Submissive thinking – Part 1

I squirmed involuntarily as the flogger slammed down on my back. It wasn't the heavy impact, (I rather liked the weight of it... The way it almost reverberated in my lungs) but when the lashes would reach around and leave a stinging kiss on the soft flesh round my ribs and thighs, I would grunt and shudder a bit. Still, even though not a masochist, I can't say that it was an unpleasant experience.

Having never been to a play party before, I was invited to a one, by a very sweet and considerate Domme, in order to get a taste of what it was like. There were two Dommes and three subs, (including me) there. The company was grand! There was fun and lively conversation among us and a dinner, prepared, served, and cleaned up after by us subs. I couldn't have hoped for a better evening and even though I was given permission to skip out on any of the play that I didn't wish to participate in, I chose not to. I really liked the bondage part a lot but found the bound and blindfolded part a bit scary. A light touch provided more of a start than I thought it would, as I never knew where it was coming from. I won't go into detail here but suffice it to say that I had a good time.

It took a few days for me to really internalize the evening, and in spite of having a good time, and meeting some real nice people, in the end, I decided that what I'd just done was not submission.

In retrospect, the biggest missing element was the lack of any emotional involvement, or investment. The overall effect was as though I was simply playing a role in an elaborate parody of a femdom porn movie. The after dinner play went on for an hour or so and at no time did I feel anything more than interested detachment. It was a cool experiment but nothing more.

For me, submission is not defined be kink, or acts of service. Rather, it is a romantic relationship where the Domme is the one who leads. Quite a simple idea, yet probably much harder than I make it sound. My “job”, so to speak, would be to do those things that would make her happy. Taken to a higher level, it would be to get to know her well enough that I would be able to anticipate her needs in advance and fill them before being asked to do so. I was at a munch a few weeks after that play night and I overheard a very young Domme saying how much she liked to “order boys around”. I could hardly think of a more dismal existence than having a committed relationship with someone who would order me about because it's what she likes to do.

As a submissive, I want to be able to do things that make her smile, laugh, swoon, and feel loved, safe and secure. I want be a reliable a partner who will do her bidding and be the wind beneath her wings. I want to celebrate with her when she's happy, encourage her dreams and aspirations, and comfort her when she is in need. If she has an interest in kink, or desires certain types of service, so be it, and while I do have hard limits, (blood, needles, feces, and such) I would be willing to discuss various types of play and try to push outside of my comfort zone.I can't say that I even have any particular kink list due to having very limited experience with it.

I know that kink plays an important role in many in D/s relationships, but for me it is not essential... Fun perhaps, but nothing to base a relationship on. For me, random play just doesn't do it. Kink, and/or service, of and by themselves, do not mean submission to me. They are tools to be employed as needed, in order to make someone that I am deeply committed to, happy.

In a moment

February 1974: It happened so fast. Looking back on it now, I suppose I should have seen it coming, but I didn't. That's what happens when you don't know your own mind as well as you should and it only took a moment to make a bad decision.

It was late on a frigid winter night when I dropped my girlfriend off and started the drive back home. I was driving down a long, wide, tree lined boulevard and it was during one of those times when I was in the depths of a deep and dark depression. I couldn't really point to an exact reason why. It's just something that happens from time to time, and it was on that street, at that very moment, that I was moved to act.

I punched the accelerator to the floor, and spun the steering wheel to the left, taking aim at a clump of oak trees that were just down the road a bit. The car lunged forward as the rear wheels dug in for traction. However, just before impact, the car hit a patch of ice and began to slide sideways. The loss of both traction and control scrubbed off speed and made me miss my intended target. Instead, I slid past, just missing it, hit a glancing blow off a snow bank, and slammed into a tree just beyond where I had been aiming.

I just sat there for a while, bleeding from the nose and forehead, staring through the shattered windshield, at the smashed frond end of my car, with the steam billowing out and curling up into the night sky. It took a little while to come to the realization of what had just happened and I remembered my shock at how I could have done such an impulsive thing on a whim. Naturally, I made up a bullshit excuse of how I “lost control” of the car because I didn't want anyone to know that I had tried to do myself in and even worse, failed miserably in the attempt. In time, my private humiliation passed and I put the thing behind me, rarely thinking about it anymore.

It was the tragic and untimely death of Robin Williams that got me to thinking about it again. While no one will ever know what was going through his mind in those last few moments of life, I can understand how such a thing can happen.

