Tag: relationship

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My task

Where to begin? Last night started out bad, got worse, then ended on a hopeful note.

It was my Belle Fille’s last night at home before she left for her week overseas. We made dinner together. It was fun hanging out in the kitchen, drinking wine, enjoying each other’s company. I was buoyantly optimistic that we’d have a good night in bed and was building up the courage to suggest a few new twists to our repertoire. Just after we finished eating and the kids had scattered to consume their preferred media in the far corners of the house, we were alone. We were sitting close. I put my arm over her and kissed her neck. She put her hand in my lap and sneaked her fingers through the opening in my pajama bottoms. Then, through a series of events too obscure to detail here, we found ourselves reminded of my past infidelity.

The thing is, after you cheat on your wife and burn through all the psychic energy of traveling through the pain and healing and therapy, etc., the detritus of your stupid decision always remains scattered about just under the turf of everyday life. Sometimes, through no fault of anyone, you stumble upon it. It can be no big deal and you laugh it off together. Or, it can be like stepping in a pile of emotional dog shit. Other times, like an emotional land mine. Last night was somewhere between dog shit and land mine.

Belle wasn’t angry at me all over again or anything. No, it was more like the scab had been ripped off and the nasty feelings came oozing back out again. At one point, she was in the bathroom crying. I went through the typical range of “god, I’m such an asshole” to “god, not this again” feelings. Once the kids were down for the count, we went to bed and talked it over. She doesn’t like how it feels to come across like a basket case whenever this subject rears it’s shaggy head. I don’t like seeing her continue to suffer for my stupidity. In any event, we talked it though. Again. And not for the last time.

We were through it, though I knew everything was still too raw to expect any sex. I was disappointed, but only in myself since it was all the result of my actions. However, we were in a happy talky place and I thought I’d take the opportunity to go over some of the things I was hoping to spring on her before the night went all to hell. As I began, she cut me off, albiet nicely, and said she wasn’t feeling up to anything sexual that night.

As I retell that moment, it sounds very innocent. However, I reacted negatively. As I said, I already knew there wasn’t going to be any sex. That was perfectly obvious. She was simply confirming that, but I expect due to the all the emotions of the previous few hours, I took it as some kind of passive-aggressive rejection of the topic. And, through her rejection of the topic, she rejected me. Of course, I was overreacting. I know that now. But at the moment, it suddenly surfaced a tangle of conflicting emotions all bubbling under my skin.

First and foremost, I felt like a freak. All the sexual urges and kinks I have left me feeling exposed, insecure, and overly complicated. I apologized to her for being so weird and complex. If only I could go back to being “normal”, everything would be better. She challenged me on that and asked what normal was. I don’t know, but it’s not me, I answered. I told her I felt she wasn’t really into the role I asked her to assume. She was doing only the basic, cursory things I asked of her and wasn’t trying to grow into her dominant role and truly make it her own. Yes, she was controlling my orgasms, but that was about it. There wasn’t much in her actions that demonstrated she was very interested going very far beyond that. All the books I had purchased had basically sat unread by her. I apologized for asking too much of her, for putting her in this active, difficult position that obviously did not come naturally to her. For not the first time, I suggested that maybe we were heading down the wrong path and it was all my fault for putting us on it.

Now, I know there are many blogs on the web that could have produced the preceeding paragraph. There are gaggles of submissive men out there who came to realize what they wanted from their partners only after years of marriage. I know, I’m just another in a long line of whiny malesubs. I also know I was being totally unfair and excessively self-pitying. She has tried. But I’m feeling as though we’re moving too slowly and that her heart’s really not in it.

One of my biggest issues is how hard it is to actually tell her what I want her to do. I want to be submissive to her. I want to serve her, sexually. I want her to find my boundaries – the edges of where I’m comfortable – and ask me to go farther. And then I want to go farther, for her. I know where some of those boundaries are, but I feel that to simply tell her would be to rob them of their magic (which is also pretty fucked up, I know). I want her to discover them herself through practice. Besides, several of them are somewhat embarrassing to me. That’s why they’re on the edge. Yes, I understand that I’m basically asking her to read my mind and, yes, I get how that’s unfair. But she’s not really trying. And instead of being mad or frustrated at her, it all comes out as my insecurity and inferiority. It’s all my fault for being a freak.

