My wish to have boobs has not vanished, even though I have decided not to go on hormones. First of all, being allowed to hormone replacement therapy in Germany isn’t easy at all and you need to prove that you’re transsexual which I am not. So that’s no option. The possibility to get hormones anyway might be given, but due to my mental issues that doesn’t sound like a good idea. I really don’t need anything that makes my condition worse.

I’ve been pumping my breast for a long while now, almost one year and a half, but I think either I don’t do it often or long enough or it just doesn’t work. My breast feels a bit thicker and heavier after pumping, but there are no real results. Well, not in actual boob growth, but pumping and treating my nipples with clamps and those small vibration eggs alomost every day has made them very, very sensitive. I know there are guys whose nipples are sensitive by nature, but mine were not, and I am pleased with the results. In fact, I sometimes manage to cum by nip play alone, and that’s really awesome I think🙂

I’m wearing a bra or a vest with support on a regular base, everyday. Sometimes I stuff it, sometimes I don’t, it depends. For work, most of the times I don’t, but when I meet friends or am at home, I do. Although I like those small silicone boobs, they don’t really give me a feeling of natural boobs, as they are a bit too stiff, and so I have come to use 2 to 4 silken scarves. They are warm and cozy against my skin, lightweight and can be removed very quickly if I need to. I also find nursing pads very helpful. I buy them at the chemist’s shop and they can be stuck inside the bra. I also have some made of cotton, but they have a weird shape🙂

Sometimes when John and I cuddle, we pretend he’s drinking milk from me. It’s hard to describe, but it’s not only kinky, but first of all it’s just loving. I just wish I could find a way to grow natural boobs. Wouldn’t have to be big, just a bit more than no boobs. I think it’s a bit funny. Most of my life I didn’t know how much I actually love to get touched there, and now it sometimes just hurts not to have boobs at all. Sigh.

With W

On the weekend, John and I were invited over to W’s and M’s. W spend several weeks in the U.S. meeting friends and family. He brought many photographs with him and we took a look at them and had the best Cajun food made by him and M🙂 I found that life in Louisiana (or maybe in the U.S. in general) is quite different to my life here. For example, I was a bit shocked when he told me he went to hunt crocodiles with his uncle, but he told me that those are quite the same as wild boars in Germany and that their population needs to be controlled. I have never eaten crocodile, but John has, and they talked about the taste of it and what to do with the meat. Too much information actually.

W said that he needs these times over in the U.S. to stay in contact with his roots and his traditions, and though I think I can understand that, it made me a bit sad, too. Because I feel like I don’t have anything to connect to, even though my brother and I have good contact.

I was totally impressed by the beautiful yet unfamiliar landscape and houses as well. Their flora and fauna is so manifold! I guess I could spend weeks just gazing at the old trees and the interesting birds and insects. W was also invited to several spiritual happenings and that caught my interest, too. He told us about a ceremony for a local spiritual being during which they put their offerings inside bottles or enwinded them with cord to hang them into the tree branches. To me, it all seemed so lively and vivid, really beautiful. He got a present from one of his aunts, a wooden “icon” with a carved and painted inside, showing three beings, including Mother Mary. As far as I understood, these are a kind of guides for anyone who seeks wisdom and knowledge and they also protect the bearer.

I uttered that even though we have spent so much time together in the years we know each other, I still feel like I only got a quick glance of what his spiritual world really consists of. I have to admit, in former days I was not very much interested in what he did and probably I should have asked him more about it🙂 I think it’s all so hard to understand for me, because it’s very different from any spiritual/religious education I have gotten. I was brought up in a catholic environment, even though religion was not a thing at home, and to me God is somehow like a strict father with rules I was not yet to understand properly. I always think of Jesus as a sort of martyre and feel sorry for him. When I was younger, I had a phase in which I tried to pray to Jesus, because I felt he must have been able to connect to me and help me, but he did not, and so I guess I stopped believing in him. Mother Mary is someone I can’t connect to, either. W refers to her as the ever-loving mother of all who nonetheless has a powerful force, but to me, being brought up without a mother, she always stayed non-point. When W talks about them, they seem more touchable and alive.

