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In my last few chapters, I was covering "Funny and Fun" topics. I have lots and lots more of those, but for now, I want to cover some of the most philosophically meaningful stories from my life. When I mentor people, these are the stories that I always include. Some of them are going to sound like bragging stories, and that's always possible, but it's not my intent here.
I want to explain why I have been able to do so MUCH in my life that created magical, lasting memories for tens of thousands of people over the decades. 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. These concepts work just as well with one person, a small group, or a large group.
This applies to me as a community leader, and also as a Sir to submissives. These concepts work just as well with one person, a small group, or a large group.
Giving Permission As A Guiding Philosophy
Here is my premise, in short form: Most people do not give themselves permission to have a good time. They wait for others to ring the bell and say "It's time!" Once we understand this, the world opens up to us, and to others who we care about.
I have extra-big perceptions about people. It would be very easy for me to take advantage of people. Instead, I chose to use my powers for good, and not for evil, about forty years ago. After many years of therapy, I think that I understand why.
I have spoken before about my abusive childhood. At some point, I made an unconscious decision… If things were going to be peaceful, predictable and end well for everybody involved, then I was the most qualified to make that happen. For the most part, that decision has worked out pretty well.
I make mention about giving OTHERS permission to have a great time, but this concept works the same for ourselves…
The Two Oranges
In the late 1970’s, I used to hang out all summer with about eighty men, at the gay end of Black’s Beach. Black’s is still the largest nude beach on the West Coast. Skin cancer? Never came up as a topic, forty years ago.
One day, everybody was scattered on their blankets, never more than twenty feet apart. Men would mix and mingle, lay out and burn for a while. The goal was to achieve a “healthy tan.”
One day, an incredibly beautiful, shirtless man arrived, alone. On every blanket within eyeshot, every man was doing his best meerkat imitation.
The new guy was very handsome and well-built, but he looked like a farm-hand accustomed to tossing bales of hay. He didn’t have the currently popular “Gym Bunny” build.
He laid out his blanket, stripped down naked, and started applying suntan lotion. The men on every other blanket were buzzing excitedly, talking about the new guy, but nobody doing anything about it.
I sat there agonized. I knew beyond all doubt that he was way out of my league. Somebody like that would have no interest in the likes of me. Blah blah blah. My inner voice was giving me a full workout.
That inner voice has a job. Its job is to flatten my life, so that I avoid risk. Failure is possible. Maybe even probable. The problem is, avoiding risk can mean that I miss out on joyful, memorable life experiences, too. The only person who has a flattened life is a dead person.
Screw probability. I am dedicated to possibility.
I said to myself “If I don’t do anything about this right now, I will remember this day sadly when I am eighty years old.”
So I stood up, grabbed a couple of oranges, and walked over to the handsome stranger’s blanket. He saw me coming up, so he was ready when I said “Here ya go!” and tossed him one of the oranges.
I asked this pale Midwestern beauty what brought him here, and asked for his name. Keith was in town for a day or so, and had heard of Black’s. He had been feeling shy, and way out of his element. He was grateful for my friendly company.
I offered to give him the Grand Tour. We started with some affectionate contact.
I offered to apply lotion to his back, and it all progressed from there. Butt, thighs and everywhere else. The Meerkat crowd watched every move.
Back in those days, it was trendy to bring tractor tire inner tubes to the beach. They are huge flotation devices, but very, very hard to inflate using your lungs. I had a small bicycle pump.
I invited Keith to help me push the inner tube out beyond the waves. Once we were on smoother water, I fucked him on top of the tube. Then, we did it again.
After we came back to his blanket, I fucked him one more time. This is tricky. Sand gets EVERYWHERE. After relaxing, drowsing and caressing for a while, I brought him up into the bushes at the base of the cliffs. This was a notorious place to have sex with strangers.
After discussing it beforehand, he shyly told me which of the cruising men he found attractive. I bent him over a tree, and invited each one of those men to fuck his pretty ass. He was deliriously happy.
At the end of the day, we parted ways with hugs and affection, and he took off for Arkansas. I’m not eighty years old yet, but I know that I won’t have any regrets about that glorious day.
I gave Keith permission to be true to his fantasies. I gave myself permission to let go of my own insecurities. I gave those horny men permission to unload into a glorious man. If I hadn’t been there, and if I hadn’t stepped into my courage, it is likely that none of the fun would have happened.
Roller Skating in the Park
Decades ago, during the days of Xanadu, roller-skating was trendy. Every road in Balboa Park was divided down the middle with asphalt barriers. Cars went on one side, and thousands of skaters went on the other.
