculture of gay men and transgender women.  They created an artistic form of dance called "vogueing", which Madonna saw and popularized 25 years ago. Their story is rich and valuable, and I'm very glad that it was documented on film.

My version of that story has existed only in my memories, until now, since I am the only survivor of a similar subculture that existed in San Diego, back in the late 1970's. It didn't have a name, and it wasn't formalized.  Madonna never made a video popularizing our special tribe, but oh, how I wish that she had.

There were about forty of us, at our peak - Young gay men, most of us with zero support from our genetic families, having been disowned for being gay.  We lived in "Boy's Town" (Hillcrest, in San Diego), because the gay ghetto supplied us with a self-protective environment.  We found each other on the dance-floors at the many local discotheques.

We gathered together, based upon raw, native talent. We all acted as scouts, bringing in new men who showed something "extra" on the dance floor, in the form of special, creative moves.  As our group grew, we would arrive at a disco and TAKE OVER. We would encourage each other to take greater risks with our creativity, in order to impress our peers, and to "win" the evening's competition.

These were men with large amounts of a special ability, in the form of bodily–kinesthetic intelligence. In my own case, I know over 400 forms of dance, though I have never taken a formal class. I simply have a rare, special talent for watching somebody dance for about a minute (at most), and then I can do that dance, perfectly, and then extrapolate new moves to go along with it.

I can hear a specific rhythm, and then match that rhythm with free-form dance that changes wildly every few seconds, and never repeats. Those 400 or so forms of dance are still in me, decades later. They are in my arsenal. I never fail to impress the hell out of young people at wedding receptions.

Imagine my joy at finding dozens of brothers who shared my special superpower, while we were so young and energetic.  We'd gather together several times a week, and do our best to encourage each other to create the most exciting new moves and dance-forms.  Words can't convey how deeply satisfying it was to earn the respect of these superbly talented men.

The closest equivalent to our subculture can be seen in the recent Emerald City scene in the middle of "The Wiz Live!" that was broadcast on NBC in December 2015. The choreographer did NOT make up those moves - they are all carefully gathered from historically-documented "vogue" subculture.

Now, imagine forty of us, wildly working just as hard to stand out, in a crowd of ultra-proficient dancers.  Try to imagine the reactions of the crowd around us, who had arrived specifically to appreciate our thoroughly entertaining crew.

Back in the days when Saturday Night Fever was new and in the theaters, my Navy buddies would rave about the movie, saying "You've never seen dancing so good!"  So, I went, and spent the whole movie sneering at the contrived and stiff choreography. I was hanging-out with men who each had more raw, wild talent than that entire dance crew in the movie, combined.

Up to that point, I had been a freak in my Catholic family... The very first openly-gay person in my entire family history, and it was NOT a good time to come out, but I knew that I had to, because my idol Harvey Milk had told me so. It was rough, but I have no regrets.

This was a peak time in my young life - I had found my TRIBE!  We were on the same rocket-ship to the stars, together.

Then, the men around me started to sicken, go downhill fast, and then die. My dance-brothers would show me their dark-brown lesions, or the thrush in their throats. They would suddenly disappear, to move back to Iowa or Nebraska, to die with their families.  Or, they would die in local hospitals, where nobody was allowed anywhere near them.  I have documented more about this time, elsewhere:

Laying My Ghosts to Rest, After Far Too Long:

Part One and Two: Fun Stuff, and In the Midst of the Holocaust
Part Four: Eric's Story
Part Five: Catharsis At Last

So, where does this leave me, after decades of grief, loss and Survivor's Guilt? I manage pretty well, most days.  Like so many gay men of my age and experience, I'm emotionally damaged, and always will be.  On the good side, it has caused me to be empathetic to an extraordinary level. I also cry multiple times a week, and it is always cleansing, but sometimes, it is embarrassing. I have to be okay with that.

I still dance, though I'm pretty creaky, and I don't have that youthful stamina any more.  However, when I hit my groove, and the old feelings come back, I am MANY men dancing, all in one.  I hold my long-lost brothers in my heart, and honor them by dancing FOR them, since they can't dance any more.

I hope to see you on the dance-floor!

Feedback from Sir Ian:

Dear Papa Tony,

I just read your post in FMSD about grieving your 60th and I saw something online that I wanted you to see as well, if you have not yet. Can you can make out a dancing man on the part of this bowl that is facing you?

By the time men get to our age,  most, maybe all, men have had their perfection, youth, dreams and relationships profoundly affected by pain, loss, ill health, missed opportunity and a whole truckload of unfairness.

