Worth

I grew up with all the romantic notions that a little girl is raised with in this culture.  Daydreams of finding “the one” and living “happily ever after” and all the rest.  True, my daydreams tended to have things in them that weren’t part of the stories I was read, but they were still all made up of the standard fairy tale endings.  Romance was to be delivered in the form of flowers and poetry and music.  Love meant that flighty, happy feeling that makes shallow promises to stay forever.

I think I’ve heard the most romantic, most loving words that I could ever have hoped to hear.

As I spoke with Him a few nights ago He said to me, “More than you being my slave, more than you being the woman I will marry, I want you to know that you are always my friend first.”

I fell silent, uncertain of any response that could be appropriate in that moment.  I found myself unable to form words together into anything coherent as it was.

 What could I say when this man who counts so few among those He considers as friends, places me there?  What could I say to know that the friendship that started us down this path 15 yrs ago is still the most important part of our relationship to Him?  What could I say when hearing Him tell me that He sees me not as a part, but as a whole, and values the whole?

This, this is how I always know that everything will be fine with us… and I adore Him for it.

 

BDSM and Public Interactions

The man and the woman sat at the little, wrought-iron table under its cheery, green umbrella enjoying either a late lunch, or an early dinner together.  He leaned back in his chair, comfortably resting an elbow on the arm, watching her and smiling as they passed a quiet conversation over the plates before them.  She sat straight-backed, one hand resting comfortably in her napkin-covered lap as she smiled back at him.  Her posture was perfect and she knew it.  Something about her smacked of smugness to him and he wanted to rob her of it and remind her that her prideful ways were permitted only when he had complimented her on something.

“Lift your skirt up to mid-thigh,” he said, as casually as if he were remarking on the wonderful weather of the day.

She failed to cover the jolt of surprise that flashed across her face, pleasing him immensely.  Then she slid her hand off of her lap and slowly pulled the full-length skirt up until it lay bunched in her lap, baring her legs to the mid-thigh.  He liked to look at her legs.

He let her sit this way for a few moments and continued the conversation as if it had never been interrupted.  The instant she started to look smug again though, he interrupted the flow of words.  “Pull your skirt up to the top of your legs.”

She blinked at him this time, with a questioning look.  He looked over her shoulder as if he were bored with her.  Trying not to lose the napkin on her lap, she pulled the skirt up until it could go no further.  Her hand clenched the napkin, trying to use it to cover her legs, but otherwise, she looked perfectly at ease.

“Put the napkin on the table,” he told her.  “And spread your legs out.”

This time she gasped and he allowed a smirk to flit across his otherwise very uninterested expression.  She looked around nervously, obviously looking for someone to be watching her.

Slowly, she lifted the napkin from her lap and let it rest beside her plate.  She watched him, half fearful of being discovered as she slid her legs apart.  He knew she wore nothing under her skirt.  He had decreed it before they left the house that morning.  Her chair faced the sidewalk, and the temperate weather had brought the entire city out of their homes to greet the early summer.  Someone was bound to notice.  She was terrified of it, and excited by the idea.  They had played this game many times before.

*****

It sounds like fun, or at least the beginning of fun, doesn’t it?  BDSM stories are filled with examples of attractive submissives who will bare themselves or place themselves in any number of compromising positions in life.  Many people who engage in BDSM enjoy the ideas of being able to play in public, and do often engage in public play to one degree or another.  I have done so, myself, a few times.  Yes, it was noticed and observed.  No, I didn’t care.  Nor did He, as I recall.

I had a bit of an advantage, however.  When there was play in public, we were in all adult venues, and it was not done beyond what is acceptable in those venues.  Well, acceptable, or at least common enough to garner no more than a smirk from those who did notice.

Public play covers a wide variety of activities and affectations.  Calling a dominant “Sir” or “Ma’am” in public could be considered public play.  So could wearing a collar, or a collar and leash in public.  It takes a piece of the interactions that are normally done privately and puts it into the open where those who are not involved may witness it.

The legalities around public play are quite vague in many respects.  For one thing, someone must take offense enough to report a behavior in their vicinity in order for the law to be brought to bear.  That someone could be a police officer, or someone who believes that the submissive is in danger, or even someone who simply takes offense at being exposed to the matter.  For another thing, excepting cases involving open nudity or sex, there aren’t really a lot of cases where someone is seriously punished for what tends to get lumped into a “PDA” category.  I know of one instance where the offending couple was simply informed by the judge that they needed to remember that the bookstore is not their bedroom and to have consideration for others when in public.  Admittedly, they report that the judge smiled a little as he spoke and they’re both certain that the judge knew precisely what they were up to.

Yet, many people in BDSM circles enjoy the odd bit of exhibitionism.  Many enjoy sex in public places and the thrill of knowing they might be “caught.”  Many enjoy the simultaneous humiliation and exhilaration of exposing a body part to the world in some fashion that may or may not be noticed.

