Weblog
Sunday, 13 July 2008
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What is an Alpha male?
I hear the term "Alpha male" used a lot. I hear the meaning of the term discussed a lot. I even hear a lot of guys calling themselves "Alpha males". But what exactly makes a man an "Alpha male", and what does it mean to be one? How do we identify him? How do we know who the Alpha male is, in a world of lesser men?
We know him by instinct.
We know him by instinct because we have been programmed over hundreds of thousands of generations to recognize him. In the animal world, he is the greatest among his peers. He is the strongest, most dominating, and most powerful male -- and is the natural leader. Other males want to be him.
Other males defer to him, and nature blesses the Alpha male with not only the ability and the opportunity, but also the right to pass on his genes to the next successive generation of his species with a majority of the females he has access to.
Females naturally want him. He offers not only protection from harm, but he offers the power and influence to support her when she bears his children. He has the most desirable qualities for natural selection, qualities that will give her children a higher probability for survival and her own genes a greater likelihood of being propagated into the future.
In this game we play; the losers fail to pass on their genes and their genetic line dies, while the winners succeed in securing genetic dominance over their rivals and peers. As humans, this game we play becomes more sophisticated. And the more sophisticated the game... the more sophisticated the player.
The Alpha males of our modern world have adapted to changing conditions in order to continue their reign of dominance.
*****
The reasons modern women are attracted to men in uniform, the successful corporate executive, and the Bad Boy are the same. They all possess external indicators of traditional Alpha male traits.
The mental archetype of a man in uniform represents a man who lives a life of duty, to serve and to protect. A man in uniform places his duty higher than his own life, and will sacrifice his life for those he serves and protects. A man in uniform, in our primal minds, serves as the modern archetype of a warrior -- a hero. Women are attracted to men in uniform because in the thousands of years of human civilization, the men in uniform were the ones who were the heirs of the best genetic line to assure the survival of not only their women, but also their offspring.
The modern corporate executive is an adaptation of the man in uniform -- except now the uniform is no longer the uniform of physical warfare. Gone are the service ribbons, the rank insignia and the medals of honor. Instead, they are replaced by the business suit, the trappings of wealth, and the fruits of their success. He is still a warrior because without the warrior spirit, he would not have suceeded. He would have succumbed to the other warriors who fight for dominance in this world. What he shows the world through his occupation, his success, and his material wealth is that just like the warriors of antiquity, he possesses the best genetic material to pass on to a woman's offspring.
However, these are just external indications. The matters of a true Alpha male are internal. A man in uniform no longer guarantees an Alpha Male. More often than not, in this modern world, we find the Bad Boy -- and the Bad Boy is not an adaptation of the Alpha male.
It is here where most of the world makes the mistake of believing that the Alpha male and the Bad Boy are one in the same. The Bad Boy exhibits behavior consistent with Alpha male behavior -- a predisposition to fighting, aggression, a likelihood to take risks, dominance, and a tendency to attract a lot of women. The entire cycle the Bad Boy lives in is an illusion. He is the False Alpha. Men like to be around the Bad Boy because he attracts women, and because he demonstrates some Alpha behavior. Women like to be around the Bad Boy because they detect the same Alpha behavior -- behavior that is lacking in most regular men.
So women take what they can get. If B is greater than C, then choose B; even though B is not the highest quality available, B is chosen by default.
The problem comes when the women who fall in love with the Bad Boy or the men who follow him realize that not only is the Bad Boy an imperfect copy of the Alpha Male, but he is in fact the antithesis and the diametric opposite of the true Alpha Male.
*****
For the sake of our discussion, we can divide men into four categories; the Alpha, the Standard, the NiceGuy and the Bad Boy.
The Alpha and the Bad Boy types, put together, represent a tiny proportion of the male population, with the majority of men being either the Standard or the NiceGuy; stratified somewhere between the Alpha type and the Bad Boy types at the extremes.
Types of Men Type Style Attributes Alpha Males Secure Outgoing, intelligent, (socially) powerful, confident, leaders, life in order, secure alliances, goal-oriented, motivated and a motivator. Standard Guys Secure Some of the qualities of the Alpha Male, but to a lesser degree. Not leaders, and likely with a few NiceGuy or Bad Boy tendencies. NiceGuys Anxious Shy, anxious, low social status, many friendships with women but a disproportionate lack of ass, a push-over, gets walked on by others, needy, clingy, dependent, self-esteem problems, lack of motivation. Bad Boys Avoidant Exciting, arrogant, reckless, psychotic, selfish, doesn't mind hurting people for his own gain and pleasure. Self-serving above all.
