Series: Stand Alone
Publisher: Fontaine Publishing Group
Release Date: June 7 2015
Fifty Shades of Truth is the true story of a man who, for over sixty years, led a double life.
Josef was a husband, a businessman, a friend, but he was also a man hopelessly addicted to sex and all things sexual in nature. Stemming from an assignment his therapist gave him, this book explores the many aspects of sex that are hidden and looked-down upon. Josef's life was a rollercoaster, littered with massage parlors, mistresses, transsexuals and gay encounters. The things that happened to Josef, most people would find horrifying, twisted, or at least strange. But Josef loved every bit of it. Loved it so much that he continued lying to his wife and everyone he knew for 60 years.
Parts of Josef's story are very confronting, but Fifty Shades of Truth is a wonderfully entertaining, sometimes humorous, sometimes shocking, sometimes challenging, but always entertaining account of this man's life. Many other men can only fantasize about some of the things he has experienced.
… a dark journey into the Light
It was a slow movement, and she paused at times to moisten her tongue, making sure she wet my face with her saliva. “You belong to me, slave. All of you belongs to me.” She moved behind me and whispered in my ear, “I want your soul.”
When she whispered those words, I suddenly felt fear flood my body at the realization of my position. Where was my soul in all of this? I was raised a strict Catholic, but from the age of five I rejected the absurd teachings of the church. I stopped going to church as soon as I was old enough to say “no” at about sixteen years of age, but that did not mean I didn’t believe in a greater intelligence behind life. At five years old I was already looking for the true meaning and purpose of my life, and as I grew older I spent a great deal of time searching, reading books, and practicing all kinds of meditation in pursuit of this. That search has never stopped, and has always been a focal point of any decisions I make about my life. So how the fuck did I find myself here? My heart was pounding and a wave of panic rose in me. Was I turning my back on my soul?
The concerns about the wellbeing of my soul were interrupted by the sound of Mistress Serena’s voice. This distraction was enough for the urges that brought me here to rise above my fears and quell them. Gently but forcibly, my fears for my soul were slowly smothered beneath an avalanche of desire, as the sound of her voice flowed into me like a soothing balm.
“I have many ways to brand you as my property, slave,” she laughed. I figured she was just talking about the face painting she had given me with her tongue. This was starting to get rough and wild, but I wasn’t about to stop her. I wanted to see where this would go now. The crazy thoughts going through my mind were still making me smile slightly, and I still couldn’t take it seriously.
“Do you still think this is funny, slave?’ she demanded in a rising voice.
“No, Mistress,” I mumbled. The blood was pounding in my ears and I could feel the heat in my face from her blows. I worked the smile off my face and tried to play the game. I was keeping my eyes averted but directed my gaze close enough to catch peripheral glimpses of her face. A look of contempt was etched into her features, her sneering upper lip indicating a total disdain for me. It hit a nerve that I loved, and it is impossible to describe the deep sense of gratification I felt. My body ached as though it wished to turn itself inside out, such was the feeling I had to give myself to this. I wanted to bare myself completely. I had stopped worrying about my soul.
“I think you need a lesson, slave. You come to me drunk and think this is a joke. Do you think this is a joke?”
“No, it’s not!” she screamed, and slapped me across the face again, though not as hard as before. She laughed. “You remember the safe word, don’t you, slave?”
“Good,” she said, laughing softly. She slapped me back and forth a few more times, as I sat there helplessly, with no way to defend myself from her blows. She spat in my face again when she was done. I sat there, slumped in the chair, beaten into submission, and said nothing. Looking down at my cock, laying soft against my thigh, I was surprised that I still didn’t have an erection. Over time I would come to understand the nature of my desires very well, and an erection wasn’t at all necessary for my enjoyment and satisfaction.
“Yes, I think you need to be reminded of who you are, slave.” She turned to the shelf behind her, and picked up one of the burning candles. “I am going to brand you properly,” she added, with a laugh
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To the outside world he led a very normal life as a loving husband, good friend and successful businessman. But inside he harbored a great secret as he pursued a life exploring every avenue of sex imaginable. Stemming from an assignment his therapist gave him, this book explores the many aspects of sex that are hidden and frowned upon by society. Josef began by visiting mistresses and frequenting massage parlors, but most people could not even imagine the ways he found to satisfy his all-consuming desires, finding them repulsive, or strange to say the least. But Josef couldn’t get enough of it, as he planned his daily life around his next sexual encounter, lying to his wife and everyone who knew him for sixty years.
Some parts of Josef’s life are very confronting, and not for the prudish or faint-hearted, but Fifty Shades of Truth is a wonderfully entertaining, sometimes humorous, sometimes shocking, sometimes challenging, but always entertaining account of this man’s life. Many other men can only fantasize about some of the things he has experienced.
With this book being an Autobiography the Synopsis and Author Bio are the same.
