irony. life is full of it. the irony for me today is that having written last week about my reasons for publishing some very personal, intimate thoughts and experiences, i now feel almost honour bound to write about something very difficult.

despair. there, i said it. it didn't taste good. it's not a nice word. it's an ugly word. a cold, hard, grim word. but i'll say it anyway, because i'm not the only one that's feeling it, and because, like so many of the things we fear, it's stronger in the dark. its power over us grows stronger when we try to hide from it. we need to grab it by the throat, drag it out into the light, look it in the face, spit in its eye and tell it to fuck off.

c'est la vie. shit 'appens. don't let the bastards grind ya down. is that all ya got? fuck it. next!

i was asked recently, why do i do this? why do i write this blog? does it not bother me knowing that strangers are reading about the intimate, personal experiences that i write about here?

strangers? no, i don't care what strangers think. but many of those who read this blog are not strangers. they're people who know me, who've met me and talked to me at munches and at nimhneach. they're people i like and respect. some of them are people i've played with, some of them are people i hope to play with some day. i care what those people think. i want them to like me. i want them to invite me to parties. i want them to play with me. their opinions matter.

so yes, there are times when i write something personal or intimate, something which, to re-use a phrase from an earlier post, reveals my deepest desires or darkest fears, and i hesitate, the mouse pointer hovering over the 'publish post' button, thinking, do i really want everyone to know about this?

the answer has almost always been 'yes'.

there is no point, not for me, anyway, in writing at all if i'm not going to write about what matters. and this is the stuff that matters to me. i need to write about it, i need to express it. and the whole wanting to be thought well of thing works both ways. we worry that people may not think well of us if they really know us, but then we can hardly expect people to think well of us if they don't know us at all, can we? this is my way of letting people know me. some may not like what they see. hopefully, some will.

ultimately, there's nothing that i'm really ashamed of in here. a little embarrassed, perhaps, but not really ashamed. i'm not harming anyone. i may hurt you, if you ask nicely, but i'll never harm you. i may flog you, but i will not scar you physically, nor traumatize you emotionally. and those, in the end, are the only things of which i would be truly ashamed.

and maybe, just maybe, once in a while i may get lucky and manage to express an idea or an emotion that someone else has been struggling with but has been unable to express. maybe, someday, someone will read something i've written and say "yes, that's what i wanted to say". and then it really will have all been worth while.

it's all about trust.

we kinksters trust each other with our bodies. we give ourselves to each other, saying, in effect, here i am, take me, restrain me, do as you wish with me - within the limits of what is safe, sane, and consensual, of course.

more than that, though, we open ourselves emotionally. we let down our shields, put aside our defences, reveal ourselves as we truly are, share our deepest desires and darkest fears.

to stand before another naked, physically and emotionally, to reveal one's innermost secret self, and to be accepted, is a truly liberating experience.

the corollary, of course, is that when we make ourselves vulnerable and are rejected, the hurt goes deep, and takes a long time to heal.