David and I were out skating in the park at sundown one day. We approached a large parking lot that contained around 400 people in a large oval-shaped crowd, facing inward.
Somebody had brought a big, bulky boom-box. The type that contains a dozen big, fat batteries. Those cassette-players were super cool, and this one was blasting out superb dance music.
I slowly moved toward the center of the crowd, and found about a hundred folks dancing to the music, and the other 300 folks were avidly watching.
I was JUST about to join the dancers, but I stopped myself. I looked around me and yelled out “It’s time for EVERYBODY to dance!”
So, everybody did.
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 memorably good time. 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.
Colt Models
In the 1970’s, gay porn went in two distinct directions:
- Young, smooth and fit young twinky-boys, and
- Colt models.
Colt’s hypermasculine ideal males had muscles, rugged, handsome faces and perfect asses and cocks. Porn was in the form of calendars and magazines. Porn movies that you could take home didn’t exist, unless you had a film-projector.
Gay-owned gyms were finally available after years of hetero repression. Straight-owned gyms were emptying out, as men were eagerly joining friendly gyms that catered to our crowd. No more inane rules designed to keep us apart and in the closet.
For a short time, David and I lived in Los Feliz, above Silverlake, above North Hollywood. I was going to the local community college, and working out six days a week.
The gym that I attended decades ago is still there. It’s called Bodybuilders, and it was very, very gay.
I remember a rather obviously heterosexual male being given a tour of the facilities. He was liking the gym, but he had some concerns. He asked the attendant “Uh, I understand that this gym caters to, uhhh, a specific clientele.“
The staff member pretended not to understand, saying “Yes, we do cater to men.” Not giving up, the prospective client said “C’mon... you know what I mean!”
The employee finally gave up and said “Yes, about sixty percent of our members are gay.” From across the gym, I chimed in, saying “SOME of us however, are a HUNDRED percent gay!”
Oh, Yeah. I Was Talking About Colt Models.
Back in the 1970’s, Bodybuilders Gym had an agreement with Colt Studios, which had a photography studio down the street. Their models could show up at the gym to pump up their muscles before a photo session.
I would be there, laying in wait, and ready to pounce.
The following scenario happened a dozen or so times, in the exact same way:
I’d be working out, and I would see this week’s Colt model arrive. He’d see me staring at him from across the gym. He’d look down, then look up, and see me still staring. I’d lift my chin, drop it down, and then ignore him for a while as he began his workout.
I’d wait for him to sit at the Preacher Curl bench. It was bolted to the floor, and faced the mirror. As soon as he’d start working his biceps, I’d stand directly behind him, so that he could only see me in the mirror.
I’d say “How much longer will you be working out?” He’d say something like “Twenty minutes.” I’d say “Let me know when you’re done.” Then, I’d go back to my workout.
Twenty minutes later, there would be a tongue-tied and confused (but horny) man at my elbow. I’d say “Are you done?” and he’d say “Yes.” I’d say “I’ve got another five minutes to go - why don’t you head for the steam room, and I will join you there.”
Even if my original intent was for an additional hour and a half of working out, the clock was now reset to five minutes.
After five minutes, I’d head into the steam room, naked. I’d sit across from him, our legs touching. I’d start gently rubbing his nipple while talking dirty. My cock would go thump-thump-thump as it got harder.
As horny as he would be, this was still a man whose face was on a lot of magazine covers and calendars. This made him reluctant to have gossipy men tell stories about his public behavior.
I could tell when he’d start getting nervous, checking the glass window of the steam room repeatedly. I’d say “I know that you are nervous. I have the perfect answer.” He’d say “What’s that?”
I’d say “Upstairs, there are two bathrooms. The one at the far end of the hall has a door that locks, and a fan that comes on really loudly. I want you to wear just your gym shorts. Nothing else. Head on up there, and I will join you shortly.”
Now, be aware that I had set up the following situation as soon as I joined the gym. That bathroom door was warped, and it wouldn’t close in a satisfying way. So, I packed a wood-shaving tool into my gym bag, and made that door close as smoothly as silk. The man-trap was now set.
Imagine if you will. Here is this gorgeous hunk of a man, trying to hide a raging erection in a pair of flimsy, wet gym shorts. He’s attempting to stroll nonchalantly through a gay gym with over 100 cock-eyed queers asking each other “Did you see THAT?!?”
In due time, he would make his way up the stairs and into the proper bathroom. I’d make a big show of closing and locking the door after myself. As the overhead fan roared, I’d seduce him with words and touch.