Places to find Fifty Shades of Truth
Google Play Australia
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Note from the Author
This is the story of my life. It has not been fabricated, exaggerated, or embellished in any way. It's the raw truth and I'm not really sure why I'm writing it, but my therapist thinks it's a good idea, and I can understand her reasoning about that. Writing down my life's story might simply be a part of the healing process, so I can finally move on with my life and live it like a normal person. All my life I've wished for nothing more than to just be normal, as I've looked around and envied other people's untroubled lives. At least that is how they appear on the surface. We can all be quite certain that most people harbor some secrets in their lives. Those secrets might be just some small things they regret, or feel ashamed about. I wish people did not need to have secrets, and live in fear and guilt about their lives. Most things people hide from are not worth the stress, but I guess I'm the same. Maybe I should be able to shout from the rooftops, and tell the world I'm not afraid or ashamed of my life, but in my heart I know many people will stand in judgment of me. At the same time, I know that deep down a lot of people would applaud my courage to do so, even if their own fears prevented them from supporting me out loud. Therein lies the problem. If you stand outside society's norm, you stand alone, through social judgment and fear. Maybe I should just include it all in the category of fear, and leave judgment out of it, considering that all judgment has its roots in fear to begin with. Fear; the prime mover for almost every expression in our lives. What would it be like to be free of fear? I know everyone has their problems, and people go through a great deal of pain and suffering in so many ways. I personally know people who I would not trade places with for anything on Earth. We all go through the "run of the mill" issues which plague people; things like marriage breakups, financial problems, health issues, and everything that goes with living on this planet; trying to coexist with a whole lot of people, most of whom we have almost nothing in common, except a pattern of closely similar reactions that maintain a reasonable level of "sanity" in society. And it is all bound in fear. It doesn't sound like much of a way to live, but if you question someone about their lives and propose the idea that they live their lives in fear, almost all of them will disagree. Some will even get angry, and possibly violent, if you dare to start a debate with them on the issue. The irony is that they won't see, even then, that their reaction to the idea that their lives are based on fear, is in itself a fear based reaction. So why would I tell people about my life? Why would I stand up, step out of the shadows that society creeps around in, and put my trust in people to accept my life? Simple. People cannot be trusted. Everyone knows this because everyone has a secret. The only variable is the size of the secret, and mine would attract a massive excess baggage fee if I packed it in a suitcase and boarded a plane. I've had, and have, all those problems I spoke about; divorce, health and finance, to some degree. I'm not saying my life is difficult in the main, and in fact I often count myself lucky, and give thanks for my life, and the many things I enjoy. Unlike some others, at least I have my health, in that I can walk, talk, eat, see and hear. I also have a brain that works well enough, which gives me the opportunity to make something of myself, and do something with my life. I really cannot complain, so what makes my life so different that my therapist thinks that writing it down is a good idea? I don't think the aspect of my life in question is in anyway unusual, or different, to a large percentage of the population, so I guess it just comes down to a question of degree and scope. When I consider those factors I can't help feeling my life has been a little unusual, to say the least, and a lot unusual to "say the most"! No doubt it could be expressed by a lot of people with words like sick, deviant, gross, fucked-up, pathetic, abhorrent, disgusting, depraved, and so on. These words are not new to me. I've tarred myself with every one of them over the years, and nobody else could project the depth of feeling in those words more strongly to me than I have against myself. That projection in turn evoked feelings of shame, guilt, unworthiness and self-loathing that cannot be replicated by imagination. Even if I told you that you cannot imagine the things I've done, and then gave you a hint, you would not cover the depth and breadth of my life experience. I've written about this in a way that tries to depict how I felt at the time and how I feel now, and can only use words or terms that make that possible. This book is not for the prudish or faint-hearted, so if you like your reality painted over and sugar-coated, then this is not for you, and I suggest you make a nice cup of tea and watch re-runs of Days of Our Lives instead. I'm not complaining about my lot, and in some strange way I have even come to appreciate it after all this time. All I want to do now is find some understanding out of it that might possibly enrich the remainder of my life, and maybe even help others with theirs. It all seemed to begin harmlessly enough as a young child in primary school, but when I was a young teenager, an innocent conversation with my mother raised the idea in me that this turbulent, obsessive journey had actually begun when I was just a baby. In time I had no doubt about this, and it has often led me to wonder - is this some kind of karmic load I am unloading, or am I building a karmic load that will crush the life out of my soul? This is the question that would plague me through the decades to come. Whatever the explanation for it, I was powerless to do anything about it. All I could do was hang in, and hang on, as I plunged headlong through a chaotic world of sensory self-gratification. Where do I even start, to give anyone an idea of the duality of the life I have lived for as long as I can remember? There is that old clichéd crap about starting at the beginning, and they may be right, but let's just skip ahead for a moment, because honestly, if I'm going to write this down, then I don't have time for norms or clichés, and don't give a shit about them. Skipping ahead will give me a clear reminder of why I'm writing this, and what I'm writing about. I'll come back and try to join some dots, so this might become a clearer picture of what it always felt like to me: a life unlived. Is that too dramatic; to call it a life unlived? I lived something, didn't I? We all have some notion of what life should be like, or what we wish it was like, and in my mind and in my heart my life never measured up to any of my wishes. It just never felt like living. It always felt like a crap life; a bum deal.f It is what it is.