It may seem that I am being overly harsh on the NiceGuy, and that I hate the NiceGuy, but I feel the exact opposite.
I want to help the NiceGuy.
And the first step to helping and being helped is being brutally honest. I view everything in life in terms of warfare -- and the first step in any campaign is to understand your own capabilities and where you stand in relation to your goal. If you continue to deny your shortcomings and faults, you will never move forward.
Analyze your situation, decide your course of action, and execute.
Women tend to look for security in relationships with men and men tend to look for youth and beauty in a female partner. Consequently, women tend to marry socially upwards and men tend to marry socially downwards. Women tend to marry older men and men, younger women. So, women tend to be naturally drawn toward Secure qualities in men, and tend to be turned off by NiceGuy qualities.
If a woman can walk all over you, she is not going to respect you. If she doesn't respect you, then she's not going to want a relationship with you.
It may seem that women like assholes and jerks, but unless she is psychologically defective, she really doesn't. She's subconsciously thinks she's getting Alpha Male when in fact she's getting Bad Boy. The mistake women make with the asshole, jerk-off Bad Boys in their perception of Alpha Male behavior is that they misinterpret negative Bad Boy characteristics as similar positive Alpha characteristics.
For example, a Bad Boy's reckless, exciting, impulsive nature can be mistaken for the Alpha Male's confident risk-taking mentality. The Alpha Male approaches a situation, analyzes it, comes to a decision -- often times breaking his own way into it and taking calculated risks for gain; and then executes that decision confidently. A Bad Boy just don't give a fuck. He doesn't take calculated risks. He's just reckless. It looks the same on the outside, but is a much different thing on the inside.
I also hear women saying "I like my men a little cocky, but not arrogant." This is how a mentally healthy woman thinks -- a mentally healthy woman can discern the difference between the confidence of an Alpha Male and the arrogance of a Bad Boy. Unfortunately, many women still fall prey to the Bad Boy's false charm.
Bad Boys are Avoidant types and Avoidant types tend to not have relationships with Secure types because a Secure type is not going to take an Avoidant type's shit. Two Avoidant types will never have a intimate relationship just by the nature of who they are individually. Therefore, it falls to the insecure, Anxious types -- the female equivalent of the NiceGuy (the NiceGirl, if you will) who fall victim to the Bad Boy.
Because of this, Bad Boys tend to have a lot of women -- another characteristic of the Alpha Male. It then becomes cyclical; because the Bad Boy and the Alpha Male both have a lot of women (and male admirers/ followers), the distinction between Alpha Male and Bad Boy becomes even harder to discern. The key is to realize the nature of the relationships between Alpha Males and their women, and Bad Boys and the women who are unfortunate enough to be caught by them.
The key is the difference between selfishness and selflessness.
*****
The Alpha Male and the Bad Boy may look the same, but they are fundamentally different at the core.
The Bad Boy seeks to serve his own goals. The Bad Boy tends to seek out NiceGirl women because they see them as easy marks, easy to dominate and thereby increase their own self-esteem in the destruction of the NiceGirl.
A NiceGirl is a woman who has a low social status, is anxious and insecure -- and an exciting guy who wants her. How can she resist? So she falls in love with him, while he is relatively unmoved emotionally (since his self-esteem is derived from social conquest). The relationship is guided by the Principle of Least Interest: the person who is the least interested in the relationship gets to dictate the terms of the relationship.
The result is that instead of building you up, the Bad Boy tears you down. He takes advantage of you, dominates and controls you. He sees problems in the relationship as being your fault, and you are inclined to agree since you see yourself negatively, and if you resist, he abuses you physically as well.
The Alpha Males, on the other hand, are the benevolent, socially dominant leader males of a group. Everybody in the group looks up to them, including the Females. They care about and support those who follow him, protect those under their protection, and recognize that their position as an Alpha Male is one of service, and not one of domination of those beneath him.
Alpha males are leaders, and recognize that Leadership is about having a twin set of skills that balance and complement each other.1) Being able to strongly guide and set a strong direction.
2) Listening to the other person to find out where they are and what moves them.