I’d (gently) slam him up against the wall, and stroke his cock while growling lusty words and kissing him. After getting him to a peak of excitement, I’d use my deepest voice and say “Now turn around.” He’d say “What?!?” Every time, with every man that I would place into this situation. I'd say "You heard me, boy. Turn around."
By the grace of God, I just happened to have a small jar of lube with me. By this time, I was the King of Prostate Massage, as a direct result of playing with a lot of eager, older teachers.
So, I would play with this horny man’s ass, easing-off each time that his prostate would swell, signaling impending orgasm. Finally, I’d stand up behind him and say “Back up to me.” By this time, he wasn’t saying “What?!?,” he’d be saying “Oink OINK!”
In my youthful days, I was already deeply invested in what later turned out to be the kink called “Orgasm Control.” More than anything else, I loved to enforce a fierce roller-coaster of sexual pleasure, ending in a mind-bending orgasm for all concerned.
I still want that, but I have to go about it in different ways, now that I am old. Mister Troublemaker doesn’t always cooperate.
So, using intuition and keen observation, I’d always time our fucking so that we both achieved orgasm at the same time. We’d hug and thank each other, caress and part ways after showering together.
Continuing Onward…
In those days, David and I had a big house by the entrance of the Greek Amphitheatre.
It didn’t have hardly any yard, but it featured a large sling-room. We hosted big parties that involved fucking, fisting, flogging and whatever kinks each man brought with him. Being young and fertile, I’d be quite happy to fuck any willing asses that were offered up.
By Monday morning, I was fucked OUT. I’d be so drained, emotionally and physically. Nothing on earth could make me want any form of sex, no matter how nicely it was offered.
As you could well imagine, after I had pounced upon so many willing bottom-boy porn models, word got AROUND. Big, buff muscle-boys hang out in packs, and they do talk.
Early on, I discovered that men with large penises are always grateful that somebody wants to fuck THEM, for once. The same goes for large men, tall men and muscular men. Many muscle-men can tell you that they can sometimes spend a weekend feeling lonely. So many men at a bar will look at them and think “He’s out of my league” and turn away.
So, I’d show up at the gym on a Monday morning with empty balls, trying to get some weightlifting done. I’d notice a group of big, tough muscle-men huddled together, peeking at me periodically and smiling, and I’d sigh.
So, I’d go to one of them a few minutes later, and I would point at the clock on the wall. “At a quarter to ten, be in the locker room.” Then I repeat the message with the same guy.
At 9:46 (I arrived one minute late, as intended), I’d find six or seven men standing in the locker room, looking at each other with bafflement. I’d say “Everybody strip down, and head into the steam room!”
Once they were all crammed together naked in the steam room, I’d point at one man and say “You! You are the target for today!” I’d point at another man and say “You! Play with his nipples!” “You! Play with his ass!” “You! Suck his cock!” And so forth, until the target-man was covered in swarming men, giving him pleasure.
I would then loudly pronounce “My work here is DONE!” Then, I would head back to the gym floor to continue my workout.
Making 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, bullying guy? I am calm, sensitive to the people 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. That is why I am giving away my secrets for success.
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.
Permission-Giving as a Way of Life
I've been working with these concepts for over 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, which I cannot 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!
Gathering of the Bears Clubs at Black's
One day, everybody was scattered on their blankets, never more than twenty feet apart. Men would mix and mingle, lay out and burn for a while. The goal was to achieve a “healthy tan.”
One day, an incredibly beautiful, shirtless man arrived, alone. On every blanket within eyeshot, every man was doing his best meerkat imitation.
He laid out his blanket, stripped down naked, and started applying suntan lotion. The men on every other blanket were buzzing excitedly, talking about the new guy, but nobody doing anything about it.
I sat there agonized. I knew beyond all doubt that he was way out of my league. Somebody like that would have no interest in the likes of me. Blah blah blah. My inner voice was giving me a full workout.
That inner voice has a job. Its job is to flatten my life, so that I avoid risk. Failure is possible. Maybe even probable. The problem is, avoiding risk can mean that I miss out on joyful, memorable life experiences, too. The only person who has a flattened life is a dead person.
Screw probability. I am dedicated to possibility.
I said to myself “If I don’t do anything about this right now, I will remember this day sadly when I am eighty years old.”
Not Keith, but similar
So I stood up, grabbed a couple of oranges, and walked over to the handsome stranger’s blanket. He saw me coming up, so he was ready when I said “Here ya go!” and tossed him one of the oranges.
I asked this pale Midwestern beauty what brought him here, and asked for his name. Keith was in town for a day or so, and had heard of Black’s. He had been feeling shy, and way out of his element. He was grateful for my friendly company.