She said a lot of things last night trying to bring me off the ledge. She says she doesn’t think I’m a freak and that she wants to do what it takes to make me happy, but I’m still feeling freakish. In order to help her help me, she’s left me with a simple task to perform while she’s gone. I am to detail here, on my blog, all the things I want. Not in broad, general terms (“I want you to dominate me”) but in actionable, specific terms (“I want you to spank my ass with the wooden hairbrush”). Over the course of the next week, that will be the theme here. It will be difficult for me since, even though only two of you know who I really am, I will be putting out there for all to read the dark corners of my sexual wishlist that have only been glimpsed or hinted at before.

We’ll see how it goes.

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Christmas break

It’s been almost a week since I last wrote here. I guess I’ll call that my Christmas Break.

I was trying to get into a rhythm where I blogged about once a day, so six days off has left me a little rusty as well as contemplative regarding how I’ll blog in the future. On the one hand, I want to blog regularly (like I said, maybe 5 times a week, or thereabouts). On the other hand, I don’t want to get too repetitive. I mean, how many times can I come here and write that Belle denied me another orgasm before you all wander off? Once the bloom is off the orgasm denial flower, how many times can one write about the same non-event? The secret, I think, is spending more time describing the donut and less thinking about the hole. Of course, the longer I’m denied the more I think about holes…and what you can do with them…and how even now I’m getting plump thinking about a freakin’ donut hole. Sheesh. OK, back to it, then.

Christmas Day was notable for two things. First, my Belle Fille had the stomach flu all day. Merry Christmas, sweetie! That sucked (mostly for her). Luckily, she was right as rain the next day. Second, Christmas was the first day I actually forgot my dick was pierced. No pain, no uncomfortableness, in general, no weirdness of any kind. I count it as the first day of the rest of my penis-pierced life. The next day, Friday, Belle felt so good that she wanted me to fuck her. During the healing period, Belle hasn’t been able to enjoy her cock as often as she’d like and, since it was feeling pretty good, she wanted it in her. I used the one non-sheep intestine condom I had. I felt a wince once or twice, but otherwise it was a good experience for both of us. She reports being able to feel the curved barbell a little, but not a lot.

After she came, she told me I could, too, if I wanted to. It’s a testimate to how far orgasm denial has taken me that I actually had to think about it for a second. Three months ago, the option of not coming would have seemed very strange to me. Now, I find myself more than willing to trade the momentary intense pleasure of orgasm for the long burn of denial-driven frustration and basking in the reflected glow of her pleasure. But yeah, I came anyway. Unlike last time, it was good. Really good. Not head-exploding good, but pretty damned good just the same. Afterwards, I pulled off the spent condom, tied it off like a water balloon, and was surprised at the volume of ejaculate it contained. Man, that was a lot of little swimmers.

Yesterday was a good day. Belle and I were really into each other all day. She was giving me long looks and saying nice things and I was loving the attention and looking forward to pawing her that night. Once the kids were down and out, the pawing commenced. I asked to be able to pleasure her with the cock again and, while puting on the condom (we bought more of the latex variety), made the offhand remark that it had been a while since I had to deal with the things.

If you’ve read this blog for a while or spent time reading the old entires, you’ll know that this past summer Belle and I went though a difficult period in our marriage. In short, I cheated on her. We both agree that we should share the blame for allowing our marriage to get to a state where that kind of thing was even possible, but I was the one who cheated and therefore am the one who bears more of the blame. While we’ve come a remarkable way from those days, the pain I caused her occasionally surfaces, as it did with my seemingly innocent remark about using condoms. She immediately deduced (correctly) that I did not use a condom during my affair. I can explain why I chose not to, though it’s not important to this story and will only sound like I’m defending myself.

Belle did not stop me when my comment suddenly opened up the old hurt and anger. I was in her and doing my best to pleasure her when I felt something wasn’t right. I stopped, we talked, I apologized for the millionth time. I think she felt bad that her feelings got in the way of our moment, but I tried to tell her she shouldn’t. How could they not? Her feelings are more than valid and if anyone should feel bad, it should be me. In any event, we were able to get past it and she allowed me to bring her to climax manually.