But for the survivors, our cracks and imperfections are filled with gold.
Glistening for all to see, so we don’t kid anybody, least of all ourselves.
Softer than steel because we are not superhuman and have vulnerabilities to balance our developing wisdom.
And as in kintsukuroi, standing tall in our new maturing beauty, impossible to appreciate as beauty by a child who will only see the damage, but an adult celebration of the result of the complex natural forces of life.

And what of the men who did not survive? If those men who you lost so many years ago could see you now, what you have done repairing your cracks with gold - if they could see what you have done with your community, what they never got a chance to do, even if they had wanted to, I am sure they would deeply thank you and consider your mentorship, love and enthusiasm a perfect way to honor them. No golden repair needed there, my friend.



Feedback from James Xavier:

Nice piece Anthony HUGS!!

I didn't come out until 2014 at the age of 51 after 34yrs of marriage. I was fortunate in some ways that I didn't come out in the mid 1970's.

The way I enjoy sex with multiple partners I would have never survived.

One of the difficult aspects of being closeted during the epidemic was going to so many gay men's funerals as a Hetero and listening to the whispers about how they died of "the AIDS" and knowing I would have been one of them. Unlike most of the people in attendance I understood what AIDS was and how it spread.

I went to 11 funerals in the late 80's but 6 were made more tragic by the fact they were 3 couples, all Masc, muscled Latin men I worked with. The type I enjoy dating today, most of our coworkers didn't even know they were gay until they got sick.

When I came out I did feel some sense of guilt for two reasons. One I came out at a time when it was far less dangerous socially and two I came out when PrEP was available.

I got over the guilt about coming out late in life after realizing how much I suffered in the closet for so long. I was attracted to females and being gay didn't seem like an option back then so I truly believed I could stay Hetero.

As for item two, coming out when HIV was not only survivable but also preventable, I accepted that I cannot bring any of the wonderful gay men back and instead have become an advocate for PrEP.

Gay people have a unique ability to enjoy life free from the oppressive mostly religious based societal rules and part of that enjoyment comes from embracing sex in many forms.

So I work to allow us to reclaim the sexual freedom we knew back then and that is how I deal with my struggle for those who are no longer here.

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Giving Permission, as a Guiding Philosophy

This article is part of my Mentoring for Tops/Sirs/Doms/Masters curriculum.

UPDATE:  Here is the audio from the follow-up discussion.

Decades ago, I figured something out, and it has guided me well as a leader, and a Sir:
People generally don't give themselves permission to have a good time.  They wait for someone else to ring the bell, and to get the party started.
I can't claim to be like everybody else.  I'm extroverted, perceptive and highly intuitive.  This may or may not describe you.  However, I'm going to assume that you share my desire to guide people into doing what they want, with all of their hearts.

This applies to me as a community leader, and also as a Sir to submissives.  It also works very nicely in the general public.  I am going to use a series of "parables" (stories with a moral center) and instructional text to illustrate what I am attempting to teach:

1. Skating in the 1970's

Back in the Xanadu era, roller-skating was BIG.  Here in San Diego, the roads in Balboa Park were divided down the middle: Cars on one side, roller-skaters on the other.  My older boyfriend and I were skating in the park one summer evening, and we heard dance-music coming from up ahead.

We saw about 400 people standing in a crowd, all facing inward.  Somebody had set up an enormous boom-box (it was new technology back then, and very expensive) and was playing really nice disco music.  In the center of the crowd were about 100 people dancing joyfully.  Everybody else was looking on, yearning to be invited to join in.

I saw this, and yelled out "EVERYBODY, LET'S DANCE!" and the crowd instantly started dancing. ALL of them.

Here is the obvious point:

In many of life's circumstances, nobody would have gotten the party started, and those folks would have missed-out on a peak life experience.  My ability to see the need, my desire to cause a breakthrough opportunity, and then my impulse to act upon it, made a pleasurable difference in those people's lives.

If that describes you (when you are at your best), then please read on.

2. Sex with Colt Models, Part One

This section does not cover the way that I think nowadays, as I enter old age.
It is included to explain how I started developing the philosophy, as a young man.

Back in the 1970's, the absolute ultimate in male erotica came from Colt Studios, at least in the opinion of MY leathermen's crowd. Colt was selling a lot of calendars, jerk-off books, videos, photos and camera slides, back in the days before home video and the Internet.

I used to work out my muscles a lot, as a young man.  I was going to the Bodybuilders Gym six days a week in Silverlake California, by West Hollywood.  I developed a technique for having sex with Colt models that NEVER failed.  
This next part is going to sound like I am bragging.  That is not my intention.  My goal is to illustrate the larger point.
The gym was just down the road from one of Colt Studios' photography studios.  There was an agreement between the two businesses that the models would come down to the gym and get a good "pump" before being photographed.  That fit in nicely with MY plans, as well.  :-)

I'd see a handsome new face on a muscular body, early in the day, and I'd stare at him.  He'd catch my eye, look down, and then look at me again, to find me still staring.  I'd jerk my chin upwards at him, and then ignore him for a while.  He'd start his workout, and I would continue mine, keeping an eye on him in the wall-mirrors.  

