It has been six days now since Gustavus told me to put the suit on again, time I have spent in training sessions with him punctuated by long periods of solitude. I have worn it ever since, removing only the mask on occasion, and only on his command. The entire thing reeks of my sweat and precum, and I long to remove it, but he will not let me. Not yet, at least.
Nor has he let allowed me to reach an orgasm, despite my near-perpetual state of arousal. I do not regret that I shared this part of myself with him--I do not regret anything that has happened during these sessions--but I feel foolish. The constant presence of tenting in my tights only adds to my sense of embarrassment.
I cannot deny that the suit is now and perhaps forever linked in my mind with shame and failure: my shame, my failure. Sometimes I am embarrassed by the thought that I ever believed that wearing this ... this costume would make the city a better place, would accomplish anything whatsoever. Other times I reflect on the absurdity and futility of my original quest, and admit to myself that it was doomed from the start. I cannot look at myself in this outfit without remembering the horrible things Strange made me do the last time I wore one like it--things that, I confess, made me feel more alive than I had ever felt before.
I do not know if this was Gustavus' intention, but I have come to realize that wearing the costume once more is simply another form of humiliation akin to the many others to which he has subjected me during our time together. With the mask clinging tightly to my skull and the suit gripping me like a second skin, I feel more naked than on those days when he stripped me of my street clothes and made me stand before him. I feel as though I have no place to hide, no more secrets to conceal.
I realize, too, that I am at last fulfilled. It is not necessary for me to pretend any longer that my purpose in wearing the costume is to fight crime or improve the world--I wear it only to satisfy myself, and I cannot say for sure whether that has anything to do with "improvement" or not. It is simply something I must do.
The costume is a part of me. I can no longer deny that. What I must do instead is learn what lessons it has to teach me. For that, Gustavus is my guide.