Not only do an Alpha male's fellow men look to him for leadership, but women do too. The true skill set of being an Alpha is being able to keep his own desire and intent strong, while at the same time recognizing, listening to, and gathering information about those under him.
When you can make women feel both listened to and led, both recognized and guided, then you will carry a vibe about you that no busting, sarcastic, Bad Boy loudmouth could ever even hope to imitate -- much less realize and enjoy.
The Alpha Male seeks to build up, and not tear down because he is confident in himself and does not need to step on anybody to rise up -- he rises up naturally. He pulls those men around him upwards and inspires them. He pulls those women around him upwards and loves them.
The Alpha Male also dictates the terms of the relationship, but unlike the Bad Boy, does not rule under the Principle of Least Interest.
The Alpha Male dicates the terms of the relationship because he IS your leader -- he is your King -- and because you trust him for his benevolence toward you and his desire to serve and protect you from those who would harm you.
Sunday, 15 June 2008
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I stared out across the darkness at the walls of my bedroom, at the dark blue tinge of night that flooded the room.
I could hear her breathing, soft and light. I lay in my bed, propped up against the headboard, with Min-Young's head resting on my chest and her nude body clinging to me as she slept. I looked down at my hand, resting on her thin waist, flexed my fingers, and drew them closed into a fist.
She had no idea that just an hour before she came over tonight, I was washing another man's blood off of my hands.
*****
I drew my right arm back, fully cocked, fist covered in blood.
He was unconscious.
He lay motionless beneath me as I straddled his chest. His arms, waving wildly in front of his face trying to push me away, had collapsed to the ground. His thin, pretty face was split at the cheekbone. Blood streamed from his nose across the skin of his cheek; and more blood, mixed with saliva, dripped down his chin and back along his jaw to the ground.
I heard him moan, letting his face collapse to the crumbled asphalt of the parking lot beneath us.
I let my right arm fall to my side, and I stood up off of my knees from where I kneeled, straddling his chest. I looked around. His friends stood there, ten feet away in a tight group, terrified. I knew the look. I could smell the fear. I could see it in their eyes. I could smell it in the air, above the scent of adrenaline and blood. I stood up, his blood running down across my knuckles and down my fingers.
Not a single one of them looked me in the eye.
Just one minute earlier, it was a different crowd. Yelling at me and taunting me in Cantonese. Standing there with their cigarettes, against their BMW's, tall and lanky in their tightly-fitting clothes that looked like they were men wearing women's blouses. Standing there in their embroidered jeans. Standing there with their girlfriends, eyeing me down and taunting me because one of the girls told her boyfriend that I had been looking at her.
He stepped forward, holding his arms out. In his accented english, he said something to me. Something that made me drop my training bag to the ground. Something that flicked the switch in me. Something -- but all I heard was the word, "Bitch."
I'm nobody's bitch.
*****
I don't know what he was thinking.
I walked out of the door from the restaurant, into the parking lot, coming down from spending the last two hours before dinner in fight training, war-muscles still pumped from combat with sweat lines still visible under my clothing. I walked out, still wearing a black rashguard shirt that clearly said "Full Contact Fighter" across the chest and Sprawl competition fight shorts that were clearly stained with blood.
I don't know what he was thinking.
Did he not understand what "Full Contact Fighter" means?
The thing I love the most about fighting TCMA fighters is the same thing I love about Taekwondo fighters -- they think they can actually survive in a street fight. They're used to competitions where fighters either do exhibition kata; or when they actually fight to deliver single strikes for points, before they're backed off by the referee to reset the match for the next point.
Yes, they may be able to land the first strike, and it may do damage -- but TCMA, Taekwondo, and any of the other point-system fighters completely fall apart when confronted by a well-rounded, combat-experienced MMA fighter. And he didn't even manage to land the first strike. He didn't even manage to land a strike at all.
Stupid assed motherfucker gave it all away in his stance. It was obvious what he was planning to throw at me the moment I got within reach. Sun Tzu is not just for large-scale warfare.
Know your enemy's attack strategy. When I rushed forward for a second and then withdrew, he threw a kick high at my head -- and the fight was over almost before it began.
Draw your enemy in, and envelop him when he is vulnerable. An instant later as his kicking leg reached it's maximum extension and drew back, I threw my entire six-foot-tall, two-hundred pound body into him, picked him up by the legs and smashed him into the asphalt.
