Rags And Chauvinism Turn To Riches And Honour Of The Feminine free porn video

(Most of the names have been altered to protect the guilty). Rags and Chauvinism turn to Riches and Honour of the Feminine: A TRUE STORY! By Laurence Part 1: The Beginning I was almost always a child of smiles and meekness. When I was only about three and a half years old I remember my mother taking me to a student's day parade. Most were dressed in funny costumes but one man was dressed as a ballerina with a white tutu. I was shocked but my mother explained that this was just for fun and that men can't usually wear women's clothes. Then She explained further that it was ok for women to wear men's clothes but it was not ok for men to wear women's clothes. I remember saying "that's not fair!" but mum laughed saying that no real man would want to wear a woman's clothes anyway. My smiling disposition was twisted with indignation at the unfairness of that situation and I think that one of the many spirits that I have struggled with all of my life entered me at that time. At six years of age I remember seeing that a few of the stronger boys could climb all the way up the playground swings support poles but the girls couldn't, and neither could I. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't get more than a couple of feet up. I remember feeling quite embarrassed and indignant when a certain girl managed to climb twice as high as me. I determined to work at it until I could at least match that feat, but when someone fell and hurt themselves a lady teacher decided that the children weren't allowed to climb on the swing poles any more. I wanted so much to match that girl's height but when I tried, a couple of girls said they'd tell on me if I didn't stop, so that "defeat" was suppressed inside too. When I was about seven, mum had us transferred to a private school and my Teacher was a very demanding Lady called Miss Gallacher. She always favoured the girls and She had and old leather strap used almost exclusively for punishment of the boys. I must confess that though I was bright, I was also quite impudent and loved to speak in class or point out errors when the Teacher wrote on the board. It was often a riot of fun. One time when I was made to stand behind Her so I'd be out of Her sight while She was writing on the black board, I felt so indignant and mischievous that I snaffled a piece of chalk and, very lightly, drew a design on Her backside. It took quite a while to get it done when drawing so lightly but I was delighted at the stifled amusement from most of the class. Of course Penelope La Loud, the Teacher's pet put Her hand up and told on me "please Miss, Jack Hansomson is writing on your bum!" I had a crush on Penelope and I felt more crushed by Her "betrayal" than by the inevitable strapping that followed. The fact that I was disciplined with that old belt sometimes twice a day seemed to make me even more determined to respond with rebellion and to make a comical nuisance of myself. We used to get strapped on the hand with one or two strokes that really hurt for a few seconds but it wasn't too bad. It was a different story in Miss Mackie's class. Miss Mackie was our instructress for music and dance. I really liked Her. She had long blonde hair and was extremely attractive with Her pretty clothes, Her sense of humour and Her "swishing" ways. Though disconcerting, the swish of Her dress as She demonstrated a dance step did not have quite as much effect as the swish of Her disciplining strap. Miss Mackie had a special thick leather "Loch Gelly" strap, which was especially made for inflicting great pain on students who required discipline. She called it "Bonzo" and loved to demonstrate how hard and stiff and scary it was by doubling it and standing it up on its tips. Miss Mackie was very strict in the sense that She demanded perfect obedience to Her voice and never hesitated to use Her strap for behaviour modification. I saw that strap used on others and I was so scared that I really curtailed my behaviour and behaved almost perfectly in Her class. She seemed to enjoy laughing and joking while administering discipline whenever She felt inclined. Her class was almost always in order. Music goes in the terms A G B D F and Miss Mackie made us memorise it by repeating "All Good Boys Deserve Flogging" over and over. Most of the girls of course thought this was hilarious. Some parent eventually lodged a complaint and She had to change it to "All Good Boys Deserve Fun" but I never forgot Her first method, especially as, when She was standing close to me She would rub me and remind me in a mockingly amused whisper that "all Good Boys Deserve Flogging". I never forgot Her reminder. I did forget the name of "Bonzo" for most of my adult life and later learned that I had been so afraid that I had blanked it out using what is called an alter-ego or an alter for short. Miss Mackie often had contests between the girls and the boys in which She always favoured the girls. If the