Depression is about feeling isolated and hopeless, but it does not necessarily mean that you feel unloved, alone, or unwanted. You can be in a room full of loving friends and family yet, when the fog of depression falls like an impenetrable shroud, you can no longer see them. Depression is a deceptive thing that has you believing things that simply are not so. It also brings into sharp focus all of the hurts and failures of the past and catastrophizes the future, while leaving the present as just another long day that must be plodded through on the road to nowhere. Depression can feed on itself, resulting in a downward spiral that will leave life dangling by the delicate thread known as the human survival instinct.

That's when it happens. Something (and it could be anything from a bad medical diagnosis to a relatively minor frustration) comes along and finally snaps that last thread. Everything that has happened in the past leads up to that final moment, when the cool quiet of oblivion seems preferable to being alive. It's that moment when isolation and hopelessness have overcome the will to survive and the rope is stretched, the wheel is turned, the trigger is pulled. It could be a completely spontaneous act, done in the heat of the moment, because the consequences no longer matter. It brings to mind the words of a Lyle Lovett song:

"You can make just one mistake,
And it can take you to your grave, honey
One bad move can turn your world upside down
It's such a shame 'cause you've been so good up to now"

I *HAVE* been good since that one time so long ago, but still have to fight the impulse more than I'd like to admit to myself. Fortunately, I know my mind a lot better than I did back then but still, when I read about the suicide of one so prominent, I am reminded of how vulnerable I am and that I need to carefully guard my own mind. Someone reading this may read it and simply not be able to understand how such things can happen. That's OK because I really don't understand it myself.

Notes on a crush

I can hardly believe it's been almost five years. My crushes usually last only a few weeks or months at most, so you know this one is highly unusual, and at least to me, very special.

If she sees this, I'm fairly certain she will know that it's about her. She knows about how I feel so it's not a big thing and I'm pretty sure she's OK with it too. Of course, she also has a bad memory so may not remember that I told her.

What first attracted me was her words. Her ability to put her thoughts down with such clarity, cleverness, intelligence, and wisdom had me hooked right away and the better I got to know her the more impressed I have become. She is also as attractive physically as she is mentally.

She makes me feel smarter, younger, better looking, and sexier that I really am and I find myself not wanting to disappoint her. I enjoy even the most mundane communications from her. She has always been open, honest and encouraging. I love the attention.

She doesn't crush on me the way I do on her and that's just fine. If she did, it would be a relationship, as opposed to a mere crush and it would have most likely ended a long time ago. I am quite content the way things are right now.

Naturally, having never lived with her before, there are many things I don't know about her and so my imagination must fill in the blank spots. I choose to fill them in with good things, and so while it may not be entirely realistic, It's what I choose to do... Hey! It's MY crush!

I had a friend tell me that a long distance crush is a waste of time and that it could keep me from “finding someone”. I disagree. First of all, our interactions make me happy. She has been a very welcome addition to my life. Secondly, as far as not “finding someone” goes. Of course I keep looking, and if I ever do, meet that someone special, she will be one of the first I tell, and she'll be happy for me. Above all things, we've become friends.

I've blogged about the before, and I have no problem with being in the “Friend Zone”. Truth be told, think it's a wonderful thing for a crush to mellow into a long term and mutually beneficial friendship. That is just how I see this one going.

(Not) At her service

I was reading this blog post by Dumb Domme, in which she makes a very salient point on the difference between “domestic servitude”, and “housework”. I won't recapitulate the article here, as I think you would be better served by reading it yourself, (Really, you should do that... Go ahead, I'll wait) but it did give me pause to think of how, if at all it applies to my present circumstance. Here I am, a submissive man with a female room mate, and I do the vast majority of the housework. I do most of the cooking, cleaning, pay the bills and car maintenance on both vehicles in addition to working full time so at first glance, it might look as though I am trying to be a “good domestic servant”. The reality of the situation however, is far different

Back story

I used to live with the person who is now my room mate, in a very vanilla and quite conventional relationship. We both worked full time, so it was only natural that we split the mundane business of “housework” between us and it stayed that way for most of the 13 years we were together. Neither of us considered it to be a labor of service to each other. Love didn't mean having a clean toilet, nor did either of us do it in order to make each other happy. It was just shit that had to be done. Of course, that wasn't all we did together. In fact, when we weren't working, we spent practically every waking moment together. It was suggested by more than a couple of friends that were were co-dependent and perhaps it was so. We had completely build out lives around each other, but it wasn't until the relationship had entered it's terminal phase that I started learning about D/s and discovered my submissive side so it was never a factor.

The New Normal

Now, after having been pushed back into the same living space by circumstances, I can say without equivocation that there is nothing whatsoever submissive about my doing of the “invisible labor”. I'm not doing it to make her happy, nor am I hoping to get any favors, sexual or otherwise from her. I have no need to win favor or earn rewards, nor do I consider her to be in any way to be in a superior position.

