While I am a strong proponent of the idea that words are what separates us most and that definitions are tentative things at best, but they are still all we as human beings have to try and express ourselves to one another.

That being said, I wanted to share my thoughts on sex and intimacy. (My thoughts, your mileage may vary, objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear.)

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Sex is about power. I don’t just mean as in there is a generally fuck-er and a fuck-ee but yes, (…Yes, yes!, yes!!!) that, but what I mean is everything about it revolves around power. Who controls access to it, who determines when, where, and how long it will last, and how it will be done.

As a horny adolescent wanting for all the world just to get to second base, it was obvious to me who had the power. I was never going to feel a breast without a girl’s permission. She had all the power.

I’m not saying sex can’t be intimate, but if you think of sex as the ultimate form of intimacy, then once a person becomes ‘of a certain age’ and sex is no longer on the table, does intimacy die?

Intimacy for me is found in service. Can you be more intimate with someone than washing their underwear? Cleaning their toilet? Uh, not much! Intimacy is borne from knowing how she likes her tea. What her favorite restaurant is and which diet your cooking needs to adhere to. (this week. LoL!) Intimacy is all about knowing all the little details about one another and caring and catering to them.

Back at the turn of the last century, butler’s and lady’s maids were at least as intimate with the people they served as were their spouses in my opinion. In some cases, maybe even more.

[TO BE CONTINUED…]

I was inspired to jot this post down by two things. One was a recent post from Ms. Renee Lane on finding a dominant woman to serve, and a love languages test I took as part of Goddess Voltairine’s Female Led Relationships course. (I heartily recommend you check it out now. Go ahead, I’ll wait…)

So this is my helpful tutorial for guys on how to win over a dominant woman. That said, this is top secret man stuff so,

So. How did I end up married to a professional dominatrix? Us guys are a visual lot, so I’ll use lots of pictures. Feel absolutely free to steal any or all of my ideas here!

It all started with one black pearl.

No, not that Black Pearl, though she loved Johnny Depp when we first met, but a single Tahitian black pearl.

She had made it clear up front she did not date ‘subby boys’ and that none of her relationships lasted much more than two years, so I knew the deck was stacked against me. I figured out early on that her primary love language was receiving gifts, so I started my campaign to win her over.

She found that amusing as hell and let me tell you right now gentlemen, amusing is good! Be fucking funny! But the joke wore off in a few years so I picked up my game, buying her pearls at every opportunity.

Did I mention she loved pearls and I that I said every opportunity?

‘Nuf said. My campaign continued with little things that I’d make small mental notes about when we were together. For instance she mentioned being cold one time as we sat and watched a movie…

And after taking her to see her Johnny in ‘Pirates of the Caribbean 800’ or whatever it was, we were making silly pirate, desert island, message in bottle jokes afterwards, so of course her next gift was a love letter in a bottle! (no the message is private. Come up with your own material buddy!)

Some gifts where just things she saw at some flea market and commented on. I’d discretely circle back without her and buy it for her…

And she loves her cats. LOT’S of cats. So showing love for her cats was a no-brainer…

And yes, over the course of 14 years I sometimes drew a blank and had to repeat myself…

It wasn’t all about gifts either. Acts of service floated her boat too, so I dug out a hill and helped her put in a waterfall in her garden, and I built her a deck for her patio furniture when she complained about the un-levelness of the yard..

Okay. Have you gotten the message I’m a fucking romantic and an over-achiever yet? Lol! Well yes. Sometimes when you don’t look like Brad Pitt or aren’t as rich as Warren Buffet, that’s what it takes my friend.

Attention. Effort. Time. Pure and simple.

Do not start by discussing what you want and what kinks you love. Definitely not your plans to become her live-in slave. Woo her. She may be dominant, but she is a woman first or foremost. Take time to listen. When she drops little hints, like some movie she wants to see or some kitchen gadget she wants, make a mental note and, if possible, get it for her! It doesn’t need to be expensive. It just needs to fulfill a want that she stated. Pamper her. Let her know you love and adore her and hang on her every word!

