Between the ribs.

It’s decidedly not a secret that I am kinky. In fact, I knew I was kinky way before I knew I was queer—I can identify having rather explicit sexual fantasies at eight years old and not knowing that what went on in my head was not considered the norm until I was much older. The internet became widely available when I was in my teens and I spent many furtive evenings on dial-up reading about all this sex that I wasn’t having. As soon as I turned 18 [which was a year before I graduated from high school], I made up excuses to leave my parents’ house and go meet other people who presumably liked generally the same things I thought I did. I moved to college at 19 and from there things snowballed. I would drive an hour into Boston on the weekends and there were play parties and demonstrations of a variety of deliciously exotic [to me then]things. I joined a group, ended up on the steering committee, threw my own parties, taught a lot of classes, started bootblacking at a leather bar, and ran for my first leather title, all by age 25. I’ve had my full name published in all sorts of newspapers and magazines detailing my titles, have been in porn, and there are pictures all over the place of me at all sorts of kinky events. My family knows and, when I was traveling for a title almost every weekend, my job knew. There aren’t many secrets about my sexual life roaming around anywhere.

In fact, my predilection for kink and power exchange is the cornerstone of my relationship with the Mister. This is why I am not a spouse of His or consort or a boyfriend or anything else that our human language and models for relationships label as ‘equal’. I don’t believe we mortals can ever have egalitarian relationships with Gods—They are always going to be Gods and we are always going to be meatsacks—but He and I seem to have come to a place where the power distribution between us is even more skewed than your standard spousal thing [if there can ever be such a thing].

I am His boy and there are titles I use to refer to Him that illustrate parts of how we relate. Sometimes I call Him the Boss or the Chairman or even the King, albeit rarely for that one. I don’t address Him that way in private and I have a really hard time talking about what I do call Him because it is so damn personal. I had no idea HOW personal it was until I set about trying to write about our relationship in the past. The words I use to address Him lay so deep in my heart that they usually bring tears to my eyes—not of sadness or anything negative, but tears of completion when something fits so rightly in your heart that it reverberates into the essence of your soul. It’s something I want to write about, but I just don’t have the language to do it justice currently. It’s important, too, because it explains a lot of who I am and who He is to me and what the Work that we do together is. The relationship isn’t for public display, really—it’s not something that is currently used as a means to teach others. It is something that lays between just Him and I, really. It’s sometimes used as a reference point with other Powers, particularly if I am being farmed out to do Work or if They want my attention as the nature of our relationship at this time requires that They go through Him first.

That’s not what this entry is about, though. All of that is the background or window-dressing that might be helpful to understand that I tend live fully in the role of ‘deviant’ and particularly so with the Mister.

There has been something tickling around the edges of my brain for the last few weeks. It has sort of appeared out of nowhere for me, which has been surprising but not distressing at all. I’ve been looking at it more closely in the last week and it has become a recurrent theme in my head.

I want Him to kill me.

The vision I get is of Him standing over me and driving a knife into my chest/heart. It isn’t violent in the least and, to the contrary, is incredibly peaceful. I never see any blood. I am looking up at Him as one long breath escapes past my lips and then it fades and, presumably, so do I.

I didn’t think much of it when it first swam into my consciousness. I think a lot of weird shit on a regular basis, so I didn’t really pay much attention to it. If anything, I thought it rather benign and filed it under the heading ‘I am a weirdo’.

It surprised me when it kept swimming back to the forefront of my brain and when it began to take on more color and depth. The feeling of the knife in my chest has become almost orgasmic. It never hurts, but there is this massive feeling of relief behind it and the exhale that follows is the deepest breath I have ever released. There have been times when I’ve tasted blood on my tongue, like it was bubbling up from my pierced heart and coating my teeth. It’s almost dizzying in it’s intensity lately.

It surprised me even more when it took on a sexual flavor as well. I mean, Freud would have a field day with my life in general, but being pierced by a large knife and having it be almost orgasmic? Yeah, that doesn’t take a degree to figure out. But it’s more than that. It doesn’t necessarily get me hard, but it does…something. I’ve definitely fantasized about it and gotten off while playing it out in my head, but it’s larger than that and I can’t remember ever feeling something like this about anything before.

I honestly don’t know if I can conceive of something more intimate than Him taking my life, though. He could show up and fuck me a thousand times and I can’t imagine feeling any closer to Him than while He watches my life drain away with His hand on the handle of His blade. It’s not even a super fancy knife or anything, it looks like perhaps a slightly bigger version of a Bowie knife. I can’t see His face [which is not unusual—I hardly ever see His face], but I can see the bottom of His suit coat and the terminal end of His suit coat sleeve and shirt sleeve underneath. It’s a dark gray suit and a crisp white shirt.

I can see me, though, and I’m looking up at Him and I look so damn enthralled and happy. I look a little different than I do now—I look more like what I see myself as—and I lack clothes, which is also not unusual. There is no resistance on my part and it appears to be a welcome event, one that I have worked very long and hard to achieve.

