i did something crazy after work today. i'm not sure why i did it except, that i'm sure it has to do with a very powerful fetish that took me over during the last hours of work yesterday. i was stopping by kinkos to get some copies made and i noticed a kickboxing and boxing gym nearby. from the corner of my eye i could see a svelte young woman walloping the bejeezers out of a speedbag. i craned to get a closer look and from what i could see She seemed to be in her mid 20s or early thirties. long hair tied up in a pony tail, wearing boyshorts and a sportsbra. i gulped hard as i marvelled at the speed, repetition and the control She exhibited smacking the leather. i watched as She smacked the ball very hard and then laughed while she was toweling herself and joking with another women who was working the heavy bag. Suddenly, I felt her eyes hit mine. She gazed right at me. like a scared rabbit i dashed into the kinkos to make my copies. i was afraid of making eye contact with Her again for fear that She might consider me a stalker or worse yet a pervert.
i waited in line to have my special copies made and found myself breathing a bit hard and my heart was thrumming out of my chest.
"oh had She seen me?" i puzzled.
i reflected on another experience from my youth in which i was soundly thrashed, beaten up and pummeled for what can only be construed to be misunderstood admiration at the corner of feminism awakening and comic book fantasizing. i collided full head on with the fists and kidney punching kicks of a female Bruce Lee. i recalled how i had tried to explain that i had Her raised on a pedestal and that i loved watching her move with fluidity performing graceful katas with unbelievably high kicks and lightning speed chops and punches. but somewhere between having a cut bleeding fatlip from Her formidable punches, to having the stuffing kicked out of me from roundhouse after roundhouse, my noble efforts were bludgeoned and muddled.i found it incredibly difficult to communicate my intentions when everytime i attempted i met Her cute pedicured feet or well manicured fist in my mouth. i ended up speaking in bloody gasps, and bruised gorey utterances which seemed indistinguishable and primative as the indiscernable grunts and groans of a drunk wasted man. i went home a puffy, beaten mess. my eyes blackened, thighs and ribs were black, blue and incredibly sore from constant, continual kicking. looking back, i was grateful that i still had all my remaining upper and lower teeth. i never ventured again to that intersection of femdomme and beaten down avenue. it was too traumatic to relive what happened on that bright sunny April afternoon. yet, following that horrible, humiliating and dominating beating, my submissive state was nailed securely in place by a pair of bloodied everlast pink wraps. I sought for years to soundly bury that part of me. the part which relished being beaten to a squashed cum stain under the fists of a vastly superior physically fit woman. i craved the blood, the pummeling the bruising and the jagged tongue lashings served cold with a heaping side helping of severe male inadequacy. in my vanilla life i wore a thespian's mask. for awhile, this covered the true or perceived persona of the real me. in actuality, i was in complete denial. i truly hungered to be fed, but in reality was starving the submissive man within me.
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