girls were behind, somehow the questions seemed to get easier for them and the girls always ended up winning. It was so unfair! When I tried to point this out, I was silenced by one of Her "are you going to give Bonzo and I any trouble" looks followed by a questioningly amused and seemingly innocent smile. I remember one "contest" where we were informed that two teams were to line up and the pupils were to run, one at a time, to a point determined by Miss Mackie, then run back and the next pupil was to run and so on until either the girls or the boys would win the race. At last! A chance to show that we could beat the girls at something! I was relatively athletic and I placed myself at the back of our team so we'd have a good finisher and I'd run in, winning the race for the boys. I was so pleased and excited. There was an assistant Teacher in training and I was also anxious to impress Her. I was around nine years old and already was very attracted by the feminine mystique. The Trainee had shoulder-length black hair, a stunning figure with terrific curves, rounded hips and a smile with the most beautiful brown eyes I'd ever seen. She had naturally batting long lashes and Her smile just seemed to indicate that She knew something about you that you weren't aware of. Looking back, I do think that She was dressed rather too provocatively for a children's class, with Her tight grey skirt, fitted just above the knee. She also had a white blouse with frilled collar, which did nothing to hide the outline of Her bra and cleavage. I remember looking at Her while fantasizing that it would be fun to twang Her bra strap. Seeing Her raise a quizzical eyebrow at me, I thought to myself "can She read my thoughts?" I was also anxious to impress little Marie the absolutely beautiful French girl who had just joined the class that semester. Her hair was also long and black and She already had those captivating feminine affectations that are so attractive to the male. She was so sweet and demure and I had an extra strong crush on Her already. I actually had feelings for Penelope, Anne and Marie who were all part of the class but Marie was the sweetie-pie of my heart at that time. I was about to impress them all! Miss Mackie, the Trainee Lady, Penelope, Anne, all the other girls in the class and most of all, my pretty little Marie. I was thrilled with the prospect of impressing all the "Ladies" with my male prowess! However, things didn't work out the way I hoped. No doubt prompted by Miss Mackie's preconceived plan, the Trainee Lady announced with a sly, Dom-style, knowing smile in my direction that, just to make things more "interesting and entertaining", we would be adding a little obstacle to the race. As part of the "obstacles" every runner would have to tie on a plastic rain-mate on his or Her own head before starting. They would have to run to the appointed point, run back again, untie the rain-mate and hand it over to the next runner who would then tie it on his or Her head own head before running. It seemed a silly addition to me. The two rain-mates were clear plastic rain- hats with large colourful imprinted flowers and white laces that had to be tied under the chin. At first it didn't dawn on me that this would pose a problem and I remained excited with the prospects of the boys (and especially me) getting to demonstrate male superiority for once. As the race progressed it became evident that the boys had trouble tying the bows under their chins but the girls, for the most part, didn't. (In the sixties and seventies females often wore such garments whenever it rained.) To my dismay the boys' team fell way behind the girls. When the last girl finished the race and their team sat down giggling triumphantly, I breathed a sigh of relief that at least I wouldn't have to even run because there were still two boys ahead of me and there was no point in continuing. However they did continue and the rain-mate was handed to me. I gestured that we'd just give up, but the Trainee Lady had other ideas and insisted I finish the last run. I fumbled with the strings and couldn't tie the required "proper bow" so I just left it half-tied and started to run. "No!" the voice of the Lady spoke firmly, "It must be a proper bow!" so I was commanded to return to my place and attempt to tie a pretty bow under my chin. All the class watched as my face got redder and redder in my frustration and inability to tie a bow I couldn't see. The Ladies did seem quite amused and my bows kept coming undone. Finally the pretty young Trainee Lady approached and with one finger, pushed my chin up gently and tied the bow for me, smiling patiently at my ineptness. Then She gestured in Her feminine, limp-wristed but dominant manner that I was to run - "Now!" I've never felt more embarrassed in all my life. In fact the spirit of embarrassment and self-consciousness that entered me at that time made its home in me, entrenching itself with all its associate spirits, for most of my life and, from then