Looks like I am heading to New Jersey for the convention BRIMSTONE over Black Friday Weekend. You live in Jersey and need a man to serve break your silence and make yourself known.

Dan

WE NEED A CHECK FOR A MALE PASSENGER!

Is it bad of me to really love it when the young guy, looking shiny and new in his TSA uniform, showing off those shoulders, clean cut and shaved, a small squeak in his voice saying, "I have to examine you and place my hands on your private areas. I will need to examine in your beltline and shirt." Is it bad of me to just love this moment?

OK - I know I got here because I refused to use that X ray scanner. And honest I really do object to those. But that strange creeped out feeling I get when the operator looks at the screen and applause breaks out as they see it all, man is just not really comparing to the creeped out feeling they get having to make their straight boy grope me.

His firm touch very grounding, male power does that for me. Like a small back rub, inside my pants, down my legs, shit I can not get a doctor to do this to me these days.

I find what started as a protest becomes a pleasant and strangely calming part of my jangled routine of flying and travel details. He finishes and agrees I am not a threat to democracy.

This simple man-on-man touch, so rare here as the rest of the airport leaves male touch as nearly forbidden - this is so settling. I am struck with the irony that I am now feeling very secure after this invasion of my personal space.

THE LONG ROAD TO A BLOODY MARY

-my account of an extreme scene at Thunder in the mountains this weekend past

Painboy pulled himself to his knees, drying blood running down his back from tattered shreds of skin on his back. His lady, Cat, dropped to the floor a foot in front of me in a heap of sobbing. I was there first, holding her and telling her, “I got you.”

About five people got up and rushed to catch her, bring her love and hold her in the wake of his crucifixion. I looked at Painboy. He had insisted he would be fine and requested people to bring their love and aid to Cat. I had to admit I was conflicted, seeing six people now hugged her with me, I felt the job was being done but I promised to be there for her. I took a slow moment and slid out to see to Painboy.

He rolled to his knees and stood – without assistance - the holes through his feet oozing blood with every step. He took a breath and relaxed. Before my face the shreds of his back knit and just looked like scratches. Then he breathed again.

Maybe there were all those raw expectations that when a man goes to have himself nailed to a cross after being scourged, if he gets up it’s a miracle. I reminded myself there were exactly zero other cases for which I might compare to what I was seeing.

His assistant Peter handed him a pair of heavy duty pliers. He leaned over and pulled the severed nails from the wood of the cross. They were buried deeply and he had to pull hard. He walked over to me and smiled and handed me a nail. I could not stop the tear dropping to my cheek. The Thor’s Hammer around my neck suddenly felt heavy.

The thunder overhead shuddered the roof of the building as a storm raged outsides drowning out the sobbing of bystanders. I’m still not sure I was witnessing a blessed man or a crazy crazy masochist.

…could be both.

He said he some people call it a blessing and a curse. He makes it look like a blessing –

The event was THUNDER IN THE MOUNTAINS in Denver. Painboy and his lady Chaotic Cat had an event where Painboy is scourged crucified before 100 attendees of the convention. This was his ninth crucifixion.

The day before I met Cat and Painboy separately. When you think of the kind of lady that is badass enough to crucify her man, you think of a tall lanky brunette in a black body stocking and Laura Croft curves. Yes the curves are there, but she is a small, nearly unassuming woman. When asked to talk about the upcoming event a day previous, her voice trembled, her eyes look distant and kind of lost, and she confessed to being needful of some support, before and after.

I had thought of tops and doms needing after care in some scenes, but this was the first I was SURE before outcome that she would. My first clue was that she asked., “Can you be there?”

Painboy has a square cut native face, calm with patience and peace. He said he was scared to death of the coming event, but his face never betrayed any notes of fear. It was set in determination.

Wrapped in myth and magic and holiness, the whole process of crucifixion is greatly misunderstood. It was a torture by the Romans done to embarrass and hurt sadistically. I collect unusual artifacts and experiences, it’s one of my habits, and instantly asked if I could have a nail after his experience. Without a moment of hesitation he said yes. By the end of the conversation, I was invited to be part of the second tier of help to be there for medical backup – I was sure merely a ceremonial precaution.

I was the only one if my house to go and see the event – the rest staying behind to vend on the dealer’s floor. I was sure this was going to be so well attended that people would just drop shopping while I was gone.

The heavy hitters and hard players of the convention were in attendance. I found some friends there. I chatted briefly watching the somber atmosphere forming for this presentation. The room was a large convention center, metal corrugated roofing, with a 100+ foot ceiling.

Cat was pacing nervously and Peter was reviewing their gear again. Well wishers walked up to Painboy and Cat but the muffled voices were like the preamble to a funeral.

I could go on blow by blow, but I will summarize. They had three implements they scourged him with. There was a classic cat-o-nine tails; essentially a flogger with metal shards imbedded in their ends. They had a Roman Scourge, a flogging device with ½” bands of leather ending in weights bearing a pointed ending, very heavy and destructive. There was a nail embedded stick used to hammer raking runs of punctures in skin and flesh.

When they started whipping Painboy, the rain hitting the roof became audible. A rumbling hammer of rain echoed through the hall interrupted only by his horrible screams. Each of the three implements were used by Peter and Cat each taking him through six round of rending punishment.

Blood ran down his legs as he walked to the cross laying on the floor of the convention center. I noticed that the room had dwindled to about 2/3 of the people in attendance by this point.