Before I retired, my work philosophy was always ‘make yourself indispensable.’ It worked pretty good for me… enough that I could retire comfortably before 60. Use the same tactic with the woman of your dreams. Become her go-to guy. The one she thinks of first whenever she wants something or wants something done. Each time you do whatever it is for her, you are racking up credit in her love bank.

So as far as my story, at the end of it all of my effort she gave me the best gift of all. The one that made it all worth it!

Required reading for the course covers a lot of feminist literature such as Burn It Down!, I Hate Men, and The list of shit that made me a feminist as well as her own newly published book, 150 Years of Gynarchy.

They have been an eye opener for me in many ways. Most importantly, all the things I rattled off as ‘serving my wife’ in part 1 of I Belong to Suzanne, is really just being a decent human being who shares a living space with another person. I had such an inflated male ego to think doing her laundry should earn me some pat on the head and a ‘good boy’ because I took over ‘the woman’s job’.

I guess in one sense I guess it does – because us men in general are so very clueless, the fact I do anything to support and serve a woman’s day-to-day needs is to be considered miraculous by women in this patriarchal tyranny they are forced to live in.

But once being ‘woke’ to the fact that doing all those ‘things’ for my wife is the lowest of low bars, the question becomes, “then what is a good submissive male to do?” It goes beyond ‘serving’.

It means treating her like a human being and then treating her as a better human being.

It’s being attentive to her moods.

Be quiet! Just shut up. Let her set the tempo and direction of your day.

It means Listening to her. And by that I mean the kind of listening where you are not carrying on an internal conversation with yourself about your response the entire time she is talking. I mean the kind of listening where you register not only her words, but perceive her meaning and the mood behind them.

It means making space for her to do anything she feels like, and you do whatever she feels like too. With a smile!

It means she controls the remote and picks the show.

It means if she wants “just a bite…” of your food, you smile and offer her as much as she wants.

It means her wants take front stage at all times and being always available and eager to please her – at any given moment – in whatever she wants.

I didn’t sit back and expect her to spoon feed me a feminist point of view and explain how she likes things done, I actively worked at educating myself in all that.

So in closing, become a decent human being. Become something worth keeping around. Yes, be useful. But have a personality, a brain, a spirit. Then give it all away to her.

 

This is a little rambly but Ms. Voltairine got thinking with her talk about the different ‘flavors’ of D/s relationships. Yes, we all do have different wants, needs, and desires when it comes to our desire for D/s. Drum, a wise gentleman I know once said, “I guess we jazz a little differently, you and I. But we’re definitely in the same band.”

That said, yesterday I gave myself an orgasm after almost 4 weeks of edging and denial (I keep track of that with handy app at the bottom of my blog!) because my lust and desires had begun to get the best of me and led me to make several inappropriate comments on Ms. Voltairine’s Patreon blog (that I promptly deleted!) and afterwards, I was perfectly content with returning to work archiving her posts, reordering her beauty supplies, and re-posting Ms. Lane’s material and doing my usual housework for my beautiful wife. 

It occurred to me that even post-orgasm, my default setting is submission and servitude, not a manly, misogynistic attitude.  I am no less submissive post-orgasm. Less “dark” perhaps. My lust to be sadistically, brutally used and tortured becomes temporarily a little less important to my sense of happiness and fulfillment. 

I suppose the difference between myself and what I read about robbi is I don’t play the ‘willful little brat’ card about it.  I accept it’s not always about me and my wants and I shut up until spoken too about it. I may not feel all that submissive or whatever today, but I know myself good enough to know I probably will tomorrow, so I just quietly go with the flow.

One level of trust is that I trust my partner can and will take the time to read me and know where I’m at and what I want/need in the moment.  I of course accept that won’t necessarily result in my needs getting met, but I trust she will weigh them against what *she* wants and needs and give it if she thinks it’s right or absolutely necessary in the moment.

