Top Space and Going Feral

I enjoy top space, but there are other spaces that are call­ing to me as well. Top space is the emo­tional con­text I find myself in the most, sim­ply because, well, I am focused on doing unto rather than being done unto.

Top space is like tun­nel vision. My part­ner fills my entire field of vision; noth­ing else mat­ters except her. All my senses are focused on her while she nar­rates for me her jour­ney inwards through breath­ing, gasps, shiv­ers, goose bumps, flush­ing skin, danc­ing blood ves­sels, eyes snap­ping shut and open wide; she is danc­ing and singing for me, com­mu­ni­cat­ing in the most pri­mal lan­guage of all. It is beau­ti­ful. It is poetry to me and I can­not bear the thought of miss­ing even one of her heartbeats.

Eng­lish is my sec­ond lan­guage and even after 15 years in the states, I still retain some­what of an accent, and when I get emo­tional or exhausted, my spo­ken gram­mar goes to hell. How­ever, when I am in top space, I am told that my accent dis­ap­pears com­pletely and I make less gram­mat­i­cal errors than nor­mally. If noth­ing else, it is proof pos­i­tive that I am espe­cially focused and present when I am in top space.

Being bent towards sadism, there is another type of top space, a dark one, that I have to be aware of at all times lest I slip into it. It is seduc­tive and tempt­ing and dan­ger­ous and I call it “going feral.” Other sadists may refer to it as “the beast” or “the demon,” or “the dark pas­sen­ger,” if you will allow a pop­u­lar cul­ture reference.

“Feral” fits me. That is how it feels. It is descend­ing into a prim­i­tive part of me that exists below lan­guage and rea­son. I am not a clin­i­cal and detached and aloof sadist; until recently, I didn’t pos­sess any tools or toys at all, rely­ing solely on my teeth and my hands. I am in your face, over you, in you, aggres­sive and inva­sive. I will lap at your tears and drink of your blood; I am almost des­per­ate in my quest for intimacy.

Still, I cycle between rough and gen­tle. I need to. It would be dan­ger­ous not to. There will come a point where your responses to me are too much for me to absorb with­out going feral and I col­lect myself and become ten­der and gen­tle. It gives us both time to breathe and to con­nect with the more ratio­nal sides of our­selves and each other before descend­ing again.

Not long ago, I had a fairly seri­ous bout of top drop when I real­ized that I had trusted my part­ner too much to keep me on track. I sim­ply trusted her too much when she should not even have to be bur­dened with even think­ing, much less hav­ing to pay atten­tion to her­self and me.

She did not need to call me back, she did not need to safe-​word, but when I returned to my senses, I was filled with dread of what-​if. I had allowed myself to edge closer to the ledge than ever before and I was suf­fer­ing from ver­tigo when I real­ized how far down I could descend. How far down I was capa­ble of descend. How far down I (shud­der) wanted to descend.

That bout of top drop shook me just like an avoided close-​call car crash on the free­way would. I could have harmed her. I could have betrayed her trust. I did not do that, how­ever; she was bruised and aching but not harmed. In fact, she was beam­ing. When I walked her to her car in the mid­dle of the night, she even had the audac­ity to ask if I was okay, bless her heart. I assured her that I would be.

The rest of the night was emo­tion­ally rough, though, and I leaned on the only one that could help. I am blessed with the friend­ship of a won­der­ful woman who is the only one I know that has the tools to under­stand a sadist going feral like this because she is like me. It took a while but she talked me down and soothed me and helped me process what had hap­pened inside me.

On a side-​note, she makes me real­ize how much gen­der plays a part in how we express our inner natures. Whereas I am aggres­sive and inva­sive, she is pas­sion­ate and recep­tive and grace­ful and fluid, but there is no mis­take in that we both feed on the same things and that we feed in the same way. Imag­ine a lion and an ocelot mat­ing, both claw­ing and bit­ing each other, hiss­ing and growl­ing, not bat­tling for supremacy but fight­ing to con­nect. But that’s another story…

I would have processed my top drop alone, but get­ting out­side per­spec­tives from peo­ple who care about you is invalu­able and will accel­er­ate your per­sonal growth. Who I am today is the result of my friends wrap­ping their hearts around me and never let­ting go no mat­ter how cranky I get.

I can­not end this dia­tribe with­out admit­ting that I have been blessed with expe­ri­enc­ing sub­space as well. Ear­lier this year, I was treated to my first cock-​worship ses­sion and I had promised to be a good boy and let the lady do her thing. After 15 min­utes she stopped and I was float­ing and bliss­ful and so aware of my body and I thought that I could have gone on forever.

It turned out, how­ever, that my time-​estimate was incor­rect. She had wor­shipped me for an hour and a half and appar­ently I had been talk­ing in tongues and exhib­ited all kinds of amus­ing antics. So this is what sub­space feels like, I thought. Good­ness gra­cious; that was amazing.

Gotta get me some more of that.