At the end, W asked whether I wouldn’t like to accompany him when he visits in the U.S. again (which will be in March, for 10 days). I was honoured, but I’m afraid of the thought as well. It’s one thing to travel with John, but I don’t know if I should really dare to do so. I trust W and he knows me well, but I fear I might just get lost, mentally. Well, it’s still time to decide. John says I should go, because it would do me good. We’ll see. I’m a coward🙂


Has anyone noticed the chestnuts are falling from the trees? Must be fall. When Love and I took a nice short walk this week, I found him collecting some chestnuts, which made me smile and wonder. John’s not sentimental and usually he doesn’t care about pretty nature objects the way I do (I like to use those things as offerings for Lord Shiva or as decoration for rituals with my friend W). But I didn’t ask why he only collected those which had their shells still on. Now I know.

Yesterday evening he set up a plastic container on our kitchen counter, filled it up with cold water and put the chestnuts in. But first I didn’t see this, because he had sent me to the bathroom to put on nice make up and do my hair. Well, and to dress up🙂

When I came into the kitchen, there popped up several question tags above my head, but he told me what he expected from me: I had one minute to collect as many chestnuts as I could out of the water by using my mouth only (it’s a popular game for children, called bobbing, in case you might not know). All chestnuts I would not be able to catch would be used later, but he didn’t announce for what.

I was hesitant to do what he wanted. I had just spent 30 mins to dress up and should now ruin my face again? He chuckled, looked at his watch and told me “Time starts now”. So I had not much time to think about the whole thing and got started. There was no chance to keep myself from getting soaking wet and the chestnuts were so hard to catch. Their spikes hurt my tongue and lips. In fact, I just caught two when he told me the time was over. “That was pathetic”, he resumed, and he was true.

“Okay, we’ll try again”. He asked me to put the chestnuts back into the container and stopped another minute, but this time he filmed me with his cellphone. Ugh. I did a bit better and ended up with 4, but I struggled with mascara dripping into my eyes and my hair bring wet to the parting. When John looked at me, he burst out in laughter and told me what a “fine lady” I was. I felt completely humiliated, but of course I reacted to that with lust.

He grabbed me by the hair, pressed my face down to the counter, while he pushed away my skirt, pulled down my panty and made me open my legs. I knew what was to follow, but I wasn’t prepared for the pain. It’s not just that those shells were spiky and it hurt unbelievably to have them shoved up my cunt, they were also really huge and I felt them stretching me. It was really painful and I wouldn’t recommend that to persons new into BDSM.

He managed to shove 3 up my cunt, than I was burning in pain and cried out for him to stop. He thankfully did, then pulled me down to the floor and over to the kitchen table, where he seated himself to enjoy a BJ. He took a lot of photos of me there, telling me how disgusting I look, mocking at my precum dripping clit and kicking my balls with his foot.

Well, when I thought getting the chestnuts inserted was hell, than I had to revise my opinion when we tried to remove them. Oh boy, that was beyond. The spikes somehow were like barbs inside of me and at some point I started bleeding. But John didn’t mind and just kept working them out of me, telling me to press or to pause, mentioning that this was like assisting with labouring, uhm. I felt so humiliated and painful that I had a stiffy all the time and was ultimately aroused. Finally, when the last chestnut was out, he gave me a good rubbing with some ointment, telling me that there was no way to push that ointment deep enough into me by using his fingers only. So I was fucked relentlessly while still kneeling on our kitchen floor, being situated between bloody chestnuts and a puddle of water. When he was pounding me, he said “C’mon, you like being raped, slut, don’t ya?”. I just nodded and sprayed my spunk all over the place.

Later, when I had cleaned myself and the kitchen, while John was seated cozy in the living room, he told me that soon it would be time for those edible chestnuts to fall. I hope he won’t repeat this treatment, because their spikes are even worse… I snuggled up inside his arms and let him cuddle and kiss me. He said he found it awesome to fuck me while I bled, because he had to think of popping my cherry. I guess that was just romantic for a masochist then, but I felt in heaven. Nevertheless, I’m still bleeding and loving that.

Submission A Gift?

