By JocKDieseL

I’ve made several references to the time when I was 19-20 years old and lived a 24-7 Dom/sub lifestyle with John, the man I called my “handler.” I’ll write more about him and our time together, but I wanted to give everyone a reality check on that situation.

Yes, I had some amazing experiences. I felt like a rock star with all the attention paid to me. I was groomed for performance like an athlete or a racehorse. I was worked out, nearly naked almost all the time, measured biweekly and my progress monitored. I was told what to eat, when to sleep, and how to behave. I was dressed in great clothes by my handler John, and paraded around at parties like a trophy. I was to be the picture of raw youth, John’s “diamond in the rough.” I was charming, deferential, devoted, smart, with just enough dirt under my nails to keep me “in my place,” unrefined and sexy, to impress John’s acquaintances. John was proud of me, and I was proud of myself.

I was the fortunate soul who John decided to take under his wing. That was the fantasy the public saw. In private though, it was a totally different story. The reality was that I was under John’s total control for him to use and play with any way he wanted. A young, strong male that he molded for himself to exact specifications.  I knew the deal … I had beauty and strength and the desire to serve, and he was smarter, richer and more powerful than I could ever be.  We exploited each others’ qualities. We both knew this, and for a long time, it suited us both very well.

He taught me every aspect of how to perform for him sexually and how I should feel about it. To debase me was pleasure for him, and I wanted nothing more than to give him that pleasure. Most of the time it was an adventure and a fun challenge for me. Sometimes I felt stupid or embarrassed by it, but I usually I really liked it. I spent many nights sleeping in a cage, or in a doggie bed. I’ve been covered in plaster and paint, immortalized as a work of art for his friends. I was used as his object of sexual fantasies more times than I can remember. I have performed depraved sexual acts with other men in front of him, following his direction like a living porno movie while he watched. I have spent grueling hours trapped in bondage. I was taught to orgasm on command (frankly pretty easy for this 20-year-old, lol). My body was routinely drained of semen completely — mostly by forced masturbation or machines — til my orgasms ran dry.  I was beaten and bruised to exhaustion just for fun. Don’t worry, I actually did enjoy that.

I have lived out many peoples’ BDSM fantasies in my real life, and I will forever be grateful for that. But on a day-to-day basis I had to work my ass off. My handler had a huge house and grounds, and I had to manage all of that by myself, cleaning the place, learning to cook and tend bar, doing basic yard work, splitting wood, doing electrical work, plumbing, taking care of the dogs, washing the cars, cleaning the pool, running errands. It was genuinely hard labor. In retrospect though, it gave me a lot of skills I needed to grow into the confident, independent man I am today.

It would seem like a win-win, but it took a powerful emotional toll on me. Although I was exposed to many people, I felt very isolated. No one knew the extent of control John had over me, or the depth of obedience that was expected of me, except his best friend, Daryl. I did have times for myself, to think or to read. But even that time was closely monitored. I felt like a child at times, being so tightly regimented. It was getting oppressive. The stress of my young life slipping away from me and not belonging to me hung around my neck like a lead weight. I had no time for my friends, and all of my friendships slowly faded away. My life and all of my relationships revolved around John. They were all his friends or business acquaintances. They were all so much older, and I had nothing in common with them except him. John would occasionally lend me out to people overnight, and though it was fun, sometimes it really shredded my ego. Looking back, I think Daryl empathized and tried to help me, but I was too wrapped up in it to hear him. Eventually the pressure had become too much for me to bear. The service itself was fine, enjoyable for its own merit, but the micromanaging, though it was stabilizing for me, was also breaking me down. I knew I could not sustain this life any more.

It was a double-edged sword. I learned so much about life and love and commitment and respect and relationships from John, but at the same time it was a very solitary existence. I felt like I was different from everyone else around me because my life WAS so different. I was lonely.  I wanted to feel normal again. At that young age, I didn’t even know what normal was, or what freedom was. I hadn’t really lived on my own yet, and I wondered what that would feel like.

John never saw it coming. His work was taking him overseas. The plan was to take me along, but I approached him and told him that I couldn’t do that. Even though I only saw my family rarely by then, I did not want to leave my parents, my brothers and sisters. I wasn’t ready.

John was surprised at first, but said that he understood, and that we’d talk about it. We made love that night. We made love a lot! For a few weeks there was no bondage, no S&M. Just love. Rough, fun, fulfilling love. Just him and me having fun. It was wonderful. We smiled and laughed a lot. I felt normal, connected and happy.

And then one morning it all stopped …

 

***

 

We drove to get some food at the diner where we first met. We ate our usuals. Then, outside the window I saw Daryl pulling up with my car. It was strange. My car was old and beat up and we never used it. I forgot we even had it. Then it hit me. He was ending it. Today.