Empathy is another trait.  Feeling your partners’ rhythm – emotional, mental, and physical – and learning how it impacts their responses to you.  I try and do the same for her. “It is not her job to dominate, it is my job to submit.” I do so love giving anticipatory service!

For example, I for one don’t turn on a dime when it comes to sex.  I attribute that in part to the fact I have practiced being ‘in the moment’ for decades and when I am cleaning a litter box for example and my wife says, “Hey.  Wanna go have sex?”  It’s a long mental and emotional road from the litterbox to the bed.  Sex is a very deep, connective, near religious experience in my eyes. I definitely need a little forewarning that that’s where you’re gonna go. 

That is one of the reasons I love ritual so much.  It gives me time to prepare and ‘be there’.

Yet another trait, clear and complete understanding of one another.  Early in our relationship it became clear that my D/s wants were much darker and very much deeper than my wife.  She literally became afraid of the animalistic look in my eyes when we played ‘hard’ and sadly she’d back off, not understanding what she was seeing.

And understandably. When I’m beaten hard, my higher brain function has ‘left the building’! LoL! I am so far down in my primal being I am non-verbal… but *very* vocal. I growl and grunt and lady, you’d better *hope* the restraints you put me in are real!

I have had several women tell me I’ve had enough long before I thought I had, but when I saw the marks on my body the next morning, I knew they where right. Back to that trust and empathy I guess!

There is probably a book in here about all this (oh yeah, this is! LoL!) but I’ll end here. Thank you for posting this Ma’am. 🙂

Ms Viola. Ms. Renee. You have broken me. Crushed me. Thank you.

When not fully engaged, my mind is like a kangaroo – bouncing from thought to thought – doing free association I suppose… an image begats a thought which leads to another further out and then another… until I’m somewhere unknown and unexpected.

So, I watched the movie 127 hours yesterday which is the story of a hiker who got his arm caught between two immovable rocks and after 127 hours, in order to free himself and to survive, he cut his own arm off.

Movies like that force you to examine yourself. Would I? Could I? One of the bouncy thoughts that hopped through my mind and looked over it’s shoulder to see if I would follow it, was that his reactions during his ordeal mirrored the stages of grief – denial, anger. bargaining, depression, acceptance. Of course, maybe the bounce there wasn’t so random, given what I was feeling in the moment…

I’ve long known the stages of grief appear throughout all our lives in all kinds of situations… death obviously, a breakup sure… leaving an addiction behind. Having something of importance to you taken away. Your ‘binky’ as a child. That favorite, oh so comfy sweatshirt that is finally just too worn. A society that at least had a veneer of respect and decency towards one another.

An ego. A sense of self-esteem. Self-importance.

Yes, that’s right. Having your ego stripped away from you is not some nice painless mental exercise – “Huh. I think I’ll mediate a while, then give up my ego before lunch. Oh yes, I’m a slave with no ego now!” It involves emotional pain. Psychological agony.

And all the stages of grief.

After all, you are losing something that was once important to you. Your self-esteem. Your self-importance. Your sense of worth.

Age brings experience and experience brings awareness, so I can usually see grief coming… I am aware of what it is and I can navigate the steps a bit faster than the less experienced,

but no less painfully.

This weekend started with Ms. Viola’s call to her online retinue to offer themselves up for a ritual. I’m pretty sure I knew her intent – a Zoom-like conference with us all on our knees, edging ourselves over and over while she basks in our adoration and obedience and masturbates herself to glorious, powerful, pleasurable orgasms. It’s good to be Queen! I wanted so bad to obey. Humiliating myself in front of her and a group of other men was nothing! And I responded as any devoted servant would, “If I may be of service, I offer myself to you Ma’am.” Then I realized it was not likely I could slip away in the middle of an evening with my wife and participate. With deep sadness, I deleted my response.