As she approached her orgasm, I again felt the sympathetic vibrations within me and heard the little whimpering moans coming from my throat. I simultaneously relish and dread the moment of her orgasm. I’m allowed a fractional share of her pleasure but, shortly after, my access to her body comes to an end. Perhaps it was the earlier penetration, but for some reason I found myself hornier than I would have expected just 24 hours after my own release. She told me it would be a while before I was allowed to come, if for no other reason, because she’s leaving the country for a week starting next weekend. I asked if she was going to take the little vibrator, Pink, with her. Yes, she is.

If any part of me was coming off the hormonal edge, the sudden and crystal thought of her pleasuring herself on the other side of the world with Pink while I was hard, horny, and denied here at home had me instantly hard and miserably flooded with desire for her. Even now as I write this, I find myself in a state of excited frustration more suited to three weeks without release, not three days. Exacerbating this is Belle’s promise to let me know each time she comes while she’s gone. Due to the time difference, I imagine I’ll be in an afternoon meeting when I receive a text message from her with the news. She’ll be basking while I’ll be squirming. Not fair. Wonderfully, gloriously, not fair.

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FLR, not so much

In the beginning, my kink seemed simple: Belle should control my orgasms and occasionally tie me to the bed and rough me up. As is my wont, I dove head-first into all teh interwebs had to offer regarding anything and everything even remotely related to these subjects. I had no vocabulary with which to describe what I was thinking, so I found myself adopting the words of others (hey, it’s what we humans do). Not only that, but I found myself drifting from the relatively simple desires that got me started looking in the first place. The vast majority of blogs I found at first were written by men who not only abdicated control of their orgasms to their partners, but who also seemed to want to abdicate all control to them. The concept of “female-led relationship” entered my thinking.

FLR and what I wanted have a lot in common, but also some significant differences. First, there is no bondage or sadism inherent in FLR (at least not from what I can see). Instead, those who get off on FLR are pulling energy from the total imbalance of power in their relationship. The woman controls all. Everything he does centers around serving her. You could say this has a sadistic flavor to it, but I like pain that’s physical rather than mental (which is not to say FLR men are suffering mentally or anything). I do want Belle to have control, but just over my cock. I do want to do things for her, but not at her command. I do want to make her happy, but I want to be happy, too.

In truth, being the kind of person Belle’d need to be to pull off an FLR relationship isn’t her cup of tea. She’s just not wired that way. And really, I’m not either. There are times when the hormones are surging that I’ll do anything she wants. Those are good times. I happily service her in whatever way she requires (sexually or domestically or whatever). However, there are also times I just want to sit downstairs and play video games, even after two and a half weeks without coming. The few times she’s tried to command me (tell me to do something rather than ask), I’ve felt an internal wall come up. I guess I resent anyone telling me what to do, even she who controls my penis. Now, if she wants to predicate my sexual release on some totally unrelated task, fine. But bossing me around the house? No thanks.

There’s a larger point here. I’m just not interested in exchanging all the power in our relationship. When we’re approaching sex, YES, I want that. When we’re making dinner, no, I don’t. She can put a collar on me and make me kneel and suck her toes all she wants, but I’m not really interested in having each and every thing I do sexualized (nor has she demonstrated an interest in that). I think we could do it over short periods (an evening or over a day or two) but, really, 24/7? God, that’d be so much damned work for both of us. And I guess that’s where I draw the line between what I want from Belle and whatever FLR is. I read FLR as a 24/7 thing where the man is always and obviously beneath the woman. I’m perfectly happy doing the FLR thing as a scene, but not as a lifestyle choice.

So we’re back where we started. I want Belle to control my orgasms and occasionally tie me to the bed and rough me up. There are other things, too, but that’s the meat of my kink. Even though I have no idea what to call it (other than by the names of its component pieces), trying to over-analyze, over-define, or over-structure it is unproductive for both of us.

