Going back to the beginning

Much like How I Met Your Mother, this blog should have a finish line. This is a colophon of my life, discussing how a brief period of openness was created by the events that came before, and has influenced me since.

I spent the last few restless hours thinking about this blog concept and just where to start. At first, I considered my first power exchange experience, but that was really putting the beginning at the end. Perhaps my first steps on irc into #femdom? Or maybe even that fatal day on Battletech Muse that first clicked my mind into the abandoned oxbow that it was born to flow through?

But I really do have to go back to the very beginning, that first instance that, while perhaps very ordinary for a teenager, was what set my brain on a different path, at least for a while.

First, a little pertinent background. I was raised Mormon, even though my parents were not. No one in my household smoked, drank, cussed, watched dirty movies (in theory). Yet, I was the one who somehow became an active Mormon. My mother has been raised Mormon as well, but had neighbors take me to church. My father never was Mormon until much later in life; I baptized him.

Being raised Mormon is different from converting to Mormonism. Converting is the easy route. The iron rod rules of Mormonism are designed for adults who want to turn their life around. You grasp onto the iron rod (no sexual metaphors here) and it guides you to heaven. You rigidly follow the rules and understanding comes later. It's great when you have already lived the experiences of your teens and early 20s. It is frequently a disaster when you are bound by those rules from the day you turn 8 years old. I knew many teenage Mormons who had dramatic flame outs. Whether it was being discovered at church summer camp with a suitcase of alcohol, or being caught engaging in group sex with the neighbors, or simply flying to Vegas overnight, hoping that a spur of the moment marriage will alleviate the guilt of having just lost your virginity.

If you hold fast to the rules though, you go on your mission and come back to marry young to a beautiful devoted wife. You graduate college and start your own small business which flourishes with the support of your church members. You live a vanilla sex filled upper middle class life with many children, an built-in social life, and white clothing.

If you don't, you might just end up like me. Now, my life is happy. I have all of the above except the built-in social life and white clothing. I also have a gap in my life though. I held to the rules during the time I should have let go. I let go during a time when I was not prepared to let go completely, and closed off my life. But I am getting ahead of myself. I promised that first instance.

I am probably an argument against sex ed in elementary school. I never knew about masturbation until 6th grade sex ed. That day I learned, I could not wait to go to sleep that night, with my smuggled jar of Vaseline, and try. It was very pleasant, but I did not understand the big deal. Not until I had a chance to smuggle away one of my dad's well hidden ancient Playboys and repeat the experiment while staring at airbrushed pictures of large breasted smooth ivory perfection. It was the December 1978 Playboy, the one with Farrah Fawcett on the cover, and a pictoral of NFL cheerleaders inside. I remember the exact picture. Linda Kellum, former Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, posing in white thigh-highs with garters and beautiful tan lines. That was the one that set up the explosions in my head as I rocketed through my first orgasm. I have masturbated almost every day since, and coincidentally had an imprinted fetish for cheerleaders every since that I have never really acted on.

But that is not the incident. I think most young boys of all sexual orientations have their Linda Kellum. Within a few years though, I needed something different.

As much as I have typed so far now, that will have to wait for tomorrow. It was a summer night in the semi-rural part of Southern California where I grew up....