Unbalance your enemy and force him to fight on ground of your choosing. I've said it once, I'll say it a hundred times. Taekwondo (or TCMA) doesn't work on the ground.
It was obvious he didn't know how to defend on the ground. I transitioned forward from the takedown and landed square on his chest. He immediately dropped out of fighting mode and fell into survival mode. His arms started flailing wildly at me, trying to push me off of him.
Mistake. Defend, fool.
I drew back, cocked my right arm, and threw my entire upper body weight into his head through my fist.
Again.
And Again.
And Again.
He stopped moving.
*****
Loosely gripping the leather-wrapped steering wheel of the Mercedes-Benz, I looked at the splatter of blood on my hands.
I wiped off most of his blood on his shirt after getting up off of him, but I didn't get it all off. Some of it still clung to my skin in sticky patches between my knuckles and at the edges of my fingers. I could still smell it.
I looked in the rearview mirror as I pulled out of the parking lot and watched as his friends picked him up off of the ground and put him in the passenger seat of a green BMW. A moment later, as the restaurant left my view and I found myself driving down the nearly empty six-lane boulevard on my way home; my heartbeat began to slow down again and the adrenaline spike began to ease off.
Was I becoming a sociopath?
I caught myself thinking -- I'd just beaten somebody's face into the ground with no hesitation, with no rage nor anger, and with no remorse.
I waited for him to strike, took him down, and annihilated him in a matter of seconds, calm and cool -- I felt the adrenaline spike, and I felt my heart pumping blood to my muscles, but it was all business. I didn't hate him. He didn't make me mad. He challenged me. I destroyed him.
One of the mental hallmarks of a sociopath is that he feels no remorse in committing acts of violence. One of the physical hallmarks of a sociopath is that he barely gets a rise out of committing acts of violence.
I didn't feel an endorphin rush. My heart rate returned to normal quickly. This could be attributed, of course, to the fact that I work out and train to fight between three and five hours a day... that my conditoning is unmatched but for select professionals -- but it also scared me in that it could be an indication that I am becoming desentitized, and that in fighting every other night, the receptors in my prefrontal lobe are being overwhelmed and I am developing a tolerance to the neurotransmitters that govern the stimulation associated with violent behavior.
In my own words, I like to train and fight like a Terminator.
I tell myself, as I run up the mountain I run every morning... as I feel my quads and calves beginning to give out from the burning fire of my uphill sprint... I tell myself that I'm a fucking machine. That pain can be disconnected. That a machine doesn't quit. It just keeps going. It doesn't stop. I tell myself that, when I feel like giving up -- when I feel like I want to lighten my training load for the day. And it always keeps me going. Because I'm a fucking machine.
With Debussy's Claire de Lune playing on the stereo, sealed off from the world in the Mercedes-Benz and driving home on the night-time streets of the city with a man's blood on my fists and niether remorse nor joy in my heart...
...It's beginning to scare me that I might be transforming into just that -- a machine.
*****
I leaned my head back against the smooth, hard mahogany of my headboard and stared up at the slowly spinning fan on the ceiling.
My heartbeat, matching the slow pulses of the fan.
I released and relaxed my fingers from the clenched fist and let them spread out on Min-Young's thin waist as she clung to me, breathing slowly and lightly in her sleep.
I watched her sleeping, her lips slightly parted, her ribcage moving in and out. I looked down at her tight, nude body -- at the gentle curve of her waist and hips, tracing down to her smooth pubic mound... and along the length of her leg that covered mine, down to her small feet resting on my shins.
I brushed my fingers gently up the side of her waist, feeling her soft skin under my fingertips.
She giggled in her sleep.
I smiled.
No. I wasn't a machine. And I'd never be one. Not with these feelings I have. Not with this kind of passion. Not with this kind of love.
I wrapped my fingers around hers, and closed my eyes.
Sunday, 11 May 2008
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I almost forgot how much I love the feeling of my fist slamming against skin, flesh and bone.
Feeling every muscle in my body lash out in full force through the air and pushing my entire two-hundred pound frame into somebody's head through my clenched fist.
I wanted the Bull Ring tonight.
It's been a long four days since I last went to fight training.