Death is not something I’m seeking right now and I am quite happy to be incarnate at this time, but this feels like a dangerous dance right now because the want to have Him extinguish me is so high. I’m not about to do anything stupid, but I am so glad that He is not embodied and walking around in my life on the regular right now.

I am also under no illusions that the death of my physical body means anything is over for me. I once posed the question of what was going to happen to me when my physical body died and I got the distinct feeling of ‘do you really think this much work has been poured into you just for you to cease to exist or go trotting after the sunset?’. I take that to mean that I’ll either be something unseen that does the bidding of the Powers or that I’m coming back. I’ve lived before, so it wouldn’t be that weird to be recycled, though I doubt I’ll remember anything of this incarnation. If I get any say in the matter, I hope I get to be with the Mister, at least for a little while. One of the most painful parts of my existence is that, as He is not embodied like I am, we are separated by physics and the way the universe works. Some days, the ache is palpable. It is my hope that the death of my physical body will change that.

In my [current] perfect world, I will open my eyes and find Him standing over me. Maybe my body will be old or it will be sick in ways that cannot be recovered from. Maybe it will simply be time. I will open my eyes and He will be there with His knife in His hand. Maybe we’ll talk or maybe it will just be understood that the time for talking has past. Regardless, His knife will enter my chest and I watch Him as things turn to pure white.

I don’t know how to feel about this, so I’m not currently feeling much about except possibly overwhelmed with the amount of feeling that lives in this vision and hope[?] for my death. I keep wondering if it will show up in a dream, since my dreams have been off the wall for the last month or so. It has amplified the hunger I feel for Him and from Him. If He’s not going to stab me, I want Him to devour me.

Sometimes I wonder what has become of me and how much I have chosen to change in the last 8+ years. My reaction to the realization that the sensation of His blade ending what I know to be my life would have seriously disturbed at the beginning of all this. It would have sent me running as far away from Him and anything associated with Him as fast as my legs could carry me. Now, I find myself doing the opposite–I run towards Him and hope that, instead of just bearing the tiniest of scratches from His knife, He will sink it all the way in or that He will otherwise destroy me. I never quite grasped why people stand on the seawall during a hurricane or run towards the tornado instead of away from it, but I think I get it now, maybe. The call is so strong to follow what will eventually reduce you to nothingness that doing anything but embracing the waiting destruction seems silly. It’s this sort of unexplained magnetism. My logic knows that following Him and doing whatever it takes to draw myself as close as possible to Him will hurt in ways that I can’t even imagine, but the ecstasy of the literal knife makes it that much better. If my pursuit of Him leads only to a dead end road where He waits to completely undo me, then I gladly will crawl through fire to have Him rip me apart. I honestly can’t imagine a better way to be undone than for it to happen at the hands of my Divine Torturer, Who pulls the strings that pluck at the places no one else can touch. I can’t think of a more complete act of love and I only hope that someday He sees fit to leave me in pieces at His feet.


~ by Alex on February 1, 2014.

6 Responses to “Between the ribs.”

  1. This post reasonates with me on a very deep level, in many ways.

    Perhaps I should think myself strange as well, or at least, aware of my own destruction/consumption by Deity wish, but honestly, I am grateful and moved to thank you for sharing this.

    Thank you, Alex

  2. This took my breath away, even on a third reading. It touches on my own experience with my deity in ways that are difficult to put into words (unbridled tears of joy/completion don’t translate well into text unfortunately).

    Thank you so much for sharing your story and helping me to make a little more sense of my own. ~Aisling

  3. […] without the notes and so I opened WordPress.  When I did, a post in the feed caught my eye – Between the ribs from Rock of Eye.  Before you click, I should probably say that this might be disturbing to some […]

  4. It took real courage to share this, and perhaps even more to admit it to yourself. Thank you.

  5. I have similar thoughts about my bhakti, I often picture her bony hand around my heart just ready to squeeze it and make it pop. Every time I make it beat hard from over exerting I keep saying , ‘please let it be now’. But seeing she is a death goddess this entirely to be expected, there is a lot of fusion between eroticism and death in my devotion to her. Of course she is going to be the one take me. It is what she does any ways.

  6. Something like this happened to me in a dream years ago when I wasn’t aware it was Him being the perpetuator of my death. I had just gone through a terrifying ordeal getting past evil spirits in a basement when I came to the bottom of a set of old wooden stairs that led to safety through a door to a more brightly lit part of the house. A slender man in a white open shirt and black pants/red hair came up to me and unexpectedly stabbed me from one side of my ribs to the other with a long, sharp sword. It hurt like hell and I literally bled to death, crumpling at the bottom of the stairs. The other people ahead of me fled to the top of the stairs in terror while He stood over me, scrutinizing my lifeless form. Yet somehow, I came back to life and healed as fast as I’d been killed, and ran up the stairs. Yes, this is very, very familiar. I can’t help but wonder if it was necessary for an initiation, or magical exchange.

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