Leather Spirit: SM Travel

On more than one occasion I've had experiences that approach the topic of this column. I can't say that I've actually had the mystical trips that I'm going to discuss, but I have come close enough to know that there is something to the "spiritual" side of leather.

More often I have been present as my partner has obviously experienced a powerful shift in his awareness. Since I'm neither physician nor psychologist I won't comment on the "reality" of the experience. Instead, and what is more important, let me write about entering that reality.

I spent the better part of my time in college studying Philosophy. It was enough of an education to prove to me that all human knowledge is gained through our senses, however many of them there are, and that our senses act as filters, making absolute certainty impossible. You know, it's the old question as to whether we are awake or not. Is life a dream? Do we actually inhabit a "more" real world when we sleep? Is the glass half full or half empty?

There's not much sense to that line of questioning. I've come to the conclusion that pragmatism is the best approach. If it works, OK, it works. I may not be able to explain what happens, but I know that something does happen.

Putting that something into words isn't easy, which is why it's called an "altered state," a situation where the usual sensory and emotional situation appears different. The difference may be induced by any number of catalysts: sex, drugs, sleeplessness, meditation, hypnosis, beauty, art, cinema, affection, pain, pleasure, and of course, SM.

The first time it happened was with my then slave Steven, long before I moved to Chicago. Scenes between us came easily and without a lot of discussion. We became more and more aware of what SM meant to us and what a powerful vehicle it could be.

The best indication of what could happen first took place one night in my bathroom. We had been playing for an hour or so and I was in a real "take over his body" mood. I had been doing a lot of ass-playing with him and in fact had given him an enema. He was sitting on the stool as I fondled his genitals. It was a heavy duty scene that only two very intimate friends could be expected to share.

The scene quietly flowed into a high level of intensity. Each of us was "buzzing" with delightful sensations. In that moment we both had an indescribable experience. Something passed between us, engulfed us, lifted us to some celestial plane. It was what I have come to call a "white light" experience.

It was pleasant and felt very safe and warm. There was no fear or danger associated with it, but it was mysterious, other-worldly.

When it passed, I looked Steven in the eyes and asked, "Did you feel what I just felt?" Indeed he had. I gently ended the scene. We both cleaned up and went to bed, not untouched by the power that had passed between us.

The power of that moment loses a lot in writing about it.

Similar events happened with my lover Michael when he was bound spread-eagle on a cross, with my friends Richard and Lee in intense (but separate) bondage scenes, and with a guy I'll call Jim, whom I beat with a riding crop until he had an "out of body" experience.

In each case I was an observer as well as participant. My actions of dominance, of restraint, and of discipline seem to have been responsible for inducing the experience, though it's obvious that my partners participated actively as well. When the scenes were over, each had an story to tell.

Richard and Lee, according to their own telling, had some kind of past life visions. Lee, for instance, recounted, as the scene was in progress, his viewing of the two of us as American Indians in some past lifetime. He described what was going on between us, as if he were watching a movie and telling me about it at the same time.

Richard, on the other hand, recounted his experiences later.

With Michael, I ended the scene pre-maturely. While firmly bound to a St. Andrews Cross, he was whipped past pain into some kind of ecstatic state. Frankly, all I saw was that he swooned.

I interpreted his deep relaxation as trouble and so quickly untied him and lowered him to the floor. His reaction was to ask "Why did you stop?" On his part, nothing was wrong. In fact, everything was wonderful.

Another amazing trip seems to have been the one that Jim took. He and I were playing in my dungeon. Both of us were naked, as I remember. I was kneeling, legs slightly spread apart, on a mattress. Jim was lying prone in front of me, bound in that position.

I began by gently beating him on the back with my favorite crop. Over a period of time, as his back turned an intense shade of red, I increased the severity of the beating.

I had seen Jim play before and knew him to be an experienced masochist. If ever there was the right moment to bring someone through a "window" into another reality, this was it.

For a time Jim struggled with the lashes, yelling quietly, squirming on the mattress to the extent that the ropes allowed, and bucking up and down, trying to avoid the pain. I refused to let his cries or his movements distract me.

Eventually he became silent. His breathing moved into an easy, sleep-like rhythm. His body relaxed profoundly.

I kept up my insistent whipping. There was a sense that he was handling everything very well. Eventually I stopped and let him lay there until he was ready to "come back." When he did he recounted how he had seen himself lying on the mattress from the vantage point of the ceiling. He had felt himself drifting above us, disconnected from the pain and the moment, aware of the activity but somehow separate from it.

That is why I call myself an explorer. It's adventures like this one that beckon me to leather.