on, I found myself reddening every time a pretty Girl or Lady looked or spoke to me. It was so unfair but I didn't dare speak up for fear of "Bonzo the Loch Gelly Strap". I'll never forget how all the "Ladies" mocked and laughed at me. It had been proved to me that I could be easily defeated by Girls and I was utterly humiliated. Little did I know that this was only the beginning. "Stripes that cause bruises cleanse away evil from the innermost parts." (Prov20/30) Part 2: The Womanly Virtues "Blessing" Another Sternly Strict Teacher was Miss Kerr and I was really glad I wasn't in Her class. She was always strapping boys with Her "Loch Gelly Strap". I had seen the marks on the boys' hands and vowed to keep clear of Her. However, I was caught with several boys involved in a playground misdemeanour and Miss Kerr walked out and shouted, "RIGHT! - YOU FOUR - UP TO MY ROOM - RIGHT NOW!" I was terrified! Miss Kerr was worse than Miss Mackie! She had come up from behind and had given me quite a fright when She shouted. My heart had just about jumped into my mouth! Perhaps the spirits of fear, weakness and helplessness entered at that moment. These spirits started manifesting their natures in my trembling and my knees were literally shaking as we waited outside for Her arrival. When I saw Her striding towards us, Her nylon flower-printed house-coat flaring around Her, Her whole face just glaring Her manifested rage, obviously unable to contain Her anger until She could get Her strap in Her hand, I burst into tears. We all got the strap, diligently applied to our upturned palms. It didn't seem to be as bad as I had expected. Perhaps She relented somewhat because I'd cried like a wimpy girl - before the discipline. Perhaps that was when the spirit of wimpiness and weeping had entered. Somehow the story got back to my teacher, Miss Gallacher and either Miss Kerr or Miss Mackie had advised Her about the benefits of the heavy "Loch Gelly Straps". Anyhow, She purchased the heavier strap but used it only for the boys, increasing my sense of indignation. In the rare cases where a Girl was strapped it was with the soft black strap. My sense of unfairness and unjust retribution grew daily. I still got the strap almost every day, sometimes several times a day, but now, for some reason, I could not withhold tears and found myself weeping every single time. It seemed that Miss Gallacher was making up for all the time She'd lost and was blaming me for anything that went wrong even when it was nothing to do with me! The pain of the strappings was bad enough, but when my heartthrob Penelope sneered that I was "just like a girl" because I cried so much I was crushed even more. I still played soccer with the boys every lunch hour and would come into class flushed with the exertion. Miss Gallacher decided that I was exerting myself far too much and decreed that from now on I must report to the classroom right after eating and stay indoors during the breaks. The only others who chose to stay indoors for lunch were some of the Girls who didn't want to get mucky in the playground. So I was stuck with only Girls for companions at lunch. I wonder now if it was some kind of conspiracy of demons. Certainly the Teachers seemed to be in cahoots. One time in Miss Mackie's class, when She wasn't looking, I gently tickled the Girl in front of me in a friendly way. I suppose that the Girls had learned that they didn't need to take any nonsense from any boy in Miss Mackie's class - and certainly not from the likes of me! The Girl tattled and I was really scared but Miss Mackie smiled sweetly and said "what a good idea! Now you put your chair in front of Suzy's and we'll let you see what it feels like to be poked at." So there I was again being humiliated in front of the whole class, being prodded in the rump by a pointer kindly supplied to the Girl by Miss Mackie. At one point I put my hands down and made a guard for my buttocks but the Girl complained to Miss Mackie and I was made to sit with my hands on my head while the Girl took Her revenge. I could tell from the giggling every time I was poked that all the Girls were enjoying my discomfiture. My face was scarlet and somebody called me Scarlett O'Hara, which I thought was rather unkind. Looking back, I'm surprised I didn't respond with name-calling or the like. Or maybe my alter ego just doesn't remember. I did try to be assertive in some ways and one time when we were being taught how to sing co-operative parts in a fancy song, I noticed that the Teacher seemed to be mixing up the parts so I sang when I thought the music score was directing. At one point this meant I was singing with the Girls. Of course Miss Mackie noticed and batting Her eyelids politely She said (looking at me) "will Miss Hansomson please stand up?" I stood up sheepishly and Miss Mackie smilingly announced "We have a new girl in the class. Let me introduce Miss Hansomson." She seemed to be joking and playful, and, relieved that I wasn't getting into trouble I