Watching a friend go mad

I had to bear witness to the end of a friend the other day. He is an amazing man with a keen wit and sharp intellect and to see him wasting away has left me sadder than all my own personal troubles combined. Nothing I have to deal with can compare to the horror of seeing a brilliant mind being consumed by mental illness.

I would collaborate with him when we were both in school. He was a mad scientist, an artist, a Casanova, a con-man and entrepreneur. We would get together late at night and spiral through realities of our own making where secret societies existed, people were inhabited by fifth dimension aliens. We would talk about using sex as a way of opening the spirit to higher levels of existence. One of the last times I saw him I was reading Labyrinths by Jorge Luis Borges. He asked how it was and I began to explain the wonder that was Borges. I must have gotten through to him because he reached across the table and opened the book to my book mark and tore the final thirty pages out and handed them back to me. He took the rest of the book and stuck it in his bag.

It was his MO. He was star burning too bright. He was filled with ideas which seemed to be visiting from another dimension. They could fill your imagination with bright colors and sounds never heard before. The details were rich and beautiful and I could always rely on him to dress my mind with bright plumage. It was refreshing to hear about the world he saw. When I realized that this world had move from imagination to reality for him I was shocked and saddened.

He was dropped off in front of my house by another friend. He has never had a car, never used public transportation, always relied on his ability to get where he needed to be through his calling people to action. He did this a lot, manifest his thoughts through others. He lived well in the spare room of his cousin, he traveled in artistic and musical circles because he was friends with the right artists and musicians. The more I think about this gift of his the more I realize that his fears of manifesting the demons and aliens of his nightmares was not that much of a stretch for him. He was different now. He was unshaven. His clothes were the right clothes, they were his clothes, of him, but there was something off. It was as if there was a thin layer of dirt. He had a backpack like always but it was filled with newspapers. He got in my car and spread out across the backseat, spilling papers like ideas escaping from unseen cracks.

We took J to work and I told him I would give him a ride back to Elgin. It is a long drive but it had been years since I had seen him and he seemed out of it. The conversation quickly turned to how many of the things that he had always thought were just weird and twisted images in his overactive imagination were in fact real. This is not good. I try to find out more, it is partially an attempt to feel out what he is going through and partially a morbid curiosity I have always had for Schizophrenia. The stories and the images were familiar, places and people and conspiracies that he had talked about for years but they lack continuity. Before he would stick to a plot, aliens using mind control to change the course of evolution or extra-dimensional wars happening in this plane with traitors and patriots within societies that were fight in proxy. Now the stories were starting and stopping, tripping over one another as they tried to fight for space in his over full brain. In the same breath he would talk of being stuck in a karmic cycle of rebirth paying time and time again for past transgressions and about his fear of death and an eternity of hell. He was a body frozen in some hidden lab while his mind was projected into a clone and made to walk the earth surrounded by reanimated corpses. People were talking to him but only in lies, lies he knew because the world was communicating with him is morse code and hand gestures. We pulled up to the intersection of two four lane highways. There was a green shirt in the road and while I sat at the red light waiting for it to change, he stared at the shirt as if it was a clue to something. Just as the light was about to change, he jumped out of the car and walked through oncoming traffic to get the shirt. He got back in and looked it over, seeing if it would fit him.

“Is it your size?” I asked. “No.” I could not help him. Anything I said was interpreted by his wounded mind. A mind he was certain was filled with holes like Swiss cheese. He would talk and then fall off as if he was about to pass out and then start in a new. He would stare at me with a flat false smile as if he had caught me doing something and did not want to let on that he knew that I knew.

I pulled up int front of his house and let him out. He thanked me over and over for the ride and all I kept wondering was if this was the last time I was going to see him alive. He had said something on the way that stuck with me. “I am so tired of all of this. I just wish I could start over again, you know? Be a child again.” I knew that he was thinking about suicide and I tried to address it without scaring him away or talking to him as if he was a fool. He admitted that he needed to be committed and talked about having his cousin drive him to the hospital as soon as his visit with his dad was over. Did he go? I don’t know but there was something about the way he came to see me that made it feel like he was saying goodbye. I don’t know if that is just me reading into it or not. I also don’t know if it might not be the best option for him. He is already gone and any help he gets will leave him lost mentally. He said that he feared the hospital because as soon as they got him in that he would never be let back out. It was not a paranoid fear but a moment of clarity when he was seeing honestly that there may not be any “cure” for him, that he may never enter society again. He was saying that he knew he was already too far gone to ever come back. I will miss him dearly.

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Fear Factory

 

Fear comes it all sorts of forms. Fear of things, people, actions. There are valid fears and irrational phobias. There are fears that can be faced and fears that can be approached and fears that are so dark they’ll never be addressed. I have a co-worker that is afraid of large sinks. She refuses to use the bathroom in our warehouse and will hold it for as long as it takes to avoid having to come face to faucet with her phobia. I, on the other hand, like fear. To be more specific, I like other people’s fears. I like the way they react irrationally, the shortness of breath and the purely physical convulsions that seize the body. When you are playing with fear, there is something so powerful, so potentially malicious about how you are affecting the sub that it could easily become addicting.

