Sensory Depravation Hood: "Blind Man's Bliss"

     To pass the time, I imagine his voice saying the password, “Blinded eyes bear no witness,” through an exhale of cigarette smoke. My ability to fabricate possibilities into reality is all I have left to make use of my senses, that and my sense of touch. Like a serpent, my naked flesh picks up the vibration of his steps into my chamber. Drawing closer to me, I slip into a posture that makes me feel both elegant and enigmatic. Exquisitely available, delicately strong, I brace myself while dilating my defenses.

     I have grown to find torment tangled within the dead air between his entrance and first contact. Keeping my breathing steady, my composure still, I pretend to be unaware of his presence; I wait to be caressed, smothered or hit. I’m prepared to be penetrated, pierced or punctured.

In the indulgence of the forgetful midnight hour, the darkness comes to life.

     My eyes are covered by thick, black leather. My ears are plugged and enveloped. My mouth is gagged and silenced. My entire head is wrapped in a sensory deprivation mask. My only lead into the outside world is my nude body and the two tiny holes barely allowing me to breath from my nostrils. My cloaked face remains left to the imagination and so does his. While waiting, I used to envision a pleasurable participant, I now have the wisdom to clear my mind of all expectations.
     This is indeed torture, waiting for him to touch me. I can feel his presence hovering over me, I imagine him ingesting the sight of my body. There is always a brief moment of strategizing; deciding what to do with this instance of invisibility. I feel his breath descending onto me; the temperature of the room rises. I can feel the momentum of his torso bending forward, the breeze of his garments falling towards the floor.
     Anticipating anything, my face aims forward to preserve the fantasy of frozen prey. I play the role of the warm, soulless confessional awaiting for him to deposit of sin. His size is apparent as he crawls onto the bed; tall and heavy, but not obese. Creeping towards me on all fours, the distribution of his balance tells me he’s strong. I remain motionless until I am melted by the warmth of his palm sliding up my thigh.
     Wrapping himself around my waist, he suspends my legs into the air. He begins to feast on what’s in between. Snaking his warm tongue in and out of me, his choice is gorgeous. He chooses to savor and indulge when other men pummel and rape. He chooses to absorb when other men gnaw and devour. My blinded eyes recognize his muffled soul; I can see his truth blooming in the shadows of the forbidden. His truth is beautiful.

(This is preview of the novel "Between Black & Blind" by VII)

Thought of the Day: The Blind Rave (Part II)

            Recently, I had a very candid discussion with a fellow contributor (wouldn’t you like to know) comparing the surface with the deep.  We discussed how the light brings attention to the surface of a person based solely on the physical, tallying their appeal based off his face, shape and attire; however, when darkness falls, the very spirit of a person becomes evident. 

            We took our conversation to the bedroom and talked about how appearances fade.  In such a closed space, personality qualities becomes the main attraction.  At the moment, you'd trade the six pack for unselfishness.  You'd trade the muscularity for intuitiveness.  I'd even go as far to say that you'd trade the dick size for someone who's truly in sync with you and your needs. 

            Living in a visually led society, we are all restrained in many ways.  We are all forced to play the hands that we’re dealt to us by our genes, class and culture.  This is especially true for those that are considered misfits.  Being black, overweight or ‘unattractive’ comes with an even smaller preselected box to live within.  But what if that box disappeared for a moment?  How does the disenfranchised respond to sudden liberty?  Follow me and find out…

Here’s my personal account of my experience at a ‘Blind Rave’

            Labor Day, 10:30 pm, I am heading to Oakland to attend what is called a ‘blind rave’.  Accompanied with a good friend, we are both a little nervous about going to a dimly lit party where everyone’s masked.  Going over the possibilities, he asks, “Would you let a dude suck you off?”

            Playing devil’s advocate, “How would you know if it’s a dude?”

            “The absence of lip stick, I guess.”

            “Well, we wouldn’t know until after the party’s over.”

            He jokes, “I guess we should compare dicks afterwards!”