smiled back at Her, feeling the hot blush arising on my face. I did not realise She was probably trying to embarrass me into better or modified behaviour and the smile on my face was probably received as a challenge to Her methods of correction. Continuing to smile pleasantly She then proceeded to threaten me that She'd make me sit in the Girls part of the choir. Because of Her demeanour and the discomfiture of my embarrassment and the redness I could feel burning up to my ears, I just smiled back at Her. This seemed to encourage Her even more! She explained that She'd have to dress me appropriately in a pretty dress and then She would have to tie a pretty pink ribbon in my hair. I know She went on and on for about five minutes telling me how She planned to feminize me but my memory has blanked it all out, so great was the effect of Her words on my vulnerable ears. No doubt some splintered part of one of my alter egos would still be able to recall if it could be found, but I can actually remember blanking out the "pain" of the embarrassment. I only remember that I had remained red-faced and smiling throughout Her dissertation. She did make me sit with the Girls for the choir and always called me by the name "Miss Hansomson" thereafter. I almost got used to it but always blushed when Miss Mackie spoke directly to me. I don't know how She got away with it except that I was too embarrassed to tell my parents. She also explained to me that when we called the Teachers "Miss" that it was actually short for "Mistress" and to remember that whenever speaking to Her. Perhaps all this has caused me to develop feelings of unfairness and a kind of inner resentment for Feminine Authority manifesting as what is known as Male Chauvinism. I used to constantly refuse to do "women's work" and tried to act as macho as possible at all times. I blamed Women for everything that went wrong. I would see a bad driver and exclaim "Humph! Women drivers!" If someone showed that the driver was a man I would say, "Well his Mother must have taught him to drive!" then laugh triumphantly at my joke. All this time I had a beautiful mother who was wise and kind and loving and always wanted to be hugging us all. Perhaps that is why I have so much hidden respect for women in general and the feminine in particular. But I'd never admit it! Mum never seemed to need to discipline us and I cannot remember ever being smacked by Her. When She passed away it was as if a part of me had died too. I was about 23 years old at the time. Mum was the eldest of four sisters and had received some kind of religious so-called "blessing of womanly virtues" that always passed to the eldest daughter in the line. Mum apparently was quite disappointed that She never had a daughter to hand on the "blessings" to. Apparently some benevolent spirits were passed on to Her when Her grandmother had died. It might have been from some kind of religious club that She had taken part in when young. Perhaps it was from something akin to "Job's daughters", the "Rainbow Girls" or the female equivalent of the "Masons". I learned later that I had been struggling for years to suppress these effeminate characteristics that had been passed on to me when Mum died. When I was still a child I remember having a dream where a spirit told me to choose what sex I would be, either a Girl or a boy. I saw a vision of a really pretty dress being offered to me. It was like a pink party frock with ruffles and lace. It seemed like a very attractive proposition in the dream but I thought about it and about the fact that God had formed me as a boy and that is what I still was, so I chose to remain masculine. The spirits didn't give up and had been trying to prepare me for being feminised all my life, working through the Teachers and Female relatives etc. Oh yes, relatives. We were often sent to spend the summer holidays with my grandmother's aunts who lived in the country and they played their part, but that's another story. I had inherited spirits. Masochistic and effeminate spirits that had entered in childhood training through attempts at behaviour modification, and now I had to contend with extra so-called "Womanly Virtue" spirits passed on from mum's involvement in Her Girl's religious club. I remained fascinated with Womanhood and Feminine things and got a kick out of watching any kind of Feminine actions, such as applying their make-up or mincing along in high heels or their limp-wristed waving etc. One way I fought these effeminate tendencies was by constantly making Male Chauvinist remarks. I loved smacking Girls on the backside. I developed my muscles through martial arts etc. I got on well with many Women, probably because I was obviously jesting and everything was done in a humorous spirit. Some Women of course took offence. I remember one Feminist Lady I conversed with who got really uptight about my "attitude" in discussing the so-called "Woman's Liberation Movement". She was involved with some New-Age Feminist Group that practiced