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626 v. 217

Over on The Glow Inside, I found this entry linking to one of those silly web quizzes that tells you something about yourself. Specifically, it attempts to quantify one’s sexual perversions and render a kinkiness score. My favorite of these kinds of things is this old chestnut that supposedly tells you how gay you are. According to a British television network, I am fairly gay, but my score seems to fluctuate wildly. Seems to me, the best way to find out how gay you are (as a male) is to ask how much you like sucking a cock or having it up your ass, but what do I know? That’d make for a pretty short quiz, I suppose.

In any event, Belle and I took the kink test. I scored somewhat higher than I expected with a 626 out of 1000 (a “Major League Kinkster”, apparently). It’s true that there are few things I’m not willing to try or are interested in, but my practical experience in many of them is limited. Guess I got a bunch of “A for effort”-type credit. I wasn’t sure Belle’d break 100, but she scored a whopping 217 which, they say, sweetly hints at her kinky nature. Belle’s immediate comment was, “Why are we together?” but I was really pretty enthused. I mean, sweetly hinting at a kinky side? Sounds good to me. At least there is a kinky side, right? Could have been a lot worse.

Oh, and by the way, we’re together because I’m deeply in love with her and can’t imagine being anywhere else. So there.

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Pushy bunny

I got Belle a copy of The Mistress Manual by Mistress Lorelei. It was well-reviewed on Amazon and it’s just my thing to buy a lot of books whenever I’m trying to to grok a new subject, but it’s been sitting on Belle’s nightstand uncracked since it arrived so yesterday I picked it up and started reading it.

Mistress Lorelei suggested I stop. At least, to stop before I got to the juicy stuff. OK, I figured, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. But I was able to get through enough to know Belle’s not going to like some of what she has to say. First of all, Lorelei talks a lot about “sissy maids”. As I’ve said, I am not a sissy, do not want to become or be turned into one, and, in general, am not interested in doing all the housework (nor is she interested in me being a sissy). In addition to lauding the benefits of the live-in sissy maid, Lorelei also discusses the joys of dressing your guysub (her word – hadn’t seen that form of the term before) in women’s clothing (specifically, underwear). Again, not burning with a desire to wear lacy panties and Belle’s never suggested I should. We don’t have a problem with guys who do, but it’s not an idea that trips either of our triggers. However…

Mistress Lorelei did help my thoughts coalesce around something I had not been able to put words around previously. While I’m not interested in doing all the chores, wearing panties, or otherwise being emasculated, I am turned on by Belle making me perform tasks or putting me in situations I’d never embrace on my own. I like the idea of her pushing me beyond where I’m comfortable. For example, when she forced me to eat my own come. Yes, eating come (my own included) turns me on, but it’s only a turn-on for me while I’m turned on. Approximately .25 seconds after it comes out of my body, the idea of eating it is about as arousing as is the idea of eating snot. She didn’t just ask me to eat it, though, she made me by smearing it over my lips. It was a marvelous moment where she spontaneously asserted her dominant prerogative. It was awesome and it’s one my favorite memories from our recent past.

This concept intersected with our life last night. Belle had already told me I was not going to service her, but she was being very generous with her attention towards me. She was clawing my ass, pinching my nipples, and jacking the cock (while avoiding the still-tender piercing). It was heavenly. I had asked (begged, really) to be allowed to go down on her, and she refused. Then, as she was biting and sucking on my neck (and leaving a nice little trail of marks down to my shoulder), the intensity of the feelings got to me and I begged to be able to do anything at all to her. I guess I didn’t really think she would let me, but I really, really wanted to and also wanted to hear her refuse me again. However, it didn’t turn out that way. She got pissed. Felt I was trying to control the action. I apologized and did my best grovelling bit, but she was fairly nonplussed. After she chewed me out for a while, accompanied by my continued pleas for mercy, she decided I had ruined the moment and would have to massage her feet with lotion before she went to sleep (which, you know, wasn’t all that bad either).

She may have been right. I may have been trying to steer the ship. It’s not uncommon for me to achieve a nice subbie headspace after we get started, but it’s not usually the case that I’m feeling submissive before we get going. Had I been grooving the guysub space, I don’t think I would have continued to beg her for access to her body. I might have tried once, but she was being pretty firm with her refusal. I doubt I would have pushed it. Maybe that little voice in my head that hoped she would capitulate and let me go down on her was playing a bigger role than I thought. Had she directed me to leave my comfort zone beforehand – to jump-start my submissive tendencies – I probably wouldn’t have pushed her so hard.