Her next post was of an impossibly handsome young buck with a to-die-for accent. The man I wished I had been 40 years ago. Self-aware and soon to be snapped up by a woman who would gleefully enslave him for life, for both their pleasure. I felt a pang of jealousy at Ms. Viola’s verbal drooling over him, then an overwhelming sense of loss and depression. I closed my laptop.

I would never be this man.

A deep breath as I pushed the thoughts from my mind… using all the tools gained from age and wisdom, I rationalized the pointless stupidity of my jealousy and the feeling eased.

At about the same time Ms. Renee posted a series of provocative images and texts about cuckolds, about powerful, sadistic women and Ms. Viola followed shortly there after with two blistering (pardon the unintentional pun) posts about caning robbi into submission and her intense state of arousal and animalistic need to devour some willing men!

Next she discussed the other sexually powerful, sadistic women she knows. Women I have adored from afar for years.

And tears formed in my eyes.

I wept that women like these exist. That I want with all my heart and soul to crawl to them and beg them to take me, possess me like an object, train me like a pet. To revel in their sadistry with me. To see them smile with the joy and sense of power that comes from absolute control of another human being. Me.

And it will never be.

I’ve denied it in the past. I got angry that the women in my life don’t accept me as I want to be. I bargained, by doing slave labor for years and pleading for an occasional unreal, unfelt, ‘play time’.

This weekend, reading all of Ms. Viola’s and Ms/ Renee’s posts about their lives… I entered the stage of depression. I became depressed. I ignored all my usual daily chores. Litter boxes sat uncleaned, I didn’t do the shopping, the bed was unmade, dirty laundry just sat piled on the laundry room floor. I did nothing. I just sat. And stared. And thought and felt.

After a lot of soul searching and feeling my way through that depression, I’ve reached acceptance. My ego is crushed. Burned away. Gone. I had finally completed all seven stages of grieving over the loss of my (false) sense of ego.

I am nothing at all to these women. They took control of their destinies, they live their existences fulfilling their kinky passions and are rightfully served by men far better than me. It saddened me and in one of those sick twists the universe loves, because I’m a masochist, it made me hard.

Not everything in this universe is linear.

My service to them does not continue to bring more and more control and more service and more discipline and more experiences with them,

It goes nowhere. This is it. This is all there is. Just serve and be happy with that.

What is the purpose of an ego when there is nothing more to strive for? No bigger goals? I can only continue to serve and hope for the occasional ‘good boy’. That is the crumb I am permitted in my life. Enough to barely sustain my continued service and my never to be realized dreams. Don’t assume for a second I am some dick-in-hand wannabe who would burst into tears at the first real smack of a palm against my ass. I am experienced in what I sought – I married a pro domme for god sake. Of course I’ve been whipped, caned, flogged, bound and gagged, had needles pushed into my flesh, burned, made to pass out… but all play. Not because my partner truly got off on her power. She did it for the worst possible reason to any submissive. She did it for me. I’ve never smelled a woman’s arousal as she beats me bloody, never seen a woman’s nipples grow hard with excitement of her power, seen the fire burn in her eyes as she sits down on my bound body and slowly strangles me with her stocking, feeling me buck and squirm beneath her and beg for my very life.

Yes. Their posts devastated me. I am nothing to them. I am a footnote. A ‘Hey, remember that guy…’ in a conversation about ugly, fat, old, sad, pathetic men desperate to live out their dreams.

I am nothing… but I am not useless. I can serve. I can be a gimp. I can sit silently in the shadows of their beautifully lit drawing rooms, to crawl out and serve at their beck and call, then crawl back into the shadows, completely forgotten until I am needed again. Maybe forever.

I no longer have any ego, at least in regards to these women. How can I? It would be pointless. My jealously, my sadness… it would be just another slave yelling unheard in the pit beneath the basement floor where he was thrown.

Thank you Ms. Viola and Ms. Lane for showing me my truth. I am nothing. I am nothing now and I never will be.

