Knowing Oneself Through Writing

Before you read this essay, I recommend you read my first published story which is the one I'll be covering: Receptionist's Smirk at the Spa

When I wrote my first story for Literotica, I was surprised by one thing in particular, which was how extremely easy it was to write. I don't know if I wrote it in one sitting, but it sure felt that way. It was as if all the details were already stored somewhere inside me, and my subconscious only had to remove some lids and it was all there for the taking. From the general idea to the smallest detail. Interestingly enough, the story also dealt with suppressed feelings or desires that were buried and ready to be revealed, extracted and experienced. The story from the get-go was meant to mirror my own thought process.

Out of Town

The setup of the story was rather simple and perhaps slightly clichéd; Being out of town on a business trip as a way to distance oneself from the routine and usual people in life, to find out something about oneself or experience something new.

In that sense, nothing was atypical. One could even say it was formulaic. But what interests me about it is the contrast of that double trip: "Get far away from your usual environment in order to actually get deep into your own psyche". I think for me this expressed the noise and anxiety that life can bring with it, and how this trip could be a way to silence those voices and let other voices speak.

But do not confuse a respite from usual routine and anxiety as necessarily a peaceful vacation or a search for rest. One can, indeed, also need a break from nothingness. That's also something this story expresses with contrast. You think you are venturing into a place of relaxation, only to go through a heart-pounding transformative experience. This is far from unusual; anyone that takes a trip to an amusement park on holidays knows that the most intense roller-coasters are not really a quiet, restorative experience.

So, the basic setup of the story was really saying this to me: "You want a change. You want a rest from the 'here and now'. You want to feel like you can be someone else for a while. And you want anonymity for all of it."

The Lobby

Inside the spa, is where things get a little bit more interesting. The layout I describe in my story, so open and spacious, wasn't random at all. I think I had that visual concept of it in my mind for years. And the key element were these elevated areas of the lobby with these dark, opaque drapes acting as walls and creating these kind of rooms. A simple description that can hold quite a bit of mystery. Spas don't usually have such an element in their lobbies. But it's still a spa... so the mind starts to fill in the blanks: "Oh. There's some spa activity taking place there, within those drapes. But I can't see what it is. Why can't I see what it is? Oh, privacy, of course. But... what is really going on there...?"

It's the first instance of "Not everything is as it seems here" and it is a double-edged sword of privacy and exposure, though we'll delve on that later.

What it also does, is transform the spa lobby into a representation of the mind. Most of it is open, aery and bright. But right in the middle, you have those makeshift cubicles of opaqueness. It can only be symbolic of one thing: The dark and hidden parts of the mind. Stuff that is there, undoubtedly, but which you don't let others see. And sometimes, you don't even want to see yourself. But they cannot be fully ignored. There is a contrast there. They take space, the don't reflect the same brightness and openness as the rest. They stick out yet coexist.

The Scan

The first interaction with the lobby is with the receptionist. Though my story didn't explicitly say so, we can now say that she was young and conventionally attractive. And regardless of the tags that my story has, that fact plays a part, for my psyche which I'll explain soon.

This lady gives the protagonist the diadem scan. The object is neither literarily Chekhov's gun nor is it really a MacGuffin. It's something that moves the plot forward, something that has it's nature revealed later on, but it's still a fictional tool with one clear purpose. It sets the experience into motion without the need for the protagonist... or let's just say me, to express my feelings or thoughts out loud. It's an almost... scientific way or having this part of myself be acknowledged and later presented back to me in a way that can't be refuted or denied. It's factual. It's a high end device that goes deep. How does it work? Not relevant. It just has to fulfill it's role of confusing me but making the receptionist (and by extension the spa staff) have much clearer understanding of me.

The Receptionist

The receptionist's reaction to the diadem scan is what gives the title to my story, so to say it's important is an understatement. That moment of sudden shock followed by the smirk is a pivotal point in the narrative. But to explain it I need to say what the character of the receptionist is really representing: On one hand, she represents the group of what could be called "attractive females". The kind I've always liked and who I'd be mortified if they were to learn all of this about me. So the shocked gasp is representing what I was theoretically fearing (attractive women having negative reactions to those proclivities I might have) but having it being followed-up immediately by a cheeky smirk. One that says "Ah... I see..." which is far from judgemental, at least not in the same way. It's more of a "I understand... and I can... empathize". In simpler terms, her character offers a type of "permission to indulge". The other role she is playing is the internal... feminine part of me, to put it one way. The one that knows about that side of me and has always known. The one that is craving it but has to keep it quiet. We could say that she embodies the part of my subconscious that would say "Ah... So we're FINALLY bringing up this issue. I had been waiting. Nice..." or something similar.