I came home from my morning conditioning session on Wednesday and found Tara OD'ed on my bed; and I haven't conditioned, trained or fought since then. For the first seventy-two hours, I stayed with her sleepless either in the ER or the ICU as she recovered from her suicide attempt. I watched over her. I took care of her. And since then she's been with me non-stop, back in my house.
The itch to condition, train and fight; compounded by the emotional rollercoaster I've been on for the past few days finally got to me today. After a particularly bad morning today, I had enough. Enough weakness. Enough suffering under pain. Pain is my bitch. It obeys me.
I told everybody that I wanted to be in the center of the Bull Ring tonight.
For the Bull Ring, we place one fighter in the center of a ring made up of the other fighters. The fighters making up the ring successively engage the fighter in the center, one-on-one, two-on-one, sometimes three-on-one, until the fighter in the center is defeated -- either knocked out or submitted or simply too battered or exhausted to continue.
In the Bull Ring, I told them to not hold back tonight, because I wouldn't. I told them I wanted to go Full Contact tonight. I told them to attack me as if they hated me, and as if I was their only opponent in the ring and there weren't eight other people trying to pummel me into the ground. I told them to attack me as if they wanted nothing more than to leave me a bloody pulp in the end -- because I would be attacking them with nothing short of the full assault of the fury of pain I've built up over the last few days.
When it was over, I lay on the ground motionless.
I could taste blood filling up out of my lips, and some hard fragments in my mouth. I splintered some teeth tonight. I don't think my nose is broken, but it's fucked up good.
I have a gash over my left eye and another one in the back of my head that I'm going to see if I need stitches for tomorrow. My ribs are bruised, and I think I've taken some damage to my left knee. But lying on the ground, exhausted, beaten until I couldn't move anymore, finally... finally...
...finally, I felt nothing.
I felt numb.
And that's what I wanted.*****
I've been feeling too many things these last few days, and I've been losing control of myself.
It's like somebody has the emotion going at full crank in my head and heart for the last 144 hours of my life, and it's brutalizing me from the inside.
Up, down, up, down. Sideways. Seeing somebody I love dying in the ER and then spending the next seventy-two hours sleepless at their side in the ICU. Another person I love walking out on me coldhearted. Walking out on another person I love because we agreed it was mutually beneficial for us to stop seeing each other. And then losing my mind over a woman who I want but can't have... and then going mad when she does the sensible thing I myself said we needed to do.
I tried working it out on the bag, but it didn't help.
I ran the mountain at nearly full sprint today -- something I've never done before; and when I got to the top I collapsed onto the ground. I think I broke my record to the summit by at least two minutes. A hiking guide at the top even came over me, and shook me, thinking I was having a heart attack. I couldn't answer him. I just stared at him, then got back up and ran back down the mountain, feeling like my heart was going to explode out of my chest and I was going to fall down the side of the mountain.
I tried working it out with my training partners, but it didn't help.
I hit the gym, and pushed myself harder than ever before. I've always said that emotions like sadness and fear are useless to me -- and that it always works when I convert those useless feelings into anger. Anger, I can work with. Anger, I can turn into fuel. Anger, I can use to power myself and make myself stronger. Anger, I can use to further my goals. Anger, I can use to give me strength, and take me beyond my physical limits.
Through tears and screams I lifted today until I swore I could feel my muscles tearing in my chest and arms. I dialed up the weight. I added extra plates to everything I did.
I wanted to do something that would make me feel like I could still survive through pure determination... by sheer force of will.
I wanted something to show myself that I am unconquerable. Invincible.*****
I have a poem that I've always held dear to my heart all my life. It's about having an unconquerable soul. It's about having your head bloodied but unbowed.
It's called "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley. I've transcribed it here:
INVICTUS
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
And I live my life by this philosophy. It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloodied but unbowed.I am unconquerable.
I am invincible.
I AM INVICTUS.
Lying on the floor, with my training partners sitting around me, knowing that my blood was flowing out of the gash above my eye but not being able to feel it... my vision blurred from impacts to my eyes and the sweat and tears flooding them... feeling the numb pain of fists, elbows, shins and heels spread out over every inch of my body, and knowing that I took on the Bull Ring with no fear, and no hesitation...
...it made me feel alive.
It made me feel invincible. I cannot be conquered. Not by any man. Not by any woman. Not by any thing. Not by this.
I won the Bull Ring.