some kind of so-called magic. She "prophesied" with a triumphant smile that I would learn to crawl to the Woman "and what's more, She continued smugly, you'll enjoy it!" I already had hidden desires to equate with some Woman in this way but I was suppressing them as best as I knew how. I didn't know that all of this was mostly caused by inherited spirits. Her words gave me a small rush of adrenaline but I didn't pursue anything with Her or anyone at that time. I'm sure She cast one of Her spells on me - more daemons to deal with! It was strange that, whenever I'd meet some Girl who seemed to be "the one" - whenever I seemed to be falling in love - the Girl's family would move away and no lasting relationship ever seemed to come to fruition. I had several budding relationships broken like this. One in particular was with a visiting Australian Lady called Miki Van Vainhuff. - No kidding! We were in the house alone after dinner and I joked about "woman's work" and that She could do the dishes. She was oh so o beautiful, but She got a sternly determined look in Her eyes - obviously a manifestation of a Feminist spirit- and persuaded me by force of character to start washing the dishes for Her. She even took a flowery pinafore and tried physically to force me to wear it while doing Her bidding, but I held Her arms and wouldn't go that far. This was all done in good humoured playfulness and She settled for leaning on the wall with folded arms, smiling triumphantly while I took care of all the "woman's work". That was the nearest I ever came to falling in love Hollywood style but when She returned to Australia after a few letters we stopped corresponding. She probably got fed up with my "Attitude Jokes" that were uncorrectable by letter. In later life I often agonised that I had lost contact with such a beautiful Person of such interesting possibilities. She was as loving as Mum but as provocatively dominating as Miss Mackie dominates. I didn't understand that a combination of childhood trauma and inherited spirits were forcing me into a state of yearning for Female domination, forced feminisation and submission to that which my outward self (that part of my character I chose to display publicly) found an intolerable proposition for my life. I then met a Lady who really was controlling and manipulative in an old-fashioned "take care of me" style. Remember the movie, "Play Misty for me"? When She pushed to marry this macho man, I told Her what I was struggling with inside, expecting to deter Her. She used this knowledge as a manipulating tool to get Her way. I learned afterwards that She had inherited manipulation spirits from Her mother and religious spirits from Her religion. They all wanted control without domination. She tried to control a macho man by manipulation and guilt, which just caused constant bickering. At a church we visited they offered to "cast the demons out of us" but neither of us was willing to consider that possibility at that time. The very concept seemed to make Her enraged. We ended up divorced. I spent about the next five years fighting the spirits inside, and probably some outside influences too, until the thoughts and yearnings got too much too contain. With trepidation, despising myself for my own weaknesses, not recognising that the spirits were driving me, I found myself calling on a professional Dom but they wanted more than an hour at a time. They wanted to manifest in a full-time submissive life-style. Because of my finances at that time I had to offer all kinds of services to my Dom friends to fill in the times between pay- cheques. I did get very friendly with several Doms over the next few years and I must admit that underneath that strict exterior I could see beautiful Ladies that also had needs to be respected and loved. The former need they demanded, the latter need they usually pretended wasn't there. I tried to do whatever the Dom of the moment desired. One time I found myself blindfolded, lying on my stomach on a bed with my limbs fastened to the bedposts. I had to say "I admit that women are superior to men - one, I admit that women are superior to men - two, I admit that women are superior to men- three" and so on, to a count of a hundred and fifty times. I had no idea when or if She was listening to me as She went through to another room and warned me to keep it up -"or else!" It got a little tedious and I felt a little foolish and I was dutifully saying what She had instructed with only a little bit of enthusiasm, my thoughts drifting off as I mechanically repeated the phrase over and over and- THWACK! - OW! There She was, shouting at my ear "Not enough enthusiasm! - You'll say it and you'll really mean it!" THWACK, "OWEE!" THWACK! "OH! Ouch! Please!" THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! "AARGH! -Oh Please Mistress, I'm sorry! Please -Women ARE definitely superior to men! - Please, I'm sorry!" I felt quite humiliated as She said condescendingly, "That's slightly better, now, let's