If you take both and combine them, she represents judgement, acceptance and permission, whether that's external or internal.

Just a Few Steps for a Man...

The trip from the receptionist's desk as she silently leads the way with a smirk is full of tension but I'm not supposed to know yet why. It's not a long trip but it's kind of (and I'm not sure if I should use this expression) like the lamb to the slaughter trip. There's a sense of innocence and ignorance as I follow her. And there are more people in the lobby, so it's impossible not to feel as the center of attention for that little bit of time. She knows where she is taking me. We both ascend one of these platforms in the lobby, and that in itself is significant. A change of plane, a little step-up that is surely symbolic. She knows what's behind the drapes and that's the reason she doesn't need to look inside as she parts them for me while she stays outside. She's seen this situation play out before, and she's quite sure of the outcome.

The Gasp-Inducing Void

Crossing the drapes is crossing a threshold. As I said earlier, these drapes were symbols of hidden parts of the psyche, concealed recesses of the mind. So that begs the question: What does it mean that in one of these hidden rooms of my mind, I find a massage bed and a hyper-masculine dominant presence? Does a masseur need to be very broad-shouldered, tall, and heavily tattooed to do his job well? Where is the typical spa employee I expected? Why are these drapes highlighting the fact that I'm alone with him? And did the receptionist know?

If you read the story, all of these answers are pretty much covered. But what is not explicitly said in the story is that the receptionist made this pairing because the masseur in question had ALL the possible traits that would awaken certain desires in me. Let's say that each added a percentage to the likelihood of "things" happening. She picked one that drove that percentage to 130% likely of happening. That's why she smirked. And that's why I gasped.

The gasp is a double realization. It's the acknowledgement of his presence, his traits, and the pairing of that with the sudden privacy. In a way it's like having two very reactive chemicals suddenly mixing together. Would seeing someone like that in real life cause the same reaction? Probably not. Would being in such a secluded massage area elicit the same feelings if it was anyone giving the massage? Unlikely. The combination of both is what is powerful. It's the answer to two questions at once, and the elimination of doubt: "I wouldn't feel inclined unless the person was this way." and a voice replying "He is!" and then me contesting "But I'd never let myself be seen in that situation." and the voice saying "No-one sees you! You are now concealed". It's a bit crass to use this comparison, but it's the "Dog is home alone and they left a sausage in the coffee table". There is only so much conditioning and training that can keep one from certain primal forces or cravings.

No Quite so Private

A special mention should be said about this draped enclosure. Its presence in the open lobby is as we said, symbolic of my own mind. But it's interesting that this is not some side-room in some secluded hallway with thick soundproof walls and a door with a lock. These are elevated platforms right in the middle of the lobby and the only barrier are these drapes. There has to be a reason for that. There has to be a reason why my subconscious made that choice. And it's easy: The fragile privacy adds tension and risk. It's like walking a tightrope. At any moment, it could all crumble down. It keeps me in a state of heightened alert, thinking that a lot of people walk by, anyone can hear and I'm just a simple gesture away from being revealed and exposed, both in the literal sense and the psychological sense. This massage is anything but peaceful.

Props and Items

Within the drapes, the masseur is accompanied by the massage bed, his table with oils and a stool. The massage bed by itself is saying this: "You go here. You will be the center of attention". By itself that would be normal. It's a place for a massage. But seeing him next to the massage bed conveys a different way of looking at that: "You will lay on that bed because HE tells you to". There is an implied obedience and expectation of vulnerability and exposure that is more powerful for the simple reason that it is expected. It's not something one can really protest in that situation. It would be childish, even.

The stool and the basket below are like a small shrine of change. My regular clothes go on top of it, and in the basket underneath, the outfit of my ritual: the white garter belt and stockings. Introduced for shock value to a certain extent, it's 100% a way to explain, if it wasn't already clear, who has what role in this space. The strong, tall, muscular and tattooed masseur with dark scrubs, and the softer person with the pure white lingerie, feminine attire for the innocent lamb. It's also a suggestion that I follow, making it the start of his voice becoming my commands.

The towel, a barrier of modesty allowed for the first part of the massage, acts as the last barrier, the only wall left between my vulnerability and his dominance.