As soon as I'd see him sitting upon the Preacher Curl machine, I'd walk up behind me so that he could only see me in the mirror.  I'd say "How much longer do you have on your workout?"  He'd reply something like "Maybe twenty minutes".  I'd say "Let me know when you are done," and then would just walk away.

Sure enough, every time, there'd be a tongue-tied man at my elbow twenty minutes later, and I'd say "I've got another five minutes - why don't you head into the steam room, and I will join you there."  He'd pause, and I would say "Go ahead - It's okay", and he'd go.  Every time.

After five minutes, I would join him in the steam room.  He'd be nervous, shy and unsure of himself, because underneath the intimidatingly hyper-masculine externals, there'd be a shy guy who had no idea how to deal with the situation. However, he'd be deeply intrigued.

I'd start playing with him, and talking filthy, and he'd be getting more and more excited.  At the same time, I could tell that he was nervous.  His face was on all of the magazine covers and calendars, and he didn't want anybody to walk in, and witness him being a little slut-boy-bottom.

I'd say "I can tell that you are nervous.  That's okay - I know what to do to fix it.  Put on JUST your shorts, nothing else.  Head on upstairs.  The bathroom at the end of the hall has a door that locks, and the fan comes on really loud when you turn the light on."

Now, let's pause a moment to picture the scenario… Imagine any one of the men in the pictures above, wearing nothing but wet, nylon gym-shorts, trying to hide a pardon, and trying to nonchalantly SNEAK past a bunch of cock-eyed queens in a packed gay gym.  Nonetheless, he'd be in a state of excited anticipation, and nothing was going to stop him.

I'd enter the bathroom shortly after him, and make a big show of locking the door.  I'd firmly shove him up against the wall as the fan roared, and would get him more and more stimulated.  He'd be rock-hard and eager.  Then, I'd say "Turn Around."

He'd say "What?"  

This happened EXACTLY the same way, with eighteen different men over the course of a couple of years. Every time.  

I'd say "You heard me - Turn around".  Just by the grace of God, I'd happen to have a small container of lube with me.  Imagine that.  I'd play with his butt, stimulating his prostate with my thumb.  He'd get close to cumming, and I'd tell him to leave his dick alone for a moment.  I was "edging" him, getting him more and more excited.

When I could tell that he was ready, I'd stand up and say "Now, back up to me", and at that point, he wasn't saying "What?" - he was making whimpering and other greedy noises.  Back then, my party trick was to always time things, so that we would always cum at the same time as I fucked him.

We'd clean off afterward, thank each other, and part ways.

3. Sex with Colt Models, Part Two

After a while, word got out about me. Muscular men tend to hang out in herds, and I'd see them at the gym on a Monday morning, clustering together, and checking me out from across the room.  They'd individually start flirting with me, metaphorically dropping their soap, and their handkerchiefs.

Back in those days of the late 1970's, my older boyfriend and I had a sling-room in our home.  My boyfriend was the proverbial "Good Time That Was Had By All".  Every weekend, we'd host a big fuck/fist/kink party.  By the end of the weekend, I'd be DRAINED.  The very last thing that I wanted was sex.

So, I'd look at all of these highly-eager men, and I'd sigh.  I'd go up to the first man and say "See the clock?  At 9:45, be in the locker room".  Then, I'd go up the next man, and say the same thing, and so on.  I'd arrive in the locker-room (intentionally one minute late), to find six or seven baffled men looking at each other.

I'd say "Everybody strip down, and head into the steam-room", and they would all shuck clothes as fast as they could. They would crowd into that small space, and I'd point at one of them, and say "YOU!  You are the Designated Target for today."  I'd point at another man: "You!  Suck his cock."  "You!  Play with his ass."  "You!  Play with his nipples."  and so forth...

Once they were swarming all over the lucky and very happy Designated Target, I'd say "My work here is done!" and then I'd leave.

My point:

By engaging in Permission Giving behavior, I'm causing "explosions of joy" that would never have occurred, in that time, in that place, and in that way, otherwise.

The secret is to tell folks to do what they want the MOST to do, but usually, they can't get over their inhibitions first.  My gentle nudges are what shove 'em over the edge.  Why gentle?  Because there is a huge difference between Force, and Strength. You will notice that I did not bark abusively at them, bully them, or assume that they would follow orders that were not to their advantage or pleasure.