I couldn’t even speak. My eyes just welled up with tears, and I started shaking, my mouth half full of patty melt. My own body’s reaction had taken me off guard. I felt scared. I started sobbing, and John stood me up and ushered me out of the diner into the back parking lot.

I was inconsolable. I just couldn’t stop crying. I was grabbing his arms, yelling, “I love you, I love you,” over and over at the top of my lungs. I could hear it echo in the valley. He held me and hugged me tight and put his hand over my mouth and kissed my face over and over until I settled down a bit. I knew it had to end, we both did, but it was so gutwrenchingly hard for me to face. My heart was breaking. God it felt horrible. Daryl hugged me from behind. They surrounded me, like they always had.

“You’ll be fine … I’ll be fine, too … You hear me?” John said. I swallowed hard, nodded and closed my eyes. “I will never forget you, young man.”

“Me either,” I croaked.

He held my head in his hands. I opened my eyes. He kissed my lips … so gently. I wept and whimpered as he stuffed an envelope down my shirt. Daryl put my car keys in my hand. My heart sank. John gave me one more hug. He pressed his face next to mine. I felt his tears on my cheek as he whispered …

“I love you. Don’t come back.”

And then they walked off. They got into his car drove away.

 

***

 

As their car faded out of view, my ears started ringing. A deafening silence. I felt like someone had just shot me in the chest. My body lurched, and I collapsed in the parking lot, bawling my eyes out and clawing at the gravel til my fingers bled. I stayed in the parking lot for a long time, walking aimlessly, exhausted.

After having every aspect of my life managed for me for nearly two years, I didn’t know how to handle myself. There was no one to tell me where to go or what to do. My freedom felt like an infinitely empty chasm. I was falling faster and faster. I thought I would go crazy. I never felt so alone.

I was afraid to open my car door. I knew that once I got in and started driving, that it really was over. My keys felt heavy and insistent in the palm of my hand. In the rear window I saw all the things I had amassed over my time with him. The mat I slept on the floor on was wedged behind the front seat, all my clothes folded neatly in the back seat in cardboard boxes. My whole young life was packed away in that car. I imagined my room, now completely empty, like I had never even been there. No trace of me whatsoever. John had erased me from his life as quickly as he brought me into it.

“I love you. Don’t come back.”

That’s all I wanted to do …

But I never went back. After dropping my keys once, I opened my car door and got in. I started the engine and opened all the windows. It felt oppressively small inside, but the sound of my car’s engine was familiar and comforting. I pulled out of the diner and drove north along the river like I always did. I passed the cutoff to … the house … and just kept driving. 
I was relieved when I passed the intersection, but I still felt lost, and heartbroken. I had celebrated two birthdays with him, and now I didn’t even know who I was. I was too upset to go home, and too embarrassed to go to a friend. I drove up back roads for a couple of hours. I stopped once or twice for a crying jag. I wound up at Lake Wallenpaupack in the Poconos. My friends had taken me there a couple of years ago on a retreat. I remember it being very peaceful there. I walked around the lake all day til the sun went down.

While I was walking down a deserted trail, I felt the envelope John stuffed down my shirt. It was damp with sweat now and stuck to my ribcage. I pulled up my shirt and peeled it off of me and looked at it. Just feeling the weight of it in my hand, I knew what was inside. I smiled just a little. He still wanted to take care of me, to make sure I was going to be all right. That really did make me feel better.

John gave me enough money to finish school and start my life over without hardship. I checked in at a guesthouse by the lake, and I stayed there for two days to regroup before heading home to visit my parents and to find a place to live. I got back in touch with my old friends. I told them I was working in Philly all that time, and was sorry I lost touch with them. In a few weeks it was like I never left. It felt like I had picked up where I left off. I got a re-do on my life, and I was very grateful.

I never spoke about my experiences with John to anyone … not for twelve years. I was confused and embarrassed by it. To this day I have mixed feelings about that chapter of my life. Was it some kind of love, or was I abused? I choose to believe it was love. I have to believe that, otherwise I am just a victim. And being a victim is something I cannot live with.

Even though it was a hard and often demeaning part of my life, in the end maybe John’s biggest gift to me was perspective. After spending days locked in a cage, all I remembered was how bright and beautiful the sun was when I was let out. After being tortured, the comfort of his warm, strong hands while he bathed me clean was all I needed. After being treated like one of his dogs, I felt like part of a family. You can analyze it all you want, but an abuser would have just dumped me on the side of the road. But that’s not what happened to me. It was abrupt, yes, but it was heartfelt and caring. And that’s how John always was … Abrupt. Heartfelt, and caring.

 

 

Metal would like to thank JocKDieseL for allowing his story to be shared here. You can contact him at jockdiesel69@yahoo.com, or visit him on Recon. Also be sure to visit his personal website.