The Ritual

The massage is explained as a regular massage at first. If it wasn't clear by now, this whole story screams "plausible deniability" for most of its course. The scan, the setting, the expectations of exposure and obedience... It's all meant to ease me into the experience, bit by bit, layer by layer. And the massage is no different. Except for the presence of the lingerie, the story could still be totally in my mind. Nothing has been said, nothing has been done besides that which could be said is explicit or dissipates any doubts as to what's going on.

But it's short-lived, as the drapes do fulfill a Chekhov's gun role, and the tension that was predicted is actually unleashed. By opening the drapes, the masseur suddenly makes my massage a public affair. This, of course, seems to play with two concepts at once: First, the idea that a part of me wants to unveil this side of me to the world, for which the patrons in the lobby are a proxy. The other, the fact that a certain exposure and humiliation are a kink I have, without doubt.

And then, the towel is thrown forcefully to the floor. Out of reach but in sight. That moment in the story, even though it deals with actual intense physical pleasure later, is one of my favorites. I think it's sort of like the highest point of tension. Whatever happens after that moment, it's a new world: Face down, butt-naked and wearing lingerie as other patrons walk about and watch. This is the moment when I can literally NOT walk away and call it off with my "dignity" intact. And for that reason, my mind just has to submit. "Since we're already here, I guess..."

The massage getting more intimate at each turn is just the natural escalation. There is more of my body exposed so he can touch more of me. And we are so exposed to the lobby that I can notice particular people (attractive ladies, again), provide that edge of both feeling humiliated and accepted. It's not directly stated in the story, but the women looking towards me are not doing so in a mocking way or even pitying me. It's more of an empathy, camaraderie and even healthy jealousy. Which, needless to say, cements the feminine role I have in the situation.

Verbalizing

At some points in the story the masseur asks me to say certain things out loud. Hearing one's own voice admitting certain truths is, at least for me, a very powerful thing. More than writing them down. I've thought about why and reached the conclusion that since we don't really speak out loud to ourselves nearly the same amount of time that we speak to others, we associate our voice with communicating with others. So these admissions, by being voiced out loud, are not just for oneself but for the world. Words cannot be erased once they are airborne. It's more risky to say things than to write them. Writing can be falsified, deleted, modified. Whatever truths you say out loud, they come directly from your soul.

A Lock and a Key

The story goes in depth (pun intended) regarding the actual sex taking place. Since it's a fantasy a lot of concessions have to be made to make peace with how quickly it all happens. But the important thing is this: In a very vulnerable and exposed position, I give total control to this masculine, dominant figure who knows what I need and gives it to me. I only have to lay face down, raise my hips, spread my cheeks and let his manhood claim me. It's a very high reward for little effort. It's a prize for letting go, a victory over anxiety, fear, repression and doubt.

Many times I've thought of what makes a situation like the one I narrate in my story resonate so strongly whereas other situations (for example instead of the described masseur let's imagine a female one with a strap-on) wouldn't provide the same thrill. I think my submission can only be triggered if I know for a fact that my vulnerability and helplessness are factual. If I'm certain that the masseur could overpower me with aggressiveness. And although it doesn't happen (nor do I want it to happen), the threat of it is ever-present. The difference would be akin to hiking over an extinct volcano or doing so over a dormant one. The psychological submission is easier when your subconscious agrees and you are on the same page, which wouldn't be the case if the penetrating party was any random woman or weaker man. If I don't have to trick myself because it seems like the natural order of things, then it becomes real.

Final Thoughts

My story ends with the drapes closing, as if a performance had just ended. This strange theater play, whatever its details are, it can be summed up like this:

A part of me yearns for the pleasure of letting go, of experiencing loss of control and submission, including some public exposure and shame adding to the tension and vulnerability. As someone prone to anxiety I understand where that comes from and why my thoughts go there. This story is the ultimate tale of easing into my cravings without the hurdles of confronting myself and my outward social persona. It's a way to have this happen to me by fake happenstance, allowing me to ease into it with a shroud of plausible deniability around me, as I mentioned earlier. The lobby represents my mind, the receptionist and scan are the judges of my real desires, and this space within the drapes harbors the hidden cravings that I have. The massage bed is the altar of my submission, and this strong, masculine masseur with his thick cock pushing into my prostate and making me mewl is the key to my repressed sexuality.

Thank you for reading. Hopefully I'll write more stories at some point.