I don’t recall how often I talked to my therapist about how I could perhaps change my sexual preferences and finally start to like things that are regarded as normal, such as having consensual sex and having a monogamous relationship. It seems like I have struggled with my preferences as long as I remember. When I was a kid, I thought that one day I’d be a good boy and start to like what others like, and I remember telling myself that I’d just “try out” those kinks connected with degradation, humuliation and pain. I still believed in that lie when I was much older, and I suffered because obviously I wasn’t able to develop a “normal” sexuality. Well, afterwards I sometimes really enjoy being held and cuddled, but not always, and I totally fail to feel anything but boredom during “normal” sex.

When I met John, I thought it was odd to have someone whose likes and needs fit mine so much. But still I thought that one fine day, with the help of God or whoever, I’d start to have a normal sexuality. I even tried to break myself of my usual thoughts and techniques which just caused severe erectile dysfunction LOL Those attempts never lasted for too long, until I started to crave pain and humiliation again.

Having been abused as a child and as a young man, I always thought of my sexuality as something evil. Like I didn’t deserve it, and moreover, like it didn’t belong to me! When John told me that he thinks of being submissive as a talent, a gift, that sounded odd to me. I guess my father despised me for being submissive and somehow liking what he did to me, and so did I. I didn’t see the beauty in being masochistic. It was a need, sure, but could it be more? My bad conscience almost killed me. I felt like I wasn’t allowed to like being dominated and I struggled so much…

John has never questioned being sadistic. He has had encounters with not so masochistic individuals that ended with a lot of confusion in his not-so-masochistic counterparts and with frustration for him, but he never thought he’d have to change in order to fit into the needs of others. He only thought of them being too weak to serve him. I guess that’s the big difference between us. Both of us have deviant affections, but we cope with them in completely different ways. While I always feel ashamed for what I need, he’s out and proud (and loud) with that. You can’t take what he gives to you? Then you’re weak and not worth the effort. Surely he won’t excuse. On the other hand, I do little more than excuse over and over again for what I am and what I need.

In Greece he let a guy use me who really beat the sh*t out of me, and I enjoyed it so much being spanked and relentlessly fucked that I climaxed several times without any direct stimulation. Later on, that guy told John that he must be proud of me and that it was a pleasure playing with a sub who really is a sub and not just a wannabe. I was so proud of myself that moment that it made me think. And it still keeps me thinking. What if I managed to keep being proud of being sub/masochistic and made peace with what I crave? I guess I could like my body and myself better and savour serving even more. Is it really neccessary to stay ashamed for being sub? What if John’s right and that’s a gift?


The other side of John working hard with 18-hours-days being a necessity is that he can spontaneously take a few days off every now and then, apart from his regular holidays. So on August 20th we flew off to Mikonos for ten days. I have not really gotten over my fear of flying yet, but I thinks it’s getting easier the more often I enter a plane.

I guess what I’ll keep in my heart and inner eye forever are the colours of that beautiful island: blue, white and pink. Well, of course there were more colours, but those were so shiny and beautiful. We were at the beach, hung out by the hotel’s pool and for some days, we had a hire car to look round the island. I guess Mikonos is the most attractive place to be in Greece for gay men from around the world, and it was very easy to get into contact with others. In every regard, you know.

Tomorrow, we’ll both be back at work, but for today’s evening we’ve invited A, M and my friends W and M over to have a look at all our photographs and eat selfmade moussaka and lamb chops with us🙂

In the next days, I’ll post more. Sorry for being away without leaving a note here.


I’m 40 now and over the past 10 or 15 years, my body has developed certain details that remind me of my father. Sometimes I can hear him laugh when I laugh. Sometimes I can see his fingers when I look at my hands. Most times it’s just those “small” things, but nevertheless I can barely stand them. Moreover, my brother reminds me of him, too. We’re both his sons, so it’s just natural to carry his genes and have some things in common with him, but that’s rough. You can never change your genes, no matter how much dye you use or which clothes you wear or how hard you try to laugh like someone else.

I know that his heritage includes my sexual desires. Having “sexual preferences disorders” is not only a mere cause of being sexually abused, it’s also in the genes. As far as I know, my father had not been abused or molested as a child, but he grew up with a very dominant and sadistic father as well who demanded very much of him. He passed that down to his sons. I got the bruises, my brother was expected to work hard and succeed. I was regarded as dumb, he was regarded as smart, leading to the fact that I was supposed to take care for his sexual needs and my brother to take care for his wish that he should be successful, a leader, a wealthy man with a flawless reputation. Well, sometimes I think: look at us monkeys, we just did like he wanted us to.