It's not like they happen regularly. In fact, they happen only rarely, only when the situation of experience, deep trust, patience, and serendipity somehow come together to make it work. Oh, most scenes are fun, but the best scenes have a strangely appealing mystery to them.

I'd like to give a simple blueprint for attaining such altered states, but I can't. Though there are a few baseline requirements, they are not easily duplicated. It seems you can't make them happen at will.

Michael and I, for instance, have great sex, but the event on that cross has never been duplicated. We've come close, but never close enough.

The attitudes of the partners, the ambiance of the place and time (never in a rush), all seem to promote or hinder going through the window. Physical properties, such as fatigue, stress, doubt, fear, and anger seem to detract. Patience, affection, extremes of pain and pleasure seem to enhance it. Mutual trust is certainly a prerequisite.

Can these experiences be repeated? Possibly, but I doubt it. Certainly no two trips are ever exactly the same. There is some fluidity in an altered state that suggests that the "veil" is parted only seldom, as if some higher force says "Here's your glimpse, now go back to your reality."

It's indeed a cruel voice that whispers such a sad sentence, but what else can we do but live where we live, while searching for the fulfillment that gives a rationale to our incarnation.

Though it introduces elements of religion and drug-use, let me quote my friend Larry as he describes his out of body experience (OBE). The words in brackets are mine:

"As you will recall, I was, and still am, very much into astral travel. The Universe is a virtual play ground.(So why can't I find it on the Internet?) Phil [his lover at the time] was also very spiritual. We were and still are Wiccan and put a lot of "faith" into the powers of various aspects of the Universe. Maybe this preface will make my experience somewhat suspect. That's for you to decide.

"Perhaps it is important to know that I am versatile. I can go either top or bottom. I was top most of my life until I met Phil, who preferred me to be bottom. I had no problem with that, but never really lost my preference to be top. Then, again, maybe none of that is important.

"Anyway, the experience. Phil was intent on getting into an intense pain scene with me. I knew he wanted to torture me, and I was in the frame of mind to let it happen. This night we did our ritual, which was always done naked, during the dark of the Moon. During it, he flogged my naked body with his scourge. At one time, I was on my knees, and, as I stared into a cauldron set on the floor in front of me, he flogged me. I found it enjoyable as usual, but suddenly realized that I was beginning to go into a different space, an astral space.

"I felt myself leaving the temple [their room for prayer and meditation] and entering into an astral temple. But I still felt connected to our temple and to Phil. It was like sticking your head through the veil, but not your whole body. What I saw was beautiful, yet I still felt the thongs of the scourge on my butt and my back. It was an awesome experience.

"After our ritual, Phil wanted to go further. He prepared outside the temple, and I contemplated my body in the temple. When he was ready, he asked me to come to the bedroom and lay on the floor in my nakedness. He proceeded to flog my butt and back with his scourge, which was very enjoyable. Then he asked me to sniff poppers, which I did.

"His flogging became more intense and more enjoyable at the same time. We did that several times until the flogging was very intense, yet the sexual enjoyment was still there.

"Then Phil asked me to get up on the bed with my legs dangling over the edge and my genitals completely exposed. I did so. I was willing to let happen whatever was going to happen. He showed me the needles and said he was going to build a ladder. I said, 'Okay.'

"Phil pushed a needle through the skin [but not the shaft] on top of my penis, near my groin, and I inhaled some more poppers. The pain was there but not excruciating. Phil asked how I was doing, and I said fine. Then he pushed another needle through the skin just in front of the first needle. Again Phil asked how I was doing, and I said fine. And so it went with four needles, building a ladder of needles up from the base of my cock. I knew he had three or four more needles to go before he reached the head of my cock.

"Suddenly I heard/felt a 'click' in my brain, and I found myself soaring into the most beautiful space I had ever been in. The bedroom was gone. Phil was gone. I was in a huge golden but transparent bubble. The music I heard and the scenes and colors I saw were pure and wonderful. I was naked. I was elated beyond belief.

"Although I vaguely felt the next needle go into my penis, there was no pain. At that moment, a beautiful young androgynous man appeared. Without saying anything, I knew he was going to tend my wounds, which he did. The pain went away as he soothed my penis with his hands. There's no doubt that I was in a transparent bubble of some sort, but the man came and went through the walls of the bubble as necessary.

"I had never felt more relaxed and more cared for in my life. I was truly happy. I felt wonderfully erotic at the same time. I can't really explain it, but it was certainly a combination of the two -- happy and erotic."

I'm conservative enough to warn you not to attempt what Larry and Phil accomplished. They are both experienced leathermen. The scene that Larry narrates is filled with techniques polished by years of experience. Using poppers (or any drugs) can be unwise. Flogging is not an experience to be given (or taken) lightly. Certainly the use of needles ought only be attempted only under the watchful eye or by someone who knows how to handle them.

