Programmes
Training
A single session is an experience. Six is a change.
Most men who see me once leave satisfied and nothing else happens. That is a perfectly good outcome, and for many it is the right one. But a session that begins from nothing every time can only ever go so far — we spend the first twenty minutes rebuilding ground we have already covered.
A programme removes that. Six appointments, planned as one arc, each beginning where the last ended. Expectations carry over. Protocol is retained. Tasks are set between sessions and reviewed at the next. What took a session to establish becomes the baseline for the one after.
Programmes are not for everyone, and I do not accept every application for one. They require you to be reliable.
You do not know where to put your hands. You speak when you should not, apologise constantly, and fill every silence. Position names mean nothing to you. You are watching me for cues the entire time.
You enter, kneel, and wait without being told. You hold a position through discomfort rather than adjusting out of it. You address me correctly without having to think. The silences have stopped being something you need to fill.
Locked for the first time, measured in hours rather than days. You are preoccupied with the device itself. You test the limits of the arrangement constantly, and you negotiate.
Locked between appointments as the default rather than the event. You report on schedule without being chased. You have stopped asking when, because the asking became its own answer. Release is something I decide.
You will not look in the mirror for longer than a second. You cannot repeat what I have called you without your voice failing, and you apologise for the sound of it. The humiliation lands as plain shame and stops there.
You look when you are told to, and you hold it. You say it back in full, unprompted, and you no longer flinch at your own voice doing it. The shame has not gone — it has stopped being something you need to escape.
You flinch before contact rather than at it. You lose count, or you count to get it over with. You move away from the stroke instead of into it, and you ask how many are left.
You present without being positioned and hold still through a full set. You count accurately and audibly, and you thank me for each. You have stopped asking how many, because the number was never the point.