I won because although I ended up getting beaten unconscious by my eight opponents, I fought with honor and determination. I fought with everything I had. I fought with Yamato Damashii fueling my spirit. I fought like a fucking warrior to the end. Yamato Damashii requires that I never give up. Never fucking quit. Never fucking surrender.
I fight to the end -- and if I go down, I'm going down swinging.
Lying on the floor tonight, I understood what I must do now.*****
When life hands you a lemon, fuck making lemonade. Take life by the neck, knock it to its knees and cram the lemon down its fucking throat.*****
I am who I am for a reason.
I'm The One, because I hold an unwavering, unflinching philosophy: Just fucking do it.
Fight. Never stop fighting. Never surrender. Never give up. When life gives me a lemon, I take life by the neck, knock it to its knees and force the lemon down it's fucking throat. When I have a problem, I deal with it and move on. And this problem is not any different from any other problem. I just need to remove my emotions from the process.
Do what you need to do. Fuck everything else.
Everything I do can be reduced to a simple procedure:
Analyze the problem. Find the solution. Execute.
It's that simple.
Thursday, 10 April 2008
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In all the days of my life, I will never forget the one where I let you go, Chieko.
I stood there among the rows of white folded wooden chairs, with Claire to my left, and Shelly to my right, as we watched you on that bright, beautiful autumn day. We all stood at attention, beneath that brilliant blue sky, and watched as the sun shone down on you as you made your way down the carpet of scattered red rosepetals, down the aisle of white and peach roses and of tulle blowing in the wind.You were so beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes off of you. I knew Claire and Shelly had tears in their eyes, watching you being escorted down the aisle by her father, dressed head-to-toe in shimmering white, with your small gloved hands grasping your domed bouquet of peach roses and your long white veil blowing in the wind against the backdrop of bright leaf-strewn autumn color.
The whole time you made your way down the aisle toward your husband-to-be waiting for you, you didn't take your eyes off of him. But for just one moment, as you passed the second row where I stood with two girls who had been your sisters for the last couple of years, you looked at me and smiled your crooked half-smile... and whispered to me.
"Thank you..."
I smiled at you -- and you looked away again, back at the man you had fallen in love with... the man you were leaving me for... the man who would be yours for the rest of your life.
The man I was releasing you to.
I watched you hand your bouquet to June and take Kenshiro's hand. The look on your face... the look in your eyes when you looked at him -- I knew you were his now, willingly and completely. I never was good at letting go, but that day I knew I was leaving you to a man who was worthy... who really was good enough for you.
If your birth father had not been able to make it in from Kyoto, it would have been me. It would have been me who would have answered when your officiant asked the question. It would have been me to have answered, and not the father who had left your mother, the father who you had not seen in years.
It should have been me. I should have been the one giving you away.
You were mine.*****
"You know you're never going to get rid of me now." Chieko breathed a long train of smoke through her lips, into the still air of my garage.
"Hmm?" I mouthed.
I sat with my back against the flared rear fender of my black Porsche with the garage door open, facing the front yard and the night outside. Chieko sat back against my chest, her sweaty mass of her chin-length bob falling back against my neck where she rested her head. Between my legs and beneath hers was an old pillow I got from the closet.
She couldn't sit on the hard ground of the garage floor.Not after cramming her head between the dashboard and the windshield and fucking her as hard, as dominating, and as violently as I could; suspending Chieko in mid-air around my hips in the front seat of the Porsche we had just spent the last hour cleaning out.
It was everywhere. On the leather passenger seat. On the racing harness. On the carpet. On the floor. On the center console and shifter. On the dashboard. We even had to clean her faceprint off of the glass where her makeup and lipstick smeared a quarter-way across the windshield.
"I mean we're not... TOGETHER anymore..." Chieko started to talk again. "...but it's different right now... tonight."
She sighed deeply.
Three months after we had broken up as formal boyfriend and girlfriend, after discovering that I didn't like her intruding, possessive attitude and she didn't like my philandering, womanizing ways... after eight months of knowing each other and having the kind of vanilla sex that everybody else had, that night we discovered something new together. I took her to a new place she never even knew existed. And she woke the Alpha inside me. I was different after that night, after exerting my absolute dominion on her like that.I reached up and pressed my fingers against her scalp... into the sweaty, matted hair that lay pressed against the side of her neck... brushing them forward and down along her collarbone. I led my fingers down to the sweaty crevice between her breasts, and back up along her pulsing jugular... dragging my fingertip slowly and deliberately against her pulse and up to her chin to her lips.