So, to tie all this together, I had never really appreciated why dommes made their subs do things like kneel or kiss their feet before a scene. Since I didn’t feel a terrific desire to bow before Belle or worship her feet (not, at least, until getting warmed up a bit), I figured that her forcing me to do them wouldn’t find a place in our relationship. In fact, I continue to think too much about my interests and desires. No, I don’t instinctively want to bow to her, so she should make me do it. Since sucking on her toes is usually something I need to warm up for, she should make me do it before anything else. We both need strategies that will allow her to assert her dominance, not for my pleasure, but to ensure I don’t usurp her authority.

Because of last night, there’s a phrase that reiterates our power-sharing arrangment that she’s requiring me to say before I’m allowed to do anything with her. At first, I felt silly and somewhat embarrassed saying it, but by about the third time it came out of my mouth, it sank in as to why I needed to say it. And, in turn, why I needed to write this.

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Unpainting corners

Eileen commented on “The one where Thumper get put into his place” and her words have me thinking. In part, she said:

I would mention from my own experience that if Belle is prone to guilt or being worried, this kind of interaction could be very tough for her. I often feel I have been painted (or have painted myself) into a corner by creating sexual expectations & buildup I simply can’t deliver on. For me, it took a very long time to get to a place where I could “take control” as you describe it, without some kind of emotional backlash from the part of me that feels obligated to create equity in my relationship with May.

Painted into a corner by expectations that can’t be delivered upon. Ouch.

Belle is prone to not only guilt, but also worry. The guilt might come from growing up Catholic, but the worrying is purely genetic. She inherited that from her mom’s side of the family. There is nothing my mother in law can’t worry obsessively about, and Belle’s has a bit of that in her. So, does she worry about meeting my expectations? I’m sure she does. The zeal with which I have embraced denial and submission is typical of how I attack new interests and, I admit, it could be off-putting. She may feel that I’ve worked out in my head how everything’s supposed to proceed and exactly what I want her to do to me. Truth is, I haven’t. There are things I want to do and have done to me, and I should be more open to her about them, but I can’t enjoy any of this if it’s proscriptive. Sure, there are things I really get off thinking about, but I don’t assume we will explore all those things together. I’m not trying to put her into a position where she’s responsible for making all my fantasies come true. One, that would be a hell of a lot of work for anyone, and two, I’m not sure I want them all to enter the real world. Basically, this will work best for me (and her) when we arrive at a place where she’s doing what she wants and how, and not just because I want it or enjoy it. This is not a place I’ve ever read about online since it will be unique to the both of us. My only expectation is that she will not do anything she really doesn’t enjoy.

Regarding any guilt she might feel from the inequity of the arrangement, I think that might be the easiest to assuage. I like the inequity! I get off on the unfairness! Being arbitrary and capricious in the doling out of sexual experiences is exactly what I want. She should come ten times more often than me. She should tell me every day for a week when I’m going to get sex and then, on a whim, decide against it. I want her to leave me straining and hard and constantly yearning for release. (God, just writing this sends waves of excitement through me.) Of course, simply saying this can’t stop her from feeling guilt, but I can only continue to say it in hopes that eventually she’ll see that keeping me frustrated and in a state “normal” society would define as terrible and unfair is one of the ways I can find happiness and some sort of satisfaction.

I’d tell her all this in person, but as I said yesterday, she’s out of town until Wednesday. And besides, this blog is partially for me to relate my story to anyone interested in reading it, but also (and, in fact, maybe mostly) it’s a tool with which I can organize my thoughts and relate them better to Belle. I do talk to her – a hell of a lot – but not always in a clear and succinct manner. Hopefully, she’ll read this tonight from her hotel room and see more clearly where I’m coming from. I certainly don’t want her to feel guilt or any kind of pressure. This is supposed to be fun, not all heavy and laden with baggage. I hope we can approach it full of joy and laughter as we discover a new and (hopefully) exciting way to enjoy each other.