NOBODY wants a Sir to assume that his orders will be followed, before having some form of credibility first.  We've all heard of the Top who walks up to a stranger in a bar and yells "Slave!  Drop to your knees!"  At that point, the vast majority of men or women will laugh and walk away, even if he is otherwise attractive.  His words are writing checks that his credibility can't cash. He hasn't learned the distinction between being bossy, and being a leader.

Based upon what I have said in my story up to this point, what is the difference between me and that other guy?  I am calm, sensitive to the man or woman in front of me, and gauging their reactions in a pleasant way. I'm playful, and I'm not hiding my feelings.  Stoic isn't attractive to most folks.  I'm being TRUE to my feelings, from moment to moment, and showing how I am having fun with it.  This establishes trust, and credibility.

I used my observations of the surrounding circumstances to be able to tell when it was time to act, so that everybody (including me) had the most fun.  Our culture devalues intuition, because not everybody has it in large amounts.  We are supposed to elevate logic above all.  However, intuition is like a muscle.  The more that you trust your gut, the better that you get at succeeding.

I want you to succeed.

4. Touch = Credibility (most times)

Imagine some stranger coming up to you without any howdy-do. He starts pawing at you sexually, and without any warning. Been there.

Now, imagine some guy "talking at" you, from a distance, with his arms crossed, and giving no sign of emotion or empathy.  This is also familiar.

Those two extreme examples are what we have to balance between in the middle, shifting from moment to moment. Our goal is to connect with others in an effective way, where everyone wins, joyfully.  I'm going to use the word "joy," one more time.  That's the best goal, so please keep it in mind.

I play with new people in public spaces as a kinky man and mentor, very regularly (dozens of times per month, lately).  My specialty is newbies.  When I am seeking to connect with somebody for the first time, I use touch as my main form of communication.  My spoken words add value, too, but when I touch the shy, new and unsure new playmate, I say so much more, and on a deeper, instinctive  level.

I use NON-sexual touch, when I am establishing credibility - I may touch their shoulder, or their hand, or on their lower back.  If they are starting to relax more, I may use the "Reassuring Dad" touch - the gentle, affectionate hand on the back of the neck that says "I am here to take care of you".

I'm being the opposite of the "all hands and glands" approach.  I am patient, respectful, and attentive.  I am using keen observational skills to reassure them on many levels that the scary Sir is going to help them to reach their next level, and to thank me for it afterward.

As I explain elsewhere, words aren't enough.  Otherwise, we could simply text-message our desires at each other, and be done with that.  The goal when playing with somebody new is to feed the parts of their brain that need reassurance, seduction and relaxation.  That shy new playmate WANTS to be seduced.  We are just providing the Enzyme Effect:

Imagine a 55-gallon drum of clean, fresh milk.  You drop in a tiny speck of enzyme, and a few hours later, you have a whole bunch of cottage cheese.  The enzyme doesn't provide the energy for such a massive transformation. The MILK does.  The enzyme "gives it permission" to shift into this new phase.

This is true of human interactions, as well.  If we are conscious of our powers as permission-givers, then we can cause massive transformations in how the people around us experience life.

When I am playing with somebody for the first time, I am being transparent as water, from moment to moment.  I am not hiding my feelings at all.  The shy, new playmate's Bullshit Detectors are going at full crank, and I'm consciously aware of it.  So, I don't offer any conflicting information. My calmness and self-assurance provide signals that increase trust.  I am consciously, and continuously, developing credibility.

Obviously, the previous paragraphs apply to the beginning of the play.  Once trust has been established, then the intensity and the power-flow will ramp way up.  Words will give way to actions. However, you can't skip any steps, if you plan to be the kind of Dom/Top/Sir that excites, pleases and SUCCEEDS, every time.

5. Permission-Giving as a Way of Life

I've been working with these concepts for almost forty years. I make no guarantee that they will work for everybody.  Some folks might not have the right perceptive abilities that allow for establishing commonality and trust.  They would need different advice than I could provide.

My goal in kinky play is to create "extreme intimacy." This requires focus, sensitivity, and caring.  If you've stuck with me so far, you're very likely to be exactly the sort of person who needs to hear this.

I have been very successful as a family-member, as a father, as a community leader, as a Neighborhood Watch Block Captain, and as a computer consultant.  At all points, I have been creating circumstances that lead to exciting breakthroughs, for myself and the folks around me.  I am well-loved and respected, and when I arrive, heads turn to keep an eye on me.  Everybody's waiting to see what new, magical possibilities will show up.

However, I'm getting old, and tired.  Physically, I can keep up, but mentally, I struggle.  So, my hope in sharing this information is that more and more younger folks will take up the challenge, and create "happiness explosions" for decades to come!