"You're mine." I whispered.
She nodded, taking my fingertip into her mouth and licking it with her tongue.
"I own you." I breathed into her ear.
"Yes." Chieko replied.
I didn't know what came over me. I had told women that before, but only during play. I was never serious. And they were never serious. Once our fantasy was over, I went back to being myself, and they went back to being themselves.
But that night, on the floor of my garage, telling that to Chieko... I had a feeling of such absolute power. I had a feeling of such absolute certainty that she truly was mine, and that from that day on she would be mine to do what I wanted with. I could sense the change within her that night, as an animal senses their dominion over other animals.
Chieko became the first.*****
Fuck Buddies are one thing. Friends With Benefits are completely different. Such is the same with Domination and Submission.
A Fuck Buddy (FB) is little more than an extended, episodic One Night Stand. A Friend with Benefits (FWB), on the other hand, is based on Friendship. An FB is not, and if friends become FB without putting their friendship above the sex, the friendship will fail. FWB partners care about each other and Love each other as friends -- except they are able to enjoy each other sexually as well.
The key to a successful, long-term FWB relationship is Love.
Likewise, the key to a successful Domination & Submission relationship is also Love.
This may seem strange to those who do not live in our world. How could you love someone and bind them with rope and whip them with leather? How could you give pain and see somebody you love suffering because of something you are doing? How can you call Domination... Sado-Masochism... how can you call that love?
In order to understand this, one must understand the nature of Love, and the true nature of Domination and Submission on and to your partner.
Dungeon and S&M clubs are often satisfying because of the new exposure to the experience. But after some time, the feeling of being bound or whipped by a stranger no longer satisfies. This is similar to how after a spree of having random sex with strangers, the empty hunger has only grown. There is no satisfaction. It's eating food to fill your stomach and drinking water to quench your thirst, but it is only air.
This idea may be elusive to most men, but empathetically understood by women -- because the satisfaction and hunger is not a physical or sexual hunger... it's a hunger that comes from the soul itself.
A Fuck Buddy will get you off. It will satisfy your hunger for the moment. Having a random stranger performing Domination on you or Submitting to you will also get you off. It will satisfy your hunger for the moment.
But to transcend into the next level toward Sexual Nirvana, Love is required, and it is in Love we find the difference.
Love is a much more powerful thing than we realize. It's a much more liberating thing than we realize also. Love, not philios or even eros. When I speak of Love, I speak of agape. Love that is unconditional. Love that gives, with no bounds. Love that transcends normal human experience.
What those outside of our world do not understand is that Domination and Submission is about giving and receiving Love.The lowest level of Dominator or Dominatrix is selfishly motivated. He or she enjoys domination solely because he or she enjoys delivering pain onto others. Often times this level of Dominator or Dominatrix is sociopathic with anti-social and psychotic tendencies. The only way he or she can achieve sexual self-gratification is through violence against others. There is no giving. This is taking.
The next level of Dominator or Dominatrix is still selfishly motivated, but also recognizes that sex is an activity to be enjoyed with others. At this level, Domination/ Submission is just a sexual activity with one party getting off on dominating and the other party getting off on submitting. At this level, the direction of sexual energy is inward -- absorbsive for both parties. One party gives so the other will return.
The highest level of Dominator or Dominatrix is NOT selfishly motivated. At this level, we dominate to GIVE because we Love.
We do this because we know and understand our partner's need to be dominated... to submit and to be owned.
Because it gives them not only sexual pleasure, but also because it is the key to a deeper part of themselves that submission unlocks. We bind our partners in rope because we know they enjoy it. We strike them with leather belts and whips because we know it provides release. Because for them, in the pain, there is pleasure.
I often say that in my Love, I serve and protect.
To Love is to Serve.
To Dominate one who seeks to be dominated is to Serve.
To Dominate is to Love.*****
The same Love that I gave to Chieko by dominating her allowed me to Love her unconditionally and give her away to another man when she fell in love with him years later.
I never held her back my love for her. I loved her always, only wanting the best for her. I was there for her when she needed me, and when she didn't, I never complicated the rest of her life. I supported her. I encouraged her.I helped her find her strength, building her up from within by loving her through domination and allowing her to explore herself and become comfortable and confident with herself.