Thanks, Eileen.

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The one where Thumper gets put in his place

Friday night. Belle jacked me off with the intention of edging me. After a while I took over for her and brought myself to within a heartbeat of coming. We (or, mostly I) kept at it for a while longer, but it’s not really the point of this post, so I’ll leave it at that. By the time we were done, I was pretty hot and really wanted to go down on her, but she wasn’t interested. She said she was happy not to come and that she’d let me bring her to orgasm on Saturday.

Saturday morning. As has become customary after about a week without release, I slept fitfully the night before. Belle was up before I was and let me sleep in. That was very sweet – and I really needed it – but I missed not having her next to me when I woke up. I missed not being able to paw at her and deliver the promised pleasure from the night before. But she wasn’t there, so I got up. She said I’d have to wait until that night to do her.

Saturday night. Regardless of my recent posts about service and not getting any charge from it, I did find myself wanting to make the dinner and clean up all the dishes. And, because I want to get full credit, I’ll mention it was a pork roast with mashed potatoes and green beans (though Belle made the green beans). Lots of dirty dishes. Anyway, I just did it because I wanted to do it for her. I wanted to clear the deck as much as possible for that night’s activities. I wanted her to have a special time.

So, by the time the kids were down for the night, I got into the bedroom to find her in something like a fetal position with the covers pulled up to her chin. Not a positive start. I had already lit all the candles, so it looked and smelled right in there, but her physical attitude suggested I was there to perform a rectal examination or something. I laid next to her staring up at the ceiling, on top of the covers and fully dressed, and we had a stilted conversation that eventually revealed she did not want to have any sexual activity. All she wanted was to curl up with me and go to sleep.

I didn’t react well. I had been focused on this moment for 24 hours, not expecting or even wanting my own release, but very interested in living vicariously though hers. She felt defensive and I was pissed. She again expressed concern that she wasn’t living up to my expectations and that my need for sexual contact was too much for her. I told her my expectations were that she’d be exactly whatever she wanted to be, but that all I wanted at that moment was to make her feel good. That I had orchestrated the entire latter half of the day to make that easier. I couldn’t understand how she wasn’t in the mood to do something that would give her pleasure and would entail no responsibility on her part whatsoever. I didn’t want reciprocity. All I wanted to do was make her come so I could go to bed frustrated. I suggested that perhaps she did not want to control my orgasms. She assured me that she did.

Finally, as I was thinking about getting out of bed so I could write a post full of bile and spit, she told me she wanted me to take off my clothes and stroke her head. Something unusual happened. Part of me wanted nothing to do with her. I wanted to get away from her. But another part of me – the part that cooked the food and washed the dishes – wanted to do what she said. I really struggled inside my own head. I eventually took off my clothes, reluctantly. I started stroking her head, reluctantly. She started to pet the cock and stroke my balls. I felt the spurned husband, full of pique and annoyance over being denied sex, wresting with the submissive, service-oriented male. Being naked when she wasn’t and performing the task she asked of me, even though it absolutely was not what I wanted to do, stoked the sub. He won. I felt myself slip into a pool of submissiveness.

I had a hard time telling this to Belle. It seemed like the spurned male actively got in the way of the words as they were trying to come out of my mouth, but the more I said the easier it got and the longer and harder my cock grew under her hand. I told her that somehow, this is what I wanted. I wanted her to control the sex completely. I told her she needed to be firmer with me in the future. That I should not be allowed to get away with the kind of petulance I displayed earlier. If I ever acted like that again, she should simply make me tell her who’s in charge of the sex and who owns the cock. The spurned male in me screamed at the sound of the words, but he was receding quickly and was difficult to hear. She said that hearing me say those things, knowing that she had that control, actually turned her on. Then she rolled over. The time for talking was over. I held her in my arms and stroked her forehead as she fell asleep.

Even I slept, if only for a little while.

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Submissively paradoxical

Dev left this comment on my last post:

I wouldn’t judge your “submissiveness” by things like that. That way lies madness as you just get into the whole submissive paradox.

