Hell and the damnation yelped at my young heels. Masturbation and perversion were all condemning my soul to the devil.
My Father had bullied us into attending church. On, Sundays, I would see a woman, Agnes, in a black veil pray and say her rosary. My Father, chastised us with his belt and his bible. “Don’t play with Fire Son”, he yelled.
College and Photography were the beginning of my salvation. I would indulge my masochist and then become consumed with guilt. I felt corrupt, perverse and unworthy of any respect from others or myself.
She, the girl in black, drifted into view. She, I idolised. I was unworthy but I photographed her. I dressed her as Agnes. I imposed a script on her, the penitent, beautiful in her remorse and sexually seductive. Perhaps I longed to be her. Her veil reminded me of lingerie and her black clothes of BDSM. I saw myself as her; humble, submissive, feminine and desirable.
Somehow, she stays with me. Therapy and counselling, exploration and maturity have helped me come to terms with my desire. Seeing and making her the girl I craved to have or to be, helped me to focus on something beautiful in the darkness that exists within my soul.
Morality and religion made me a martyr. St. Stephen. Life and love have made me fearless in accepting the light that is within what, some, see as darkness. Within that deviant desire is play, sensuality, spirituality and comedy.