Beyond those warnings, Phil and Larry had a long-term committed relationship that insured trust between them. If Larry's experience seems to be extraordinary, it is because their relationship was unique.

In order to understand, at least partly, what goes on in such an other-worldly event, we need to approach the experience from another viewpoint. Several Eastern religions have better ways of explaining the phenomena than we Westerners.

Buddhism, especially, teaches extensively about "chakras," energy centers within and around the human body that control and affect us. They list seven such major chakras and many more less significant: the sexual center, the spleen, the heart, the throat, the forehead (more usually called the third eye), and the crown. The seventh chakra is either lower (called the root) or higher (called the transpersonal point). Some consider both and say there are eight major energy centers.

It is the opening of these centers of energy, and the control of their flow that seems to enhance the various mystical experiences I am discussing. Needless to say, this isn't the place to go into great detail about Eastern Philosophy and Religion. Besides, I'm not sure I really understand enough of it to give you a good explanation. At this point I can only suggest you do some reading and researching in more competent reference books.

Please remember that there's only so much one can say in one chapter. Some topics take a lifetime. Other topics just can't be put into words. All topics are just a small slice of what really goes on.

For instance, having read this book, one might think that all leather folk are either masters or slaves, or want to be. In truth, master and slave types are few and very far between. Likewise, the topic of this chapter, altered states and energy, deals in part with an experience that is rare: the awakening of kundalini energy. Here's a more recent experience:

Thursday night after class is a night when I can relax and enjoy the finer pleasures of life without anxiety or preparation for the next day. It's also the night that part-time slave Chris comes over, setting the scene for some real hot sex. One night he told me that his lover, who knows and approves of our relationship, would be out of town on business and that his work load the next day was light enough that he could get through it with a less-than-usual amount of sleep. Thus the evening was set for some special play.

When I arrived home at 9:15, my two boys were sitting naked on the living room floor. God only knows what two slaves talk about when their master is away, so I won't try to fill in that part of the scenario.

They both greeted me with the obligatory kissing of my shoes. I sat on the couch, instructed Patrick to get me a Bud (do I get a kickback for writing that?) and to make some popcorn. The three of us settled into comfortable (at least for me) positions and engaged in small talk. There was no need to rush. We chatted amicably, talked about our previous Thursday night together, and asked and answered questions about work, our relationship, the nature of punishment, and feelings that we had about our past times together.

The ease of the evening was quite indicative of what was to come. Those special "highs," after all, are never accidental. They demand time, familiarity, relaxation, trust, and some elusive circumstances that I don't think I'll ever be able to put on paper.

Early on, Chris mentioned that he and his lover were going to a "socks and jocks" party. The implications were, of course, that he would appreciate my not marking his body too badly. Poor Chris still suffers from the closet syndrome. Oh well, this too shall pass.

In due time I told my slaves to follow me into the bedroom where I propped myself against two pillows and the head board. I motioned them to kneel beside me, knees apart, backs upright. I began our play with lots of clothes pins to their genitals and then had them kiss while I played with the wooden pinchers. The mixture of pleasure and pain is a sure formula for success in SM.

Who says that two cocks aren't better than one? Counting my own raging hard on, I had three of them to entertain me tonight. Being a master is such hard work - but someone has to do it!

If I continue to describe the evening in great detail, this book will be too big to carry, so let me cut it short by adding that we went from clothes pins to whipping to paddling to cock sucking and fucking to a rather wonderful orgasm on my part. Then I lay back and sent Patrick and Chris upstairs with orders for Chris to milk Patrick's jism into a condom and bring it to me.

When that was accomplished, Patrick was to go to sleep for the night (someone has to work in the morning) and for Chris to return to my bedside.

I relaxed in the glow, which means that I lay there feeling good, warm and relaxed, in a state somewhere between meditation and sleep. I enjoy going there, wherever there is. Altered states always make it hard to get a definition about "there."

I probably dozed a bit too, while waiting for my part-time property to return. When he did, I was grateful that his lover is able to share. I resumed playing with this handsome, well-built toy. I honestly can't tell you what happened next, except that we gradually built up to a point of heightened arousal once again.

Attitude certainly had something to do with what was going on. Chris has consistently explored and desired slavery, even if within very well-defined limits. Understandably, and wisely, he doesn't want being a slave to interfere with being a lover (of more than ten years), nor with a successful career and very active social life. In reality he is new to all this stuff, though he has been fantasizing about it for years. Experience is clarifying and refining his desires. It's also improving his relationship at home.