Submissive paradox. Huh. What’s that? I coulda said, “What’s that?” but chose instead to say something like, “Gee, thanks for the comment!” What a dork.

This whole “submissive paradox” thing was bumping around in my head. I was working on defining it because that’s what I do. Instead of asking what something I fail to understand means, I try to work it out based on what I think I know. It’s quite the personality flaw. I assume if someone else knows something, then I should also and to appear otherwise looks bad. Please, if we should ever meet in person, pretend like I know everything. Thanks.

So anyway, I had formed the outlines of a missive when, at the very moment of sitting down to write it, I thought to Google “submissive paradox“. Boom. There it was. I’m a genius. In any event, here’s the basic premise I worked out all on my lonesome.

I’m supposed to be submissive, but I’m proactively doing things in my relationship (or angling to have things done in my relationship) because I like them. It’s not entirely about her. Turns out, I, the supposedly submissive one, has free will, is still a human, and still wants to be pleased sexually. Oh, and folding the laundry doesn’t do anything for me. Check.

I, the supposedly submissive one, am coming up with the ideas, buying the sex toys, and pushing to be whipped and otherwise damaged by her, the ostensibly dominate one. Belle, however, never asked to dominate me. That was all my idea. The fact that she does it at all is terrific, but what does she know from being a dominate? She’s not bad, considering it’s all being done for me. She’s coming along nicely. But I think I’m digressing…

The paradox, as far as I can see it, is that as a male with submissive tendencies, I still do what I can to move our relationship in a direction I want. I don’t let her totally run the show, and honestly, she wouldn’t want to anyway. If some day she does, then great. But if not, it’s no big deal. I, the submissive one, am exerting some level of direction on my nascent D/s relationship.

I’ll leave it with this, quoted from Under the Boot. I think it nicely summarizes the paradox and makes me feel better to see others in the same place we are:

Sustainability. That’s what we’re working toward. Maybe someday…I’ll lose the right to request or recommend or comment, but right now, that give and take is probably one reason why this is working well for us. And when I think about how good things are, I stop worrying overly much about not being a real submissive…

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D looking for T: An addendum

Interestingly, since I wrote D looking for T last night, there are new posts on two blogs I follow which, to be honest, make me look a little shallow.

Over on Devastating Yet Inconsequential, there’s this short missive on keeping a clean kitchen. I suppose if Belle made such service sexual, I’d find it that way. Hell, she could condition me to get aroused at the sound of Larry King’s voice if she stroked me during his show (*shudder*). It’s not that I don’t want to service her in this way, it’s just that I need some sexual attention now and again to keep my mood up.

Meanwhile, Axe posts about massage as service. This is something I can totally associate with. I love giving her body service and don’t need her to “pay” me with sexual attention afterwards. I love touching her and giving her pleasure, whether it’s to bring her to orgasm or just to make her happy. It can be as small as brushing her hair or just stroking her forehead before she goes to sleep. Problem is I offer massage of her back or feet or her entire body a lot more often than she lets me give it to her. I think she thinks it’s going to lead to me rubbing my boner on her, and, again being honest with myself, it often does.

Maybe I’m not such a good submissive, after all. Maybe it is too much about me and my gratification. Maybe she should be firmer with me. Dominating me is not second nature for her – we both know that. Perhaps being submissive isn’t second nature for me, either. Do I just want to be submissive to her or am I really submissive?

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Greener grass

The other day, I found a link to a site called Maria’s Diary. I’ve only read about half the content, but on it a woman named Maria tells a tale of domination over her husband Martin and how she eventually cuckold’s him. As I’ve started to explore the online world of feminine domination, I’ve stumbled upon quite a few cuckolding sites, but Maria’s is among the best as she tells the entire narrative of how she began dominating Martin, how that lead to him being cuckolded, and what happened next. She goes into exquisite detail of how she seduced her lover and used it to further demean poor Martin.

The first time I stumbled upon a cuckolding site, I felt an immediate surge of sexual interest. It was sometime towards the beginning my journey through orgasm denial and submissiveness and I was feeling a lot of new sensations and thinking things I’d never thought before. To be honest, I was struggling to understand the scope and scale of what I was discovering about my myself. When the cuckolding sites I found got me hard, I was taken aback. Orgasm denial was a huge turn on for me. So was chastity and submission. So was cuckolding. My god, I thought, where will it end?! Well, things are getting clearer for me.