go, starting from the beginning again" She then tied my balls with a cord to the open door, so that when I moved the door would creak. She did other things too. How can one know if someone is there or watching TV in another room when one's ears are covered? Knowing for the most part that I was alone, repeating my correctional phrase most vigorously to an empty room made me feel very silly indeed. Of course several times during the session I felt a crop or something encouraging me with the ever-present reality of a possible continuance of punishment should I slacken again. The next day my back was black and blue from my shoulders to the backs of my knees. Though I got some satisfaction from the session I didn't feel that Mistress wanted anything but the money. She wasn't able to bring any real tears of real repentance or instil a better attitude in me. I wanted some kind of life-style relationship on a reciprocal basis. I never went back. There were other Mistresses in the world. I was getting deeper into the lifestyle and couldn't seem to stop myself. Part 3 The Beauty of the Dominatrix One Beautiful Dominatrix I became fond of was into the New-Age. She made me come over and straighten up Her place about twice a week. Her, I confess, I really enjoyed at first. Her name was Mistress Angina Sheerpants and She was a really fun lady. She was into forced feminisation et al and really enjoyed Her lifestyle. She gave me a new and intimate name, which I won't write here. Sufficient to say it was suitable for taunting a Lady's sissy maid. She seemed interested in interplay interspersed with the work She designated and I enjoyed Her threats, given with a seductive superior smirk. First She'd scare me by telling me what She was going to do to me and then She'd actually do it. I remember being forced to wash the dishes at Her window in full sight of passers by. She dressed me in a long frilly orange negligee then She watched TV, giving me the occasional comment and smile or shocking Her mother on the phone by boasting that She had a man dressed in a night-dress doing Her housework for Her. Then I was sent through to tidy Her clothes in Her bedroom and make Her a nice meal, while wearing a pretty apron of course. Somehow She managed to keep me in constant consternation and perfect embarrassment with almost no effort on Her part, which caused Her no end of amusement. She could make me blush whenever She wanted to and She loved to demonstrate this to Her Domina friends when they came over to visit. I was even lent to one for a short time but that's another story again. I always made sure that I did a splendid job in every task She set for me. In a way She was kind to me in giving me what I wanted and this relationship lasted quite a while. However a power greater than Her was at work and we had to obey and part. In retrospect I realise that the new age spirits that held Her attention were just daemons that wanted to manifest their natures in us. We were both held captive by spirits that used us for their pleasures. Unfortunately She tried to get me to interact too closely with another of Her slaves, which put me off and spoiled a "good time". These daemons always try to push further and further into greater depths of depravity, but we all have a choice. Any guy in the room is a no-no for me and a real turn- off. My interest has always been in women alone and that part of Her demands made a very disappointing interlude. She made me pay for my "disobedience" later in another privately delicious way but it wasn't the same relationship after that. That dear lady is still into the scene, but has added Her own brand of weird mysticism -pretty far out stuff. I managed to break free of Her and the "scene", at least for a few months and tried to give it up, like an addict tries to give up drugs. She still has Her puppet-master daemons but refuses to admit that She is one of the puppets and She still remains in bondage to Her own Tantric spirits. Dangerous stuff! Later She set some of Her daemons on me for no apparent reason but, thank God, I was learning defences by that time. Then there was Mistress "Sandra". I really liked Her too. Secretly I used to call Her Sally-Anne. Mistress Sandra was every inch a Lady who loved the Ballet and was very classy by North American standards. She was a very strict black-haired dominatrix originally from Russia. She summoned me to Her house whenever She felt like it, to run Her errands and to buy Her groceries. She was deliciously stern and demanding with an impish sense of humour and an engaging smile, but She was a bit of a disappointment in that She never really gave me anything I wanted. She told me how Her father used to beat Her mercilessly for no real reason and how later he would weep remorsefully while asking Her to forgive him. Mistress Sandra obviously had no respect for Her father and his weakness in being unable to control the spirits of violence, self-consciousness, rage and anger. Her lip would curl as She recalled his