So, during round two, I begin to talk about his slavery and his need to serve. I encourage him, order him, reason with him to let go, to open himself to real submission. I want him to spread his ass cheeks wide and beg to get fucked. I tell him to focus on my prick and make it the center of his life. I suggest he take more pain and transform it into pleasure directed at me, his owner, master, and lord-for-the-night.

Heavy stuff, to be sure. I'm laughing as I write this. It really is a lot of fun. No wonder, though, so many people think I'm too intense.

Eventually I'm back at whipping Chris' back. I use a long crop this time, one that will leave nice red marks, hopefully ones that will be noticeable at the socks and jocks party. "When they ask you about those marks, tell them that you're in training with Jack Rinella," I tell him. Some limits, after all, are meant to be respected. Other limits are meant to be violated. When I say it's important to know which are which I'm VERY serious.

"Yes, Sir," says the part-time slave, crossing another threshold, opening himself to deeper self-awareness, increased intimacy, greater pleasure, and, what we don't yet know, an incredible, indescribable event in the next half hour or so.

So it happens that I'm sitting on his face. I respect Chris' request that he not rim me, but that doesn't stop either of us from enjoying oral-ass excitement. While he licks and kisses safe and clean places in my crotch, I tweak his tits, use my crop on his nuts. Here we have the perfect duality: my genitals for pleasure, his for pain. Between the two of us there is a unity of opposites. I begin to imagine energy flowing through us. We are a complete circuit as energy streams between us. I visualize the flow from the tip of my crop to his cock, into his body, up his torso, out his throat into my lowest chakra, or energy center, up through me, mysteriously down my arm into the crop and back into his genitals.

It's not as easily defined as all that. I am talking about sensations that move in gentle, but powerful flows. Maybe it's out the top of my head into the crop. Perhaps the crop feels nothing. Could the crop be kinesthetically connected to my penis?

I put the crop aside, (or at least I think I did), and lean over my property. I put my mouth near his cock head and squeeze his nuts. It is a classic 69 position.

Now I know the electrical charges that pulse through our bodies are complete. My prostate gland has forgotten that it shot already once tonight. Orgasm number two is building.

I sit up, stroking myself and emptying my energy into my slave. I take what is mine and in the same moment suck his energy into my body. It is the union of opposites, some strange kinetic fusion of two bodies into one for the moment. I shoot a large load of cum. I am master. I am lord. I approach a window into another reality, getting a fleeting glimpse, knowing there is more, not knowing how to fly through it.

Chris shakes uncontrollably underneath me, bucking wildly. He appears to be having an orgasm, but his dick is soft, no fluids emerge.

I tell him, silently in the language of the psyche, to keep his life, to hold on to it. I return his energy to him. I will own him but not destroy him. I will take him and always return him safely. Yes, I have some limits too. Neither of us is ready to let ecstasy end life. I tell our souls to bring us into balance: physically, spiritually, emotionally, intellectually. I ask for wholeness, for justice, for peace.

I am where I seek to be, glowing, warm, spent. Now what do I do? Where is the guide that will show me the path? This power is too good to be wasted, to be ignored, to be spent without profit. Once again I find myself drifting into bliss and I want to know why. I use the moment for the only purpose that makes sense. I let the universe know that I seek wisdom. I ask for knowledge as well, but beseech whoever is listening, that wisdom be mine. Wisdom, after all, is what matters.

I roll off Chris onto the bed. There is nothing left but to wipe up and fall asleep, to let my body return to a place of balance, stasis, peace.

The next day Chris sends me e-mail mentioning his "Kundalini experience." Whatever I had felt, he too, amid the shaking and quaking, had had a phenomenal trip, accompanied by a flood of energy through his body.

There are more questions than answers in the experience, but then we are, after all, here to learn. Chris and I fall asleep. In the morning he is gone, having left a thank you note on the kitchen counter. I wonder what the boys at the party will think. Will the marks be gone? Tonight's effects, I know, will transform us both.

Where do I go from here? The attaining of an altered state, as little discussed as it is, is really the basic rationale for SM. In many ways it is the most "closeted" part of leather, the topic that is seldom discussed except in the most intimate of circles.

These words can hardly do the phenomenon justice. I can only encourage you to explore, to share, and to learn. If you can do that, leather will be better off for it. I'd appreciate your feedback. See you on the other side.

About the Author

 Jack Rinella, author of The Master's Manual and Headmaster of the Master & slave Training Institute, is a free-lance writer for several regional and national publications, including Gay Chicago Magazine, Drummer, and The Leather Journal.

 He's the author of The Master's Manual and The Compleat Slave, to be published by Daedalus next Winter, and has started on a history of gay liberation in Chicago.

 He lives on the North side of Chicago where he passes the time writing, cruising, and falling in love whenever he can.