I get off on unfairness. It seems so simple and obvious, but in fact, I never thought of it that way until recently. D/s to me isn’t about being inferior to Belle. Quite the opposite. In fact, I consider myself her equal. I am entirely worthy to be her partner. However, I am not treated that way sexually. She has the authority to disallow me equality in bed (the more capriciously, the better). She comes, I do not. She receives satisfaction, I do not. She sleeps, I do not. It’s the basic unfairness of the situation, and my inability to address it in any way, that rings my bell. I find some malesubs to be more into superior/inferior dynamics. They are unworthy of their mate’s attention and receive it only through constant service to her and her generosity. Mind you, I’m not taking anything away from anyone here. If that’s what honks their horns (and, in turn, the horns of their partners) then more power to them. However, it’s only been recently that I’ve even recognized the difference between the two approaches. If you believe you are basically inferior to your dominant, then it’s not unfairness that turns you one. If you’re really inferior, then any attention you receive is, in fact, much more than fair. It’s charity. If you believe your semen is “male slime” (as I’ve seen it referred to online) and that your domme is a supreme being to whom you are unworthy to service, then you’re not channeling the same wavelength as I. For me, it’s that I should, by rights, be able to have sex with my wife whenever I want and orgasm every time, but she won’t let me. Why? Because, that’s why.

So anyway, as it relates to cuckolding, it seems to me that those types of relationships are driven by the superior/inferior dynamic. Maria and Martin do not feel he is man enough for her. She deserves more, he deserves nothing. I find that terribly unfair (especially since most of the issue seems to be with the size of Martin’s penis, which really isn’t that small at all) and unfair is fucking sexy. I totally get my rocks off (figuratively, of course) reading about Maria grinding poor Martin into the dirt. So why not try to put myself in that position? If I get off on unfair and cuckolding’s about as unfair as it gets, why not try to hook Belle up with some stud? Well, to be honest, my ego’s too big. I know I’m an exceptional lover to Belle. I know she would be hard pressed finding someone who could satisfy her better than I do. Irregardless of the fact that she would never want someone else, I know that this mystery stud probably wouldn’t make her very happy. So, for me, cuckolding can only stay firmly in the land of fantasy porn. It’s hot and I like reading about it, but it’s never ever going to happen to me, and that’s OK.

Some of you are probably saying, yeah, so what? I don’t blame you. It’s all totally obvious to me now, but as I said, at the beginning of this self-realization period I didn’t know which of the things that turned me on were those I would need to find a place for in my and Belle’s life and which wouldn’t. At that time, anything that popped me a boner was potentially a future lifestyle option. Of course, I only needed to look at my own past – my first sexual self-realization period – to find a parallel.

When I was young, I was attracted to and had sex with both males and females. I assumed at the time that I was eventually going to have to choose one or the other, but I couldn’t stop looking and thinking about both and that was very confusing. I really felt like I wanted to be with the girls, but had at least one significant relationship with a boy who also happened to have a magnificent cock. I liked sex with girls, but I also very much liked cocks and the things you could do with them. At the end, though, I realized I really wanted to be with a girl, to have and to hold forever, and all I wanted from the boys (even the one with the magnificent cock whom I still love to this day) was sex. It was very hard for me to come to grips with wanting to be in a loving relationship with a woman while still getting turned on by naked men and craving the feel of their cocks in my ass. Eventually, I was able to segregate those things that really made sense for me emotionally and those that would need to remain fantasy (or, minimally, take the form of a really big dildo). You may be polyamorous and thinking to yourself that I’m just not seeing the big picture, but really, it’s as big a picture as I’m able to see, and I’m pretty happy with it.

Naked males and their cocks would not fit into my relationship any better than cuckolding would. But they can both still turn me on, and that’s OK. Sometimes, the grass is greener when the other side of the fence is something that can be integrated into our relationship (submission, orgasm denial, bondage) but other times the fence is just too high to get over. The grass looks much greener, yes, but it might just end up being astroturf.