Rather, it is my way of establishing my own independence and maintaining a measure of distance between us. We are no longer the co-dependent team we once were and I have no desire to go back to the time when we were. In the years since I've been on my own, I have developed my own way of doing things and see no reason to change them. This is not to say that there is no compromise, or that I don't welcome both suggestions or help, but it is my intention that she heal, regain her independence and eventually move on.

When I think of submissive service, I don't think about cooking, and cleaning, (Although I would happily do it if asked) but I think about doing sweet, unexpected, and romantic things. I would not expect to be praised or in any way rewarded to doing regular household maintenance. If I was no longer working and had a full time live-in agreement with a Domme, it would be fulfilling an agreed upon role.

For what it's worth, after being back on my own, again I'm not in any rush to live with anyone again. Not only that, but I am used to working and taking care of my own basic needs and it would take a great deal of trust for me to put my financial and personal security into the hands of someone else. Circumstances can always change and I am always open to new ideas, but at least for now, and for the foreseeable future, I will be doing all my own "invisible labor".

Confessions of a bad guy

I think it's only natural that most of us like to consider ourselves to be basically good people. Sure, we may make mistakes from time to time, but we are still on the side of the angels. Since breaking my ankle a couple of weeks ago, I've been stuck in my apartment, with nothing but time to think about stuff like that.

I was remembering all of those times when I'd been disabled or had to visit the emergency room for one reason or another and there have been quite a few. In trying to put them in the proper historical perspective, I also stared thinking about other life events that were happening at the same time as those things. After mulling it over for a while, I've come to the conclusion that I have not been nearly as close to the angels as I have always thought I was.

You see, I have this opportunistic streak and after getting into a tight spot, I've been known to use extra legal means to extricate myself from it. Not that I would prey on little old ladies or steal from family and friends, (or even strangers, for that matter) but I still would do whatever I had to do in order to get my needs met. Because I didn't hold a gun, and rob people, I didn't think it was so bad. It was just stuff that had come from big warehouses, or was grown in somebodies “garden” so I thought of it as a sort of victimless criminality where nobody got hurt. Don't get me wrong, I always felt terrible afterward and swore that “this would be the last time” but that last time never seemed to come.

It started while still in my late teens, and into my early 20s, after earning the trust of a few guys who lived outside the law, and I was able to earn extra cash, fuel, weed, or whatever in exchange for doing the occasional “favor” for them. It usually involved transporting goods that had “fallen off the truck” somewhere. On occasion, it was marijuana, although I was always real careful not to carry too much at any one time. Even during my years in the cult, I maintained a couple of contacts on the outside because hey, you never know.

After leaving the cult in 1995, (OK, they threw me out) I got arrested after getting into trouble while trying to earn some cash to help a friend save his business. (No, I don't want to share the details)There was not enough evidence so they had to let me go and ever since then, I've been trying my best to remain on the straight and narrow.

The thing is, I don't know that I entirely trust myself to stay that way. Although in my favor, when everything fell apart during the housing crisis in 2008 I worked lots of overtime, paid off who I could, before being forced into bankruptcy, and I didn't fall back on that old “anything goes” pattern. Still, the urge is there and when it gets strong, I need to remind myself that there is no such thing as a victimless crime. Even if I get clean away with stealing a million dollars from someone who will never even know it's gone, there will still be two victims: my character, and self respect. Perhaps, by maintaining that perspective, I'll be able to move a little closer to the angels.

Best of Enemies

I'm not really sure if you could call what we have a friendship. I'd say it's more like a long term truce... Kinda like Korea, but without all that barbed wire and watch towers. Sure, we have a history that goes back 23 years, but the relationship had quite a few rough patches before it died hard, leaving not only heartache, but financial ruin for both of us in it's wake. It took many months before we we able to start to try to rebuild some sort of relationship and even at that, it was only on account of her becoming disabled after enduring a brutal assault, and subsequent legal problems that we were able to look past the hurt and mistrust.

Now, almost four years since I first moved out, she has had to move back in with me, and although she feels safe here, she makes no bones about the fact that she'd rather not be here at all. After having been on her own, since she was sixteen years old, she has never had to rely on anyone for her survival, so this cuts to the very core of who she is. I can understand that.

In the three months since she's been here, I've come to realize just how different we have become. The conversations that used to flow so freely between us are infrequent, and at times, somewhat forced and I find myself being careful not say something that will stir up the problems that lie dormant just beneath the surface. We are mentally and emotionally in two different places. There is nothing that passes for affection between us and there is the always present danger that a wrong word will reignite the problems of the past. We may share the same place, but we are not close... Just two people, forced by circumstance, that have to learn to live together.