I offered to give him the Grand Tour. We started with some affectionate contact.
I offered to apply lotion to his back, and it all progressed from there. Butt, thighs and everywhere else. The Meerkat crowd watched every move.
Back in those days, it was trendy to bring tractor tire inner tubes to the beach. They are huge flotation devices, but very, very hard to inflate using your lungs. I had a small bicycle pump.
Like this, only naked, hard and greasy
I invited Keith to help me push the inner tube out beyond the waves. Once we were on smoother water, I fucked him on top of the tube. Then, we did it again.
After we came back to his blanket, I fucked him one more time. This is tricky. Sand gets EVERYWHERE. After relaxing, drowsing and caressing for a while, I brought him up into the bushes at the base of the cliffs. This was a notorious place to have sex with strangers.
After discussing it beforehand, he shyly told me which of the cruising men he found attractive. I bent him over a tree, and invited each one of those men to fuck his pretty ass. He was deliriously happy.
At the end of the day, we parted ways with hugs and affection, and he took off for Arkansas. I’m not eighty years old yet, but I know that I won’t have any regrets about that glorious day.
I gave Keith permission to be true to his fantasies. I gave myself permission to let go of my own insecurities. I gave those horny men permission to unload into a glorious man. If I hadn’t been there, and if I hadn’t stepped into my courage, it is likely that none of the fun would have happened.
Roller Skating in the Park
Decades ago, during the days of Xanadu, roller-skating was trendy. Every road in Balboa Park was divided down the middle with asphalt barriers. Cars went on one side, and thousands of skaters went on the other.
David and I were out skating in the park at sundown one day. We approached a large parking lot that contained around 400 people in a large oval-shaped crowd, facing inward.
Somebody had brought a big, bulky boom-box. The type that contains a dozen big, fat batteries. Those cassette-players were super cool, and this one was blasting out superb dance music.
I slowly moved toward the center of the crowd, and found about a hundred folks dancing to the music, and the other 300 folks were avidly watching.
I was JUST about to join the dancers, but I stopped myself. I looked around me and yelled out “It’s time for EVERYBODY to dance!”
So, everybody did.
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 memorably good time. 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.
Colt Models
In the 1970’s, gay porn went in two distinct directions:
- Young, smooth and fit young twinky-boys, and
- Colt models.
Gay-owned gyms were finally available after years of hetero repression. Straight-owned gyms were emptying out, as men were eagerly joining friendly gyms that catered to our crowd. No more inane rules designed to keep us apart and in the closet.
For a short time, David and I lived in Los Feliz, above Silverlake, above North Hollywood. I was going to the local community college, and working out six days a week.
The gym that I attended decades ago is still there. It’s called Bodybuilders, and it was very, very gay.
I remember a rather obviously heterosexual male being given a tour of the facilities. He was liking the gym, but he had some concerns. He asked the attendant “Uh, I understand that this gym caters to, uhhh, a specific clientele.“
The staff member pretended not to understand, saying “Yes, we do cater to men.” Not giving up, the prospective client said “C’mon... you know what I mean!”
The employee finally gave up and said “Yes, about sixty percent of our members are gay.” From across the gym, I chimed in, saying “SOME of us however, are a HUNDRED percent gay!”
Oh, Yeah. I Was Talking About Colt Models.
I would be there, laying in wait, and ready to pounce.
The following scenario happened a dozen or so times, in the exact same way:
I’d be working out, and I would see this week’s Colt model arrive. He’d see me staring at him from across the gym. He’d look down, then look up, and see me still staring. I’d lift my chin, drop it down, and then ignore him for a while as he began his workout.
I’d wait for him to sit at the Preacher Curl bench. It was bolted to the floor, and faced the mirror. As soon as he’d start working his biceps, I’d stand directly behind him, so that he could only see me in the mirror.
I’d say “How much longer will you be working out?” He’d say something like “Twenty minutes.” I’d say “Let me know when you’re done.” Then, I’d go back to my workout.
Twenty minutes later, there would be a tongue-tied and confused (but horny) man at my elbow. I’d say “Are you done?” and he’d say “Yes.” I’d say “I’ve got another five minutes to go - why don’t you head for the steam room, and I will join you there.”
Even if my original intent was for an additional hour and a half of working out, the clock was now reset to five minutes.
After five minutes, I’d head into the steam room, naked. I’d sit across from him, our legs touching. I’d start gently rubbing his nipple while talking dirty. My cock would go thump-thump-thump as it got harder.