            “That’s probably gayer than getting head from a dude.”  We’re laughing it off, but I could feel the tension swelling in my car.  I didn’t know what to expect, but I was preparing to place a great deal of trust in a warehouse full of invisible strangers.  If anything were to happen, I wouldn’t have any justification.

            Dressed in a black wife beater, black jeans and my ass-kicking boots; my spike collar and leather mask sat in my lap.  My friend was similarly dressed, except he wore a leather jacket.  Parked near the location, we put our wallets and house keys in the trunk of my car and I tucked my car keys, IDs and some cash in my right boot.  Walking closer to the building, the thumping grew louder and I could make out the industrial sound of the music, “Here goes nothing.”

            After showing our IDs and paying the cover, we walked down a narrow corridor; I was getting more and more excited to see the scene.  The further down the hallway we walked, the darker it got.  Fastening my collar and sliding on my mask (think Zorro) I got mentally prepared to get an eyeful.  I started to anticipate see naked bodies writhing and slithering across each other.  I imagine depraved, masked action.

            Pulling the door open, I could barely see anything.  It seemed as though the blaring music made me even blinder, looking back to my friend, I lost track of him.  Starting to get scared, I was bumping into people and tripping over random items on the ground.  My pulse starts to accelerate.  I stretch my arms out to feel around only to run into someone.  I just need a safe place to two-step until this party blows over.  Walking forward, I occasionally ran directly into someone from behind.  I was starting to understand the appeal.  Moving slower, I began to embrace the person I was bumping into…for balance, of course. 

            Closer to the music, I decided to plant my roots and dance.  I thought I would be doing the ‘Kid n’ Play’ in the dark, but I surprise myself by rocking my hips and snaking my arms.  The darkness made me more fluid in my movements.  My personal jam, ‘Ghost IV’ by Nine Inch Nails comes on and I start to gyrate and tug at myself, stripper style.  In very close proximity to the people around me, I began to feel free to make Braille of their bodies, using my hands to see.  The song’s throbbing synth had everyone rocking back and forth.  A hand gropes my pectorals.  Still dancing, I feel pair of hips pressing against the backside of mine.  A calloused caress traces across my naked shoulders confirms that he’s a man; a shorter man.

            No words are exchanged.  I could feel his mustache brush across my back as he hand digs under my shirt.  He’s scavenging for naked flesh with one hand as the other squeezes my denim coated bulge.  Somehow, I could tell by his scent, he was white.  White guys just smell different!  From behind, he’s reaching around and pressing his palms heavily against my growing erection; the next song changes our slow rhythm.  Something that sounds like the Apex Twins picks up the pace.  Getting brash, his hands begin to undo my belt buckle…

Thought of the Day: A Blind Rave w/ Strangers

     I have recently received an invite to a warehouse party with a twist: it was called as a 'blind rave' and apparently the lights are very low and you're encouraged to wear masks to conceal your identity.  The invites are exclusive and everyone subscribes to an "alternative lifestyle".  Coming from Detroit, all of my street logic kicked in and threw up many red flags.  What if I'm robbed?  Beaten up?  What if someone has their way with me?  Overall, I am frightened by the idea of partying in the dark surrounded by strangers and possibilities.

     After a few days of sleeping on it, curiosity rears it's beautiful head.  I am now thinking about the difference that were occur within myself if given the opportunity to be invisible.  Submerged in the unknown, where I will never be recognized afterward, I wonder what I would be capable of.  What would I do with perfect anonymity?  What would I wear?  Would I touch anyone 'unappropriately'?  Would I do 'The Running Man' or 'The Cabbage Patch'?  I haven't been about to stop thinking about my persona dipped in darkness.

     I realize that I do a lot based off of appearances and reputation.  I have an identity that I fight hard to maintain, thus I judge myself harshly before anyone has the chance.  What if I had a moment to let it all go and dance? 

I would really like to hear what you would do:

     If given the opportunity to party where you wouldn't be recognized the next day and there were absolutely NO CONSEQUENCES to your actions.  How would you take advantage of the shadows?  What would you reveal about yourself around people you'll never see again?  This is gonna be fun...