If you've read this far you might think: “Geez, what a terrible way to live”, but I'll tell you something, there's good to be had in such a situation.

There is a basic courtesy and respect for each others' space and needs as well as a familiarity with working together in order to achieve a common goal. That goal is to see to it that she regains her independence and I am pleased to report that she is well on her way. By doing things on a quid pro quo basis, we are both learning the art of negotiation and compromise and are taking real pains to see to it that things go as smoothly as possible. Patience with each other and our circumstances has become the order of the day while we both settle in to what has become the new normal and what we may lack in mutual affection, we make up for in the determination to make this work.

I have always wanted to believe that civilized and intelligent people should be able to put aside personal differences in order to achieve a common goal and you might say that this is sort of an experiment that I hope will reinforce that belief.

I know that issues will arise and there may be some difficult times ahead, but I am hoping for the best possible outcome. Even though we are no longer best of friends, perhaps being best of enemies will be good enough.

A Morning after Story

A fictional re-accounting of something that I remember from a long time ago

She gradually awakens in the pre-dawn darkness as he stirs slightly, and she smiles as she feels the comforting and familiar weight of him splayed across her, his head nestled under her chin. She reaches up and begins to absently stoke his hair when it hits her like a thunderbolt and she remembers what happened. This is all wrong. This is not HIM. This is not the one she has grown to love and cherish. This is a feeble imposter, and the shallow, shadow of a man, laying here now, has the temerity to think that he could even begin to fill the shoes of the one she would have given almost anything for. She has allowed this fool into her bed and now he lays here sleeping, as though it was his right to do so.

It's not his really fault, she thinks. I was the one who asked him here and it was only at my insistence that he stayed. Sweet, kind, and gentle, he tried his best to “be there” when she called. Fawning on her like a modern day courtier, he tried to assuage the pain of her loss by making her laugh, think, and in his own lopsided way did his best to see to it that everything was “just so”. There was even a brief moment, when they were making love that she considered that there might be a faint spark between them, but his sexual efforts were as inexpert and clumsy, as they were in earnest. Even after he had spent himself, he had tried vainly to please her until they both collapsed in frustrated exhaustion.

Now, in the aftermath of a tumultuous night, the only thing she could focus on was the one who was no longer there. The more she thought about the one she loved, the more she missed him and the pain of that longing sliced knife-like to her very core. With the body of a god, the heart of a lion, and a sharp and inquisitive intellect, he strode head and shoulders above most, and when he slept, it was the deep slumber of victory. It was the restful sleep of one who knew neither fear nor boundaries and when he woke, the world would take note. At that very moment, she longed for nothing more than to be bound up in his embrace. By comparison,this one with her now seems timid and weak. Like a child too eager to please, he gropes about looking for approval, never understanding that it is not the things that one does, but rather the person one becomes, that makes him special.

Suddenly repulsed, she tries to slide of of bed without waking him, and she has to shush him soothingly as he fitfully turns over. Once he seems to be sleeping again, she slips into a robe and slippers, and pads off to make coffee. Sitting alone in the kitchen, for what seems like a long while, she stares into her cup, wondering how she could have allowed this to happen. Was she really that lonely, or maybe she just drank too much. Perhaps she just wanted a measure of revenge against the one who had hurt her and this was the quickest way of doing so. Whatever, she thought, the trick now is to get this imposter out of here and move on with the day.

He appears suddenly in the doorway, fully dressed and far too awake and chipper for the hour. The conversation that follows over coffee and breakfast, is lively and engaging, and she begins to remember a bit of why she had been attracted to him in the first place. Between peals of laughter, she thinks to herself; “I'll give him credit for one thing, he's a funny motherfucker”. Yet, for all the lively banter, they could both see the failure and disappointment reflected in each others' eyes and this was his way of not only leaving in the most gentlemanly way, but as a salve against the sting of rejection.

The final parting went rather quickly. “Well,” she sighed, with a gentle wave of the hand, “I have a ton of stuff I need to do and I suppose I really need to get to it”. After they exchange a few more meaningless pleasantries, she kisses him softly on the lips and giggles at him ”Drive carefully now. Remember, that car's not paid for yet”. Trying hard to hide his disappointment, he smiles wanly and slouches away as she closes the door behind him.

Thankful to be by herself again, she looks up at the clock and says, “What the hell am I doing up at this hour? Fuck it! I'm going back to sleep” and with her bed, now pleasantly devoid of anyone save her, she falls asleep, and dreams.