Old men in parking lots

It was a cool night long ago in the parking lot of a diner not far from a dungeon that no longer exists. Why were we there and why isn’t the dungeon there now? Well both are stories worth telling. Maybe in another blog I talk more about all the clubs and places to place that have been unfairly squeezed out of existence, but not tonight.

Suffice to say that this wonderful play space we were at that night was unable to stay open. Sometime we fight against those who misunderstand us and sometimes not but we are rarely left unmolested or allowed to stay in a public way. That is an unhappy subject and it makes me feel a certain degree of anger that we are so often misunderstood, so often driven from the communities we live in. So that unhappy topic we’ll leave for another time.

The misunderstood part has a part to play in the other story, why we were there. Many evenings after playing, our slaves resplendent with lovely new marks to wear proudly.. we would get together at this diner for a late night snack. It was a chance to replenish our fluids, and have some sustenance.

That sustenance was food, but also it was the company of people that share a like mind, an appreciation of each other.  This is something of great worth. So we gathered for just a little more time together. I love the times after play when tender places give sudden reminders of the evening.  Sometimes what comes after the after care is fun too.  On that note, let me add that my slave spends a lot of time on horseback, and many a next day the saddle has triggered that strange combination of love and curse words. So this evening we gathered to be a bit longer with our slaves and friends.  We gathered to be a bit longer where we are not misunderstood.

On the evening of this story, as we prepared to leave, we gathered in the parking lot to say our final goodbyes. There was an elderly gentlemen with us, who had followed from the dungeon. I didn’t know him. I can’t remember now his face, or how grey his hair was, but I remember vividly what he wanted to say, what he needed to say to us that night. I want to say that he was in his sixties. There was a happy sadness in his voice.  When he spoke there was that cracking of the voice that comes when a person is overcome with emotion.

He told us how happy he was to meet us. And then he told us something of the evening and of his life. He had never been to a dungeon before. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it has surpassed his wildest expectations.  He had spent time on the floor of the dungeon, and at the couches where people sat and chatted during aftercare, watching the scenes unfold like some incredible show.   He had felt at ease in a way he never expected.  He had felt at home.   He had eagerly accepted the offer to come to the diner with us.

Then as he had sat there at the diner, with the Masters speaking of their property as Dominants do, and the slaves all being themselves, and as the conversation turned from this subject or that, the experience had washed over him.  He felt a release, as if a great weight had been lifted.

He said that he had spent his life thinking these strange, terrible thoughts. He had tried to dismiss them. He had told himself that there was something wrong with these thoughts, that somehow his character must be deeply flawed. He had struggled his whole life, through his lost youth, his middle years, and now finally after all this time he had found himself.

He was in the company of people who didn’t understand why he would struggle against his desires. Here were people that didn’t sit silently disapproving, No!, we encouraged such desires and embraced them openly as a natural extension of who we are. Here at last he was among his own kind.  The silent incredible power of being in the company of such people filled him with so much joy that he could barely contain himself. Nor is this man a lone example.

I have seen this story repeat itself. Wonderful loving people who can’t explain why they need to dominate or be dominated. Why their sadistic side needs to be fed or they crave such a person. These are the silent observers who wait for the chance to be set free, to embrace the desires, to openly self-identify as the person they are keeping under lock and key deep down inside. This is why we were in that parking lot. We were there to connect, to breath, to be.

I will always remember that man, the sadness I felt when I thought of all the years that he lost looking for his own kind.  I truly believe that the Ds lifestyle, if executed honorably, is a home for the heart like no other. If founded with honesty, and built with trust, and entered into with a sincere desire to serve each other, each according to their sacred role, no nilla relationship can compare.  So howl my friends, find yourself and your kind.  The rewards are greater than you can possibly imagine.

She who cannot howl will not find her pack. – unknown

2 thoughts on “Old men in parking lots

  1. Powerful post. This was really moving. I feel you’ve been a good mentor and opener of doors for people far longer than the Internet has allowed it to be easy.

    Liked by 1 person

    • You honor me, thank you. The truth be known, I am a cranky, greedy, fuck.. its just that I also know that giving is its own reward,.. be greedy for uncommon currency my friend!

      Like

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