As horny as he would be, this was still a man whose face was on a lot of magazine covers and calendars. This made him reluctant to have gossipy men tell stories about his public behavior.
I could tell when he’d start getting nervous, checking the glass window of the steam room repeatedly. I’d say “I know that you are nervous. I have the perfect answer.” He’d say “What’s that?”
I’d say “Upstairs, there are two bathrooms. The one at the far end of the hall has a door that locks, and a fan that comes on really loudly. I want you to wear just your gym shorts. Nothing else. Head on up there, and I will join you shortly.”
Now, be aware that I had set up the following situation as soon as I joined the gym. That bathroom door was warped, and it wouldn’t close in a satisfying way. So, I packed a wood-shaving tool into my gym bag, and made that door close as smoothly as silk. The man-trap was now set.
Imagine if you will. Here is this gorgeous hunk of a man, trying to hide a raging erection in a pair of flimsy, wet gym shorts. He’s attempting to stroll nonchalantly through a gay gym with over 100 cock-eyed queers asking each other “Did you see THAT?!?”
In due time, he would make his way up the stairs and into the proper bathroom. I’d make a big show of closing and locking the door after myself. As the overhead fan roared, I’d seduce him with words and touch.
I’d (gently) slam him up against the wall, and stroke his cock while growling lusty words and kissing him. After getting him to a peak of excitement, I’d use my deepest voice and say “Now turn around.” He’d say “What?!?” Every time, with every man that I would place into this situation. I'd say "You heard me, boy. Turn around."
By the grace of God, I just happened to have a small jar of lube with me. By this time, I was the King of Prostate Massage, as a direct result of playing with a lot of eager, older teachers.
So, I would play with this horny man’s ass, easing-off each time that his prostate would swell, signaling impending orgasm. Finally, I’d stand up behind him and say “Back up to me.” By this time, he wasn’t saying “What?!?,” he’d be saying “Oink OINK!”
In my youthful days, I was already deeply invested in what later turned out to be the kink called “Orgasm Control.” More than anything else, I loved to enforce a fierce roller-coaster of sexual pleasure, ending in a mind-bending orgasm for all concerned.
I still want that, but I have to go about it in different ways, now that I am old. Mister Troublemaker doesn’t always cooperate.
So, using intuition and keen observation, I’d always time our fucking so that we both achieved orgasm at the same time. We’d hug and thank each other, caress and part ways after showering together.
Continuing Onward…
In those days, David and I had a big house by the entrance of the Greek Amphitheatre.
It didn’t have hardly any yard, but it featured a large sling-room. We hosted big parties that involved fucking, fisting, flogging and whatever kinks each man brought with him. Being young and fertile, I’d be quite happy to fuck any willing asses that were offered up.
By Monday morning, I was fucked OUT. I’d be so drained, emotionally and physically. Nothing on earth could make me want any form of sex, no matter how nicely it was offered.
As you could well imagine, after I had pounced upon so many willing bottom-boy porn models, word got AROUND. Big, buff muscle-boys hang out in packs, and they do talk.
Early on, I discovered that men with large penises are always grateful that somebody wants to fuck THEM, for once. The same goes for large men, tall men and muscular men. Many muscle-men can tell you that they can sometimes spend a weekend feeling lonely. So many men at a bar will look at them and think “He’s out of my league” and turn away.
So, I’d show up at the gym on a Monday morning with empty balls, trying to get some weightlifting done. I’d notice a group of big, tough muscle-men huddled together, peeking at me periodically and smiling, and I’d sigh.
So, I’d go to one of them a few minutes later, and I would point at the clock on the wall. “At a quarter to ten, be in the locker room.” Then I repeat the message with the same guy.
At 9:46 (I arrived one minute late, as intended), I’d find six or seven men standing in the locker room, looking at each other with bafflement. I’d say “Everybody strip down, and head into the steam room!”
Once they were all crammed together naked in the steam room, I’d point at one man and say “You! You are the target for today!” I’d point at another man and say “You! Play with his nipples!” “You! Play with his ass!” “You! Suck his cock!” And so forth, until the target-man was covered in swarming men, giving him pleasure.
I would then loudly pronounce “My work here is DONE!” Then, I would head back to the gym floor to continue my workout.
Making 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, bullying guy? I am calm, sensitive to the people 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.
Group caressing, after an intense public scene.
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. That is why I am giving away my secrets for success.
Touch = Credibility (Most Times)
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.
Permission-Giving as a Way of Life
I've been working with these concepts for over 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, which I cannot provide.
Illuminated Cellophane Suspension
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!