Sometimes I even feel pity with our father. Would he have been able to change, if he had wanted to? I tried to find out whether he had experienced abuse as well, but I don’t know, apart from getting hit by his father. Our branch of the family tree will die with us. My brother and me, we both don’t have children and we both don’t want any. Even if I was heterosexual, I wouldn’t want children. Of course it’s rough sometimes meetin friends with their kids and knowing I won’t ever experience what they have, but numbers speak against me. About 30% of men who were abused as children become violaters later on. That’s almost a third. Apart from that, I have difficulties with taking care for myself, how could I take care for a child?

Sometimes I’m full of sympathy for my “special needs” and value them as coping strategies. Sometimes I just despise them. Even if I know the machinery behind my behaviour, I can’t change it. And even after almost 20 years of different therapies, I’m not over it. I really wanted to believe that one fine day I would be normal, if I just worked hard enough. I thought then I’d be like anyone else. I would return to a safe state of mind and dismiss all perversions. And than I found that I need my perversions to function properly. When I try to leave my perversions aside, I’m insecure and just like that battery bunny without the batteries. I have no idea how to behave or what to do or to say. I’ve written that so often, but it’s still true: I wish I could be normal, but I will never be. All I am, all I feel, think, like and crave is the result of being abused.

I know there is no use in crying about that sh*t, but it still makes me sad. I know that even if my father was still alive, I wouldn’t confront him. My brother did, he was courageous, but of course that had no effect as our father didn’t think of abusing me as something unjust. We will never solve that. He will never stop feeling guilty and I will never stop feeling ashamed. It’s our heritage.



There are some parts of my life I don’t really refer to here, be it to keep anonymity, be it because I once decided this blog should be more about the kinks in my life. For example, I haven’t written about spirituality, Yoga or Lord Shiva lately, and sometimes I wonder if mixing these things up with my perversions is appropriate. I don’t know.

There’s another side of my life I don’t really talk about here, though it grew quite big over the years. Due to his occupation, John has a lot of obligations, extending into his (and our) spare time. Sometimes he takes part in those things alone, sometimes I accompany him. It depends on who he meets and where they meet. I don’t feel save about spending time as a gay couple in Dubai for example, just like I’ve mentioned before, and even if I’m invited as well, I don’t go. Perhaps that’s just prejudices, but I don’t neccessarily need to spend time in a country where being gay is an official contravention. I don’t accompany him to business meetings as well or to see people who have issues with him being gay. I tend to think it’s gotten quite normal in that part of Europe, but for sure it’s not that normal in any part of the world and for any people…

After John has been having health issues for the past few years and we now know the problem, he tries to step back a bit and spend more time at home, just relaxing or hiking or doing things he likes in general. I like having him around, even though I’m no longer as stressed as I was before when he’s not at home. It’s just a home when he’s here.

The things we like to do with each other have expended over the years. We still play a lot of chess and go hiking on a regular base. He plays golf regularly and goes swimming as well, which is not really my kind of sport🙂 I like sauna better. He bought a camera two years ago and has been taking photographs ever since, sharing them on flickr and, the more kinky ones, with some BDSM friends. We both love reading, although we like different kinds of books. I guess travelling has become one of our major hobbies as well, after I had so much issues with leaving home. Sometimes we just leave for a weekend, which is so cool🙂

John says he feels like he has settled more the older he gets, which I regard as an compliment. I think we have established a feeling of home and belonging with each other, even though we’re still not monogamous and don’t want to be. We’ve become very close with each other. I never thought that might even be possible for someone like me, but it is. Still, I don’t just regard myself as his partner. To be honest, I don’t know if I am. Only in a certain kind of way, as we’re never on eye level. I can trust him and he trusts me, but I know I will never be and I will never want to be like him. Having tried other relationships, we’re both feeling comfortable with that. Sometimes I feel sorry for him. In my insecure moments I think he’d be much better off with a normal partner, but actually I know that’s wrong.

I don’t really know why I felt the need to write all that down. Might be connected to a short moment yesterday morning. I woke up while he was still sleeping and I felt so overflowing with love for that gorgeous man… I’m so grateful to be here.