She got off the train in my neighborhood at 9pm. I live in a rougher neighborhood, not the roughest by any stretch, but rough enough, and at 9pm when the weather is changing and people are running around happy to be out of the house, it can make a lone girl walking down the street uncomfortable. I usually pick up the sub to avoid hassles and to make better use of the time allotted us, but this time I had her walk. I followed her in my car and fed her directions by text.

Cross the street.

Turn left.

Walk down the alley.

Go into the open garage.

Strip.

The overhead light was out so as I shut the garage door on her, she was left in the dark.

I park the car around front and take a casual stroll to let her stand in the dark naked for a while. The thin metal garage door barely stops sounds so the chatter of people passing by makes her feel as if she is surrounded by the general public. One of the most interesting things I have found about public nudity is that it really depends on the crowd’s opinion. If you are in approving company, at a club or play party where it is accepted or even expected, being naked can be liberating. If you are in a general public environment, nudity can make someone very self-conscious. The sounds of people walking by made her nakedness an isolating thing. I stood outside the door for a moment listening to her breathing as she tried to hold still.

I burst in and her breathing immediately changed to more rapid, shallow breaths as I threw an oversized pillowcase over her head and upper body. I took two belts and strapped them tight around her chest and waist. The pillowcase itself was confining enough but the added constriction made her breathing even more labored. She was about to lose her shit and we had barely started!

I spun her around to face me and bent down to pick her up. I grabbed her by the waist and my fingers felt that her cunt was already soaked. I threw her over my shoulder and headed for the back stairs. The walkway from the garage to the stairs runs between our building and the next, which is an apartment complex. It was late at night and I rarely met people in passing but I moved quickly to avoid any questions that might come about from being seen carrying a girl in a bag into my house in the middle of the night. The last thing I need is for my neighbors to think that I am a serial killer.

We made it to the stairs without incident and were rounding the corner, out of sight when the sound of people passing by made me freeze in my tracks. I was not likely to be seen but I wanted to give her a moment to hear the people. I wanted her to think about us getting caught, about trying to explain to strangers that we were friends and this was just a game. The moment passed and I moved on. Up two flights of stairs and to my door, I put her down to walk into the house. I direct her to the room with one hand on her neck. In, around the bed, past the suspension frame and on to the mat she goes. I kick her in the back of the knees to make her collapse and leave her on her knees with her forehead touching the ground as I go back down to the garage to retrieve her clothes.

When I get back I fall upon her with punches and slaps, watching her wriggle and writhe in the bag. I pull on her hair through the case and bring the cloth in on her nose and mouth, increasing the feeling of suffocation as I growl in her ear. She is whimpering as I beat her chest and pound my forearm into her back. I pull off the first belt, fold it in half and spank her with it. She cries out in pain and pulls away. I hold her still and slap her again and again. I get bored of the belt and go back to punching and slapping, pulling and growling.

I wanted her to feel that she may have made a mistake by deciding to play. I wanted her to feel that she had no control even if she wanted it, that I held all the cards. She continued to moan and cry out as I beat her more and more. I reached down to take off the second belt and she immediately tensed up. She knew that as soon as the belt was off I was going to use it. She was flinching already as I worked the buckle and pulled it out from underneath her. I spanked her again and again listening to that most gratifying of sounds as the belt slap mixes with her cries of pain.

I grabbed her face and hold her nose and mouth, waiting for the panic, and just as she starts to thrash I let go. As she gasped for breath. I stood her up and wrapped my arms around her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs. I released and the air flooded back into her lungs. Squeeze again, hold and release a couple more times to ensure she was lightheaded when I took the pillowcase off.

When she came out of the pillowcase, the first thing she noticed was the lighting. I had replaced the lamp bulb with a black light to screw with her senses. She is a very tactile person and to go from the enclosure where she was seeing almost exclusively with her body to being assaulted by the sharp, artificial contrast left her more confused. I took advantage of this to double down on the beatings that were now sharper without the fabric to soften the sting. I threw her back down and started moving her head back and forth by pulling hard on her hair. She was completely out of her head by now and, like a well-rested dough, she was ready to be worked over. One finger, then two, then three. I fucked with her cunt until she was begging to come. I pulled out and squeezed her thighs, reached over for the Hitachi and turned it on low as I went back in for another three-finger work out. She couldn’t hold it any longer and I let her cum, watching as she squirmed on the floor like a fish gasping air.

In the end it was a blast and what I learned about fear is that there are so many different kinds of fear, so many ways of scaring someone and invoking that gut response to terror. We definitely need to do this again… and again and again.

In the Name of Science: Light Therapy

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is no laughing matter and millions of people (including thousands of kinksters) are putting on their frowny faces as the Hurizzard of 2011 turns our brownstones into igloos. While wandering the perverted halls of Fetlife yesterday, I came across a fellow pervert whose picture inspired me.