And now… I’m okay with that. 🙂

Describe your avatar.

This has been an interesting exercise. I realized what a little mouse I can be at times.  When I do play games that require you to create an avatar, I never venture far from what I truly am or look like.  I don’t take it for what it is – a license to go crazy and fantasize in the extreme.  I am pretty much a reality based, down to earth type.

GENDER: I prefer male. My sexuality is hetro-flexible Ma’am.  I would submit to being feminized on occasion for the purposes of humiliation and to help destroy my male ego further or if my dominant sexual partner preferred me to appear that way for their own arousal.

Man or boy? Gentleman or grunt? Teddy bear or beastly defender? 

Yes. LoL!  A submissive I was friends with years ago  (I was seeing his Mistress wife professionally) had a tattoo on his thigh that said essentially ‘Mistress’ choice’ and had check boxes for ‘hero’,’boyfriend’,’jester’, ‘lover’,’slave’,’puppy’, etc.  She would take a marker and check whatever box and role she wanted from him that day.  Oddly enough, he now identifies as a dominant. I’m not sure how he deals with that tattoo now-a-days…  

I do identify with being treated as servant, mommy’s good boy, a pet or a pig.

SEXUALITY: The lover of a male Dom I serviced once labeled be as a stone lesbian Ma’am.  I almost always prefer to give sexual pleasure than to be permitted it, so your labels of denied, chaste, sexual servant all work for my avatar. 

As a giver of pleasure I do not differentiate in which gender I provide pleasure too and am equally aroused and satisfied sucking cock and nuzzling a set of balls as I am orally worshiping a woman or tongue fucking an ass.  That I am giving pleasure is the important part of my sexuality. I prefer being edged and denied to an outright orgasm.  That said, nothing makes me cum harder then a woman standing over me with a whip, directing my masturbation and ordering me not to cum while describing the punishments she will give me if I disobey her.

UNIFORM:  A collar definitely.  Clothing or a uniform as is appropriate for the occasion, but going back to the desire to please, whatever excites my dominant.  

For one Mistress I had a brief relationship with, I wore sealed chain bracelets on both my wrists and ankles.  They were discreet and looked like an thick ID bracelet that were popular once upon a time.  She then had to carry just two small padlocks in her purse.  She could easily and quickly put me into bondage or chain me to something to wait for her.

Shaven or not goes hand in hand with my master’s other desires for me obviously. How she dresses me or her personal preferences for her sexual partners would determine this. 

I would prefer not to be shaved bald as I don’t think it would look attractive on me.  I am fairly lightly haired as it is, so I don’t have as strong an opinion on body hair. I have been completely body shaved in the past.  The feeling was nice and a bit arousing… the growing back, not so much.  Actually, the growing back was an excellent low-key, long-term punishment!

ROLE:  A combination of roles would be ideal. What is it Midori said about switches? “I’m a greedy, opportunistic…”  So from your suggested list – a manservant, a pamperer, personal assistant, a pet, good little boy (or bad as the situation might be), worker/handyman, a part-time toilet, punching bag, and personal stress relief receptacle/torture toy. Mostly though, an it. A voiceless gimp. A tool.

FINANCIALLY:  I’ve tried this with my now wife.  When I retired and moved in with her, I sincerely offered her full control over my finances to do with as she saw fit (Bear in mind we have been together for over 13 years). She demurred. So would I surrender all my money to my female master and become completely dependent upon her for my survival? Absolutely.

Our current arrangement is that I pay all the bills so that whatever she earns as a pro domme, she can put away in savings or investments. In the first year of our living together/marriage, she has put away over $30K. I maintain whatever money I have invested as well as anything left over after paying bills for my own use.

I have a lifetime pension (split 50/50 with an ex-wife) as well as social security benefits.  I worked hard for a very long time to earn them and I prefer not to have to have a “job” ever again.  Been there, done that. That said, if master wanted even more from me would I take a job? Reluctantly, but of course.