whining apologies. On his demise, when the family spirits passed from Her father to Her, they started to manifest in Her in many different ways. Her unfulfilled desire for revenge on Her father was transferred to Her, manifesting as a scornful derision for men in general. She loved to inflict pain in the most controlled fashion, possibly to prove that She wasn't out of control like Her father had been so many years before. The same demons that totally controlled Her father couldn't control Mistress Sandra but perhaps they didn't mind as long as they were being allowed to manifest through Her in some way or other. Ya'see they thought they were in charge, and maybe they were! These demonic beings that were attempting to manifest through me all of my life were not much different than the demonic beings that wanted to manifest through these Ladies. These "power" demons that made them want to be the one "directing things", to say the least, were actually directing them like their own puppet! The Mistress liked the feelings of power they gave Her in exchange for controlling Her so She remained as much in bondage to them as I was to the demons that made me reciprocate for Her pleasure! They decimated Sally Anne's family relationships just so they could manifest their will over Her life. When they're finished with Her they'll go on to Her children if She doesn't deal with them now. Sally Anne is not allowed to experience most of the natural God-given pleasures inherent in humanity, because they have twisted the pleasure programs of Her mind, soul and body to only receive real pleasure during the time they are manifesting. This again is in order to retain their control. We human beings need love and pleasure; indeed we normally hunger for love, joy, peace and acceptance. They use that for their own purposes and basically nice ladies like Sally Anne get frustrated and unfulfilled in real relationships that really matter. This is not just done on folks in the S/M scene, but these beings are present universally wherever trouble is found. Wars, divorces and crime are all unnatural occurrences caused by these so-called "negative energy influences" which the good book called demons which need to be "cast out". Psychologists give them other names and usually try to help people to accept them and live with them. "Pride" is the most dangerous spirit of all as he puffs us up with deceitful pseudo-energy. They have names like "rage", "lust", "religious indignation", "guilt", "fear", "power" etc. You see I learned from personal experience that these beings are real and that they live as undetected parasites inside almost everybody. They're more easily identified in artistic people like us who are expressive, sensitive, adventurous and demonstrative. However, they are the source of almost all of the troubles in our lives, from relationships to finances. Like hijackers who hold a car owner at gunpoint they seem harmless as long as we co-operate and go along with their directions. Once our car is trashed they'll go and find another victim to joy ride in - at our expense! We do have some degree of control over them - like a landlord has over a tenant but if we have given them space they demand to stay like so many dirty squatters! They drain our energy and can increase aging tendencies. They can also split and transfer partially to others by conversational words and intimate touching. They try to worm their way into our personalities and live their natures through us! They try to persuade us from within with what seems like our own words! They communicate their nature with ideas, thoughts and "ideals" that bring us under their control. From the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks! They also have defences just like squatters. They pretend that they're not there and that they are just "aspects of our personality". If someone points out that these spirits are demons they also have another defence. (This is their main defence). They have the power to make the host (the person they're living in) really, really angry. That's a good test. If you get really mad when someone suggests that demons are controlling your actions then, in all likelihood, it is the demons trying to get you to turn away from such a suggestion. Can you blame them? After all you are their cuckoo nest. Like rats that feed on garbage, these spirits feed on retained memories of emotional hurts, wrongdoings and traumas. If you resist them they may try to bring in re-enforcements like spirits of "confusion", "despair" and "hopelessness". They think they own you. They'll fight to stay! They'll try to get you so angry that you'll dismiss the concept and then they'll be safe to continue running your life. If you think they don't exist then they're safe from your authority as the Landlady of your own body. If you want to let the squatters remain, this is your choice. You are still in charge of your choice. (Rom.1/20-26) Still Love, Laurence (one who has been there) Now You really do know who I am!