The rules are simple. The room is prepared with heat and music to ensure a comfortable background. The subject was stripped and strung up. She is then blindfolded to reduce outside influences and gagged to keep her from disturbing the neighbors. All outside light is extiguished and the trigger light is set. The subject is unblindfolded to see the light but no verbal cues are given. The blindfold is replaced and the working lights are turned on. Depending on the color, action is taken. Red light is pain, green light is pleasure.

Start with red. Slappy, slappy. Scream. Cringe. Slap, sway, slap, scream, cower.

Red: Clamps. Moan, ruler slap, cry.

Green: Touch. Remove clamps. Run fingers over goose bumps. Her hands unclench a bit.

Red: Knife play. Stabby stabby, try to draw blood. Down the back, stripes carving up a piece of meat.

Green: Clitoral and anal stimulation.

Red: (audible moan when the light is seen) Butt plug. Thumper. Probably a little too hard on the thigh. Rib shot, breast shot. Hit the calves and watch as she swings.

Green: (visible relief) Remove the plug and use the Hitachi.

Red: (moan) Clothespins. Lots of clothespins

Red: (angry glare) Removing the clothespins with knife.

Green: (visible relief) Gentle removal of the remaining clothepins and the Hitachi.

The subject was nearly passed out by this point so I pulled her down for a post-experiment interview and sexytime. The pattern was obvious almost immediately and she could feel the tension building every time she felt a lull in the action. When asked if she started to try and predict what would be next, she said no, not intentionally. What she did was try and see around the corners of her blindfold. She looked for visual cues. I believe this is because of her need to experience another sensation other than touch. She also noted that while she knew almost instantly knew that green was good and red was bad, her brain never gave up on the possibility that I would switch up the order and punish her when the light was green. It seems that my own known sadism may have been the Schrodinger’s cat to this experiment, affecting the outcome merely by being the scientist.

What have we learned? We have learned the human mind can be trained but it can also be fucked with. The mind will over-think when stressed out. It will try and out-think its captors and therefore make the eaiest mindfuck by simply giving something predictable the potential to not be.

In the Name of Science: Fruit Salad

So often we ask ourselves why it is we do what we do, but always as a way of ridding our souls of guilt. It is a way of navel gazing and ruminating on why we are so fucking sick. Well, I am passed that. Now it is time to think about why we do what we do in a very physical way. So the question I want to ask, the question I want to answer (in the name of science) is what fruit makes the perfect edible gag?

First, why fruit? Why not? It is cheap, easily found in either the home or on the road. It makes any girl look like she is the other white meat. The variety of things that can be used, the flavors, sizes and textures all come into play. The best part is that, at the end when all is said and done, you can eat it to restore your electrolytes and sugars. As the kids say, win!

So the experiments start simple and familiar. The orange is a good standby for several different reasons: various sizes, the bitter taste and feel of the rind on the teeth, the sweet juice… the list goes on and on. A clementine is a great choice because they are small enough for the subject to almost get completely in her mouth. This means less distended jaw, which means longer play time. They are also available in bags and if you have not beat someone with a bag full of oranges then you really haven’t lived. They do a fair to middling job when it comes to muffling sound, and the orange juice does create a decent amount of saliva. All in all they are the most average of fruit gags. As an analogy, a fruit gag is to Street Fighter as a clementine is to Ryu.

The apricot is a crafty little fruit with far more potential than I would have expected. The small size means it can go completely in the mouth, which is good for muffling sound and the fuzzy skin is a great irritant. Of all the fruit I tried, this is by far the best to keep someone quiet. I was disappointed by the flavor and texture of the apricot and this may be the downfall of the great apricot gag revolution. They are not hard to find but they are more expensive and the flavor can really be hit or miss.

When I was walking around the grocery store, the fruit that stood out to me as the most obvious choice was the peach. Big but biteable, fuzzy outside, juicy inside… all around what you want in a gag. The effect was passable, but I was expecting more. The peach was really too big, so screams could escape from the corners of her mouth. The fruit had been forced to ripen so the flavor was not there either. I am sure that under better circumstances the peach could be almost ideal, but the average store bought piece will leave you wanting.

The lime was great. The bitter rind was even more intense than the orange and the sour tart juice kicked her salivary glands into high gear. The shape was great for keeping the screams in and when I pulled it out of her mouth, it was like Niagara Falls. Drool cascaded out of her mouth splashing down into the river of squirt that was already running across the floor.

The biggest surprise was the final fruit. The grapes were kept on the stem so as to increase their volume and to avoid that pesky choking hazard. While they did absolutely nothing to stifle the sound of her screaming, they worked wonders on her salivary glands. Almost immediately the drool started pouring out through the large open spaces created by the grapes. Thick strings just came flooding out with almost no end in sight. Glorious! To be completely honest, I do believe the lime juice may have also played a role so soaking grapes in lime juice may be just what you need to recreate this look.

In the end I would have to say that the experiment was a success for a host of reasons. First and foremost because it ended in sexytime and any experiment that ends in sexytime is a good experiment. It was also an eye opener for me (and I hope you, too, my dear reader) to some of the practical uses of fruit. This has opened up a whole new world of experimentation for me as well. Soon I will be expanding the scientific method to better explore the whys and hows of what we do.