Dark Diary

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Chapter 1; Worthless Air

I don’t know when I jumped train from having a slight interest in self-torture to becoming all out suicidal. By the time that I realized that what I was thinking of doing to myself, what I was doing to myself, and what I wanted to do to myself…that it was all getting out of hand… it was already far too late for me. I didn’t care anymore.

At the beginning it was just fueled by kinky ideas. I’m a closet gay, and I was told I was attractive by many girls and many of them asked me out, but I always turned them down gently, preferring to return home to my computer full of gay porn. I’d bought things from the stag shop before; I had a whole box of dildos and vibrators and other things under my bed. I was still experimenting with them then, using them every night and steadily getting used to them. But sex toys were only the start.

I guess it was the porn itself that started giving me the ideas…not the normal stuff, the darker stuff, the S&M stuff. Pictures of hot sex with one guy strangling the other as he thrust into him…that alone turned me on at the beginning.

Sometimes I wished I could just stop breathing and sort of lie there painlessly and let the exhilaration flow through me. I tried often enough, lying on my stomach in bed at night and exhaling as I smothered my face into my pillow. At first it felt okay, I could hear my heart pounding in my ears and I felt excited for once, I felt good. I’d always get too scared when the pain would start though. I’d bear it for as long as I could, trying to get a little further every night, trying to edge closer to having complete control of my body, to be able to stop breathing at will and not start again. I’d even time myself to make sure I was improving.

At that point I still wasn’t ready to actually end my own life, but my morbid interest in suffering had started. Later I got much worse. I would fantasize about trying to strap a belt or something around the pillow and forcing it to stay against my face, and then I wanted to bind my hands quickly enough so that I couldn’t change my mind and remove it. The more I thought about it, the more curious I was to try it.

I wasn’t interested in blood or anything at all though, instead I found myself captivated by the very idea of suffocation, especially during sex or masturbation.

And so my nightly masturbation sessions were becoming steadily darker and more dangerous. I’d been practicing making different kinds of knots, the only thing my old “boy scout” book was good for anymore, and I’d buy different kinds of ropes and scarves, and any other kind of material I could find that was comfortable but thick.

Mum and Dad had no idea. Even though it was summer they’d go to work in the morning, eat supper with me at night and not care about what I did with the rest of my time. Which was the way I liked it, especially now that my morbid addiction had taken hold.

I’d practice different kinds of knots, discovering which ones were easier to make, and which ones were stronger, and which ones would start out loose and tightened as the person tried to struggle away.

The first night that I decided to try my new pastime I chose a strong strip of red material I’d found in the store near my house. It could cover my whole neck, so I wrapped it around many times and tied the other end to my bedpost. It was noon, and my parents wouldn’t be home for hours. I dug through my toy box excitedly until I found one of my favorite vibrators, and I lubed it up thoroughly before lying on my bed and inserting it inside.

It wasn’t too big, maybe the width of two fingers beside one another, and about five inches long. I pushed it in easily, since my ass had been steadily getting used to this for months, and I almost came when it brushed against my sweet spot, which I had also mastered finding. I held the remote that was attached to the other end of the cord in a resolved fist and I took a deep, reveling breath. Then I pushed up the dial.

Even though it was on the lowest setting, it was enough to make my back arch and my body tremble. This moving, pulsing thing inside of me was hitting that one spot over and over again…but I wouldn’t come so easily. Steadily, I started pulling myself away from the bedpost, feeling the material constrict around my throat. My eyes rolled up into my head in bliss and I pulled and pulled my neck further away, making sure I exhaled before my breathing was completely cut off and I’d pulled it as tight as it would go. I started my stopwatch and placed it on my bedpost where I could see.

It was the most amazing feeling. My neck didn’t hurt very much despite the strain of the material, but there was no possible way for air to enter my lungs. The type of knot I’d used was a snare knot, and it would be very hard to remove by hand. So I’d taken special care to move everything sharp away from myself beforehand, so that I’d be forced to try by hand anyway if I intended to live.

It never occurred to me at that time that what I wanted was to keep from saving myself. That I wanted to die this way. All I knew was that the more desperate I became for air, the better I felt.

Only a few seconds had passed from my tightening my noose before I cranked up my vibrator to maximum and, coiling my hands up into the blanket and leaning on top of them, I became determined to make it even harder for myself to get free and breathe again.