I always told Chieko that if she ever found a man who was good enough, that I would let her go and give her my blessing.
And on that beautiful autumn day, as she held Kenshiro's hands in hers and said her vows to him beneath the brilliant blue sky... I did.
I let her go.
Wednesday, 12 March 2008
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Somebody stole the hood ornament off of my Mercedes last night.
June expected me to rage when we got back to the car after leaving the club. Instead I just stood there and looked the car over. There weren't any signs of any attempt to break in. There weren't any other signs of vandalism. I wasn't targeted. This was just random crime and I was just a random victim.
I was a victim of the only thing somebody can do to the Mercedes without setting off the alarm -- pulling up the hood ornament and clipping the cable with a pair of heavy duty cable cutters. Everything else, and one of the sensors would have tripped. The alarm brain would have sent out a distress call to my alarm remote, and I would have come running out looking to put somebody to the ground.
To be honest, I'm surprised I've been driving a Mercedes Benz in some form or shape for so long, frequenting shady places, and this is the first time somebody has stolen my hood ornament.
It pisses me off because now I have to go get a replacement, but at the same time it kind of makes me laugh.Right now, there's some fourteen year old punk ass kid somewhere showing off to his loser friends a Mercedes-Benz Starmark emblem that he was so brave and cool to have stolen off of a car in a parking lot.
Like... you think you're cool because you've done something criminal? You think you're 'hard' now?
You know what would make you 'hard'? If you beat my ass into the ground, took my gun and shot me; and then removed my car's hood ornament, dipped it in my blood and took it as a fucking trophy.
Even when I was fourteen I thought it was ridiculous to be stealing emblems off of cars to show off. You know who does things like that? Little boys who are searching for some kind of recognition and acceptance among peers who act hard but are all actually posers. The real thugs and criminals don't bother stealing emblems. They're already engaged in hard crime -- gang violence, drug trafficking, burglary; and think the kids who steal emblems off of cars are nothing but posers."Sorry." June told me, standing on the opposite side of the hood from me. "Are you going to call the police?"
"Nah." I replied. "Punk ass kids. That's all it is... punk ass kids."
"Too bad they weren't doing it when we came out." June remarked.
"No. I'd go to jail for sure." I replied.
The majority of people I end up in a streetfight with are people who live that culture -- people who like picking fights no matter if they get their asses beat or not. They're just like that. If you beat them into the ground, they'll just walk -- they won't call the cops on you.
The kind of person who steals emblems off of cars because he thinks he's being cool for being criminal is the kind of person who likes to talk a lot of shit to his peers, but when it comes down to it, doesn't have what it takes. He's the kind of person who would pick a fight and then call the police after he gets his ass kicked to have the person he just picked a fight with arrested for assault and battery.
Even if he wasn't a kid, I'd still end up in jail. Beating up somebody because they stole a hood ornament off of your car isn't enough reason to beat somebody into a pulp. And sure, I suppose I could chase him down and hold him in submission while June called the police... but really -- I try to involve myself with the police as little as possible.
The ironic thing about all this was that I'd been itching for a fight all night long. All night long, I was punching at things lightly, elbowing things, and shifting by shoulders back and forth. I don't know what got into me. Marisa gave me the shaft last night for no particular reason, and that pissed me off (so I went out with June instead) -- but I was feeling pretty antagonized even before that happened.I was feeling so aggro earlier in the night that I was seriously entertaining the thought of jumping behind a fence and fighting a super-aggressive Pit-Bull that was barking and jumping at me behind the fence of one of June's neighbor's houses.
The thing was throwing saliva all over the place, and lunging at me like it wanted to kill me. I felt like an animal last night. Here was this thing trying to establish a dominant relationship with me, and I had to hold back against my impulse to attack it. A fucking Pit-Bull. Who willingly fights a Pit-Bull? Somebody out of their fucking mind, that's who.
I'm honestly glad I didn't catch whoever stole my hood ornament last night. I handled the situation calmly and collectively after the fact, but who knows how I would have reacted if I actually saw somebody vandalizing my car? It's likely I'd still be in jail right now, and they would be in the ICU at the trauma center.
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sceadena
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- Name: sceadena
- Member Since: 7/7/2008
About Me
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All the ways you wish you could be, that's me. I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not.