Painboy laid on the cross and Cat picked up the hammer. I had never heard a man wail like this outside a medical scenario. His arms and torso was secured to the cross tightly. Nails were driven through his right hand first.

When I was part of a rescue team in 1982 when an F4 tornado removed big parts of Albion PA from the map, I was helping a man that had his leg mangled by a falling wall. He managed to move himself out from the wreckage in the rain in the dark to find his wife and kids. He howled in pain as the pulled him out of their car quite like Painboy being crucified.

Cat hammered the first nail in and the room enunciated with a rolling explosion of thunder! The tears began in the room – the awesome coincidence of storm and hammer shook even the strong players in the room. I was ten feet to his right watching the nail go in. Then his feet. Then his left hand.

The cross had a small 12” x 12” platform he sat on. The platform took the weight off his feet, mostly. The cross was winched into an upright position accompanied to Painboy’s screams.

We were then invited to come and touch him. He invited us personally to feel his energy and feel his pain or give away our pains so he could take them away.

I approached with no supplication, no request, giving nor receiving anything from him beside what he’s already given. I laid my hand on his leg along with the many people that wanted to touch him and show him their love and respect for taking on such an amazing ordeal for us to witness.

I touched him and thunder shook the building again, harder than ever before. It was everything I could do not to sob right then. I spoke to him, “The thunder is for you.”

In the middle of his stunned agony he lifted his head and looked at me and said, “Bring your hand to my face.” I did. He kissed the palm of my right hand and my vision blurred and stung from tears. I knew what he just gave me. No one watching knew what he just gave me.

I walked past and was again standing behind the cross. There stood Giz. He was the other Nord in the room, his Hammer on display. He looked at me drying his tears. “So.” He said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Good to see you brother.” We hugged a long minute.

The significance of this moment was not lost on us. This was Painboy’s ninth crucifixion, like the nine trials of Odin on Ygdrasil, the crucifixion myth of my forebearers, and the thunder of Thor is here to visit this ninth.  Our eyes met as the roof shook under the increasing rain. The room had sounds of sobbing mingling in with the thunder. I hugged my brother again and turned back to the ordeal to watch Painboy receive nearly 50 witnesses.

I took a moment to move around the room and check on my brothers and sister and see if they were holding up well. There was a lightness and relief in the room. I looked back at Painboy on the cross and the signal to begin the dismount was given.  I took my position, ready to assist.

The cross was winched back to the floor – the burliest men in the room in attendance gently lowering the cross down. One man with long hair and a red shirt untied Painboy’s arms and relieved him of his bonds to the cross. He stepped back to me heaving in breath betraying the emotional expense of doing this labor. I placed a hand on his back and asked if he was good. He nodded, his power returned and his focus snapped solid.

I watched people all around the whole event find strength to do the unthinkable and be there for this role. I watched people bond with each other in ways no other moment at the convention brought. I watched people be incredible over and over.
***
That nail sat in my vest pocket – uncleaned and undisturbed. I walked back to the bustle of the dealer’s room where people bought floggers and toys and rope and stuff. Bright lights, joy filled conversation. I was barely in my skin. I got to work and sold. I fed my family. I showed strength and decided to be incredible.

We had dinner and the evening came. The whole convention made ready to play in the dungeon – the big focus of the convention. I walked the big floor looking at people play.

Seth, his lady, and his companion from Santa Fe, witnessing his first BDSM event, came into the dungeon hall as I was walking out. I was pretty shaky. Seth smiled and looked at me “So what’s happening on the floor that we gotta see?”

I just stopped and looked at him trying for words to say. “Follow me,” I said.

I walked about halfway across the huge floor and stopped at a post where a man and woman were whipping a man. It was the end of the man’s first hour there. He had been punched in nerve points and beaten with a rubber hose. He barely made a sound. “So who is that?” Seth asked.

“Look at his feet.” I stated. They looked and saw the bandages from the crucifixion that he had endured that afternoon. Most of us would call it a night after being crucified – Painboy was on the post taking the endless whipping. “Oh my god…” Seth whispered as it dawned on him who this had to be.

The next day I overheard people say that there was no way that crucifixion was real – he was playing in the dungeon all night. No one could be crucified and go to the dungeon after. It had to be “stage magic.” OK, Chriss Angel is a sick fuck. He might pull off his own crucifixion. But I have a nail.

I realized that when people come to the end of their understanding or believability, they invent skepticism or religion to pave the road for their hungry thoughts to finish. Incomplete pictures irritate the human mind. Some people have no room in their heads for a man being scourged and crucifies and then healing the damage for more. If he’s able to do it, it’s just a short road to the next question; if he can then we all can do it and just somehow choose to heal our petty little pains and for some reason never think to.

At the end of the night, I was at the bar enjoying coffee – as you all might expect if you know me and my more recent habits at bars. I was alone, everyone else having had their day end. At the opposite end of the bar Painboy arrived, after the dungeon, merely 6 hours after being cut off a cross. He walked normally and wore a t shirt looking like any local tourist.  

The bar lady, a bubbly and intelligent lady walked up and spoke. “Wow, hon you look tired. You have a good day?” He smiled and seemed to search for words. I put down my book and was riveted to his answer.

“It was fun. I was busy.” He said simply.

“What will you have honey?” she asked.

He pointed to Cat and said, “She’ll have something on the rocks,” I could barely hear him. “I’ll have a bloody Mary…”

All heads turned as I barked out a rude badly timed roll of laughter. I held my head realizing the rest of them had no way to get the joke… not even Painboy.

IF you have no picture, or desires, or actual information about you, really stop bothering me.