I lay there, motionless, the pleasure steadily mounting through me. It was amazing, I felt so good that I hardly noticed the initial pain in my chest. I gazed over at the stopwatch in a complete daze, noting that I’d gone twice as long without air as I ever had before with the pillow. Another ten seconds went by and I still felt no desire to unbind my hands and remove my restraint. Another ten as I felt a confused smile rise to my lips.

It was around then that my vision was getting blurry and that my body started to tremble all on its own. I could feel the pain in my chest now, mounting and throbbing as quickly as the pleasure was. That’s when I started to get scared, and I tried to pull out my hands. And at the same time I applied even more pressure on them with my stomach, fighting to keep from saving myself. I didn’t want to stop, I didn’t want to. But eventually I whipped my arms from the blanket and began clawing frantically at the cloth around my strangled neck, tugging uselessly at the skin-tight material with no hope of removing it. My body was feeling a little numb and my arms were weak and heavy.

My strength gone and my motivation weakening, the sound of my terrified heart pounding in my ears, I let my arms drop to my sides willingly and lay there, completely limp as my body trembled with even more vigor. I smiled again. It felt so warm like this, with no cold air drifting in and out to chill my lungs. I couldn’t explain how I was able to suddenly have control of my limbs and was able to ask them to quietly lie still for me and let me die. I gazed happily at my limp fingers that twitched every so often. I could feel myself crying. I decided that I should give in. It felt so good to give in. So horribly wonderful.

But another wave of energy and desperation came to me suddenly, and I moved again with frantic, clumsy hands clawing at the bedpost, thinking in my hazy mind that it was my only hope of escaping the snare; to pull out the peg, or in this case to undo the initial knot. To my delight and simultaneous despair, I realized that I’d triple knotted the thing, predicting my current hopeless state and ensuring my own failure. I scrambled with it for as long as I could, unsure whether I was making any progress at all because I could no longer lift my cloudy head.

The world was turning dark now, but the pain had faded into a comfortable nothingness. Against my will and to my most perverse excitement, my arms dropped onto the bed and would no longer respond to my whims. I could still hear the beautiful whirr of my vibrator plowing into me, but I could hardly feel it anymore. I was still smiling though, even when I was absolutely sure that I was going to die.

Never once throughout the entire experience had I gaped a desperate air-seeking mouth or stared around my room with wide eyes for some way to save myself. During the entire ordeal, from the tightening of my noose to my dying, I’d lied mostly casually and smiled and cried a little, in between fiddling with knots and changing my mind again. Anyone watching would have been well aware that I had planned this from the start. That without realizing it, I had planned this death.

I was now merely hoping not to be saved at all. And for a delicate moment, I truly believed I’d get my wish. After all, there was no one home and the doors were locked. No one was going to save me from myself.

But I felt something catch around a piece of the material that was strangling me with what nerves remained functional in my dying body, and the noose was ripped through in a swift rush of air.

The last thing I remembered was my first gasp as the cold, horrible air rushed back into my shaking body, and then I blacked out.

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When I woke up, the digital clock on my dresser told me about an hour had passed. I felt sticky and strangely satisfied. I was still lying on my bed, naked and my vibrator still doing its job relentlessly. Moving carefully, I turned it off with the remote and pulled it out, staring at my sheets with wide eyes. I must have come at least ten times judging by the stains on that blanket, and but seeing as how most of them were caked and dry, a good part of them must have happened while I’d been strangling myself. I smiled darkly.

I sat up and looked around. My stopwatch was still going, and I felt completely fine. That wasn’t right was it? I’d come so near to death, shouldn’t my lungs be aching? Or…my neck?

My hand rose to my throat and I messaged it carefully. It felt fine. It felt completely fine.

Shocked, I stood up and walked to the washroom, stopping in front of the mirror. There were no marks or a bruise, nothing at all to show I’d even done anything except the tear trails on my cheeks.

Baffled, I returned to my room. I stared at my bed for a long while.

It wasn’t there.

My red noose was gone.

I searched everywhere; under my bed, under the pillows, in my toy box…nothing. All I found was the tiniest shred of it on my sheet. It was proof that I wasn’t nuts or at least that I wasn’t imagining things, but I was left shocked.

Someone had been in my room. Someone had freed me. And as these thoughts filled my mind I felt a cold breeze and I looked over.

My window was wide open, and the lock was lying in pieces on the floor.