Upon reflection on the matter, I decided that there are some common sense ways to avoid trouble with this sort of play.

Firstly, though I’ve heard of it being done, a mall filled with teenagers and mothers with small children is probably not a good choice for a playground.  Exposing people who are under age, even only a year under age, to sexual activities is considered child molestation.  At this point, you’ve left the safety of being able to claim “We were just being affectionate,” and wandered right into realms you probably do not wish to visit.  Even if no one called in a police officer or a mall security officer after seeing you, you’re likely to greatly upset a parent at some point.  Not to mention how careless it is to expose a young child to such things.  So, the first consideration is, who is present, and are you running the risk of scarring a child for life?

Secondly, are you likely to be in an arena where your play will have the appearance of a crime? 

I have heard many stories of couples who go off to camp for a weekend, and the submissive is left alone and naked, tied to a tree after a sound flogging.  These experiences are almost always spoken of in tones that clearly portray the enjoyment of the event.  Yet, what if a park ranger or some meandering hiker happened to come across such a thing?  They would be convinced that the submissive was in severe danger, and again there is a likelihood that law enforcement would be involved.  So the second consideration is; are you certain you won’t end up arrested for looking like a serial killer?

The next thing that I thought of was based on one of my own experiences.  We were in a bar and He pulled my chair close to His, slid an arm around me so that my head was pulled against His shoulder, and His other hand brought me, quite openly, to orgasm.  It was dark, I stayed fully clothed throughout, but we were in the area of the bar beside the dance floor where people were sitting all around us.  As I mentioned, it was noticed.  At that time, I truly did not care that anyone noticed.  I was with Him, and that was all I cared about.  Hindsight scared me to death over that evening.  Hindsight pointed out to me that when He left me at the table alone later that night, I was left quite vulnerable.  I was still not in the right headspace, and who knew the moral configuration of those who had noticed?  Someone could easily have assumed I was free game for them as well, and He could have returned to me trying to fight someone off.  Admittedly, this is an extreme, and not entirely likely scenario, but it was a possibility.  We were both blind to it at the time.  So the third consideration is; are you certain of your safety and that of your submissive?

I will not pretend to believe that any amount of lawmaking or “moral” discussion will ever manage to cause public BDSM play to cease.  I doubt strongly that I’d want it to.  However, I do believe that we must exercise some caution in these matters, and some consideration for others.  We do at least refrain from having sex at some public play parties out of consideration for our hosts, is it so onerous to think that we should show the same consideration to others who aren’t even involved in or aware of BDSM relationship dynamics?

 

Update

Well, that was more of a hiatus than I intended.  I didn’t dry up on ideas or the desire to write.  I have simply been very busy for a while.

Life has been going well.  Work has been going well.  I have another space of time where I will be busy, but, I will return again and likely post more frequently.

He came to see me in March, which was the last I posted.  The visit was wonderful.  We had a full week together, and though He had to leave on my birthday, He was here with me for most of it.  That was our first visit after years apart, and every moment of it was perfectly glorious and is etched deeply into my memory now.

I had expected awkwardness or unease after all the time apart.  I had expected that we’d have to learn one another all over again.  I had expected it to take a bit of effort and a dose of understanding and patience to find our places with one another again.  Instead, we simply fell in together as if we had never parted.  The patterns and routines were only nominally different.

I woke in the morning and made His tea.  I knelt by the bed and talked with Him as He drank it before I went to get ready for work.  I came home in the evening and we shared our meal together.  We went to bed and I knelt beside the bed, waiting for Him to call me onto it to rest in His arms.  The location was different, the physical items around us were different, but it was the same as when we had a home together once, long ago.

We talked about every topic that came to our minds, just delighting in being able to do so again, face to face.  I even learned that while He has not studied architecture enough to name the elements of it as I am able, he shares that interest with me.  We celebrated the discovery with a day of wandering around the city taking photos of different buildings at every odd angle we could manage.  I believe there are close to 100 of those photos now, and two of them will someday be displayed on the walls of our home.

I went to visit Him in July.  Another week of enjoying time together, resting, walking, and just being together.  Another week where the patterns seemed to simply emerge around us again.  We did encounter a few moments where there was a bit of tension, but as always, once we stopped and talked about the sources of that tension, things rolled forward wonderfully.  I did not wish to leave.  He wanted me to stay.  I left anyway because I had commitments here that needed attention.  As the plane lifted off and swung back over the city, I looked out the window and saw a line of hot air balloons taking off as if they were rising to bid me farewell.  It made me want to cry, and to stop the flight and force it to go back and land.  That trip home was the longest and most heart-wrenching trip I’ve ever taken.

We began talking immediately, upon my return, and making plans.  I will return to Him in early November, to stay.  We have located four locations where I have likely odds of finding work.  The wait is only so that the move can be accomplished without financial hardship for either of us.  It is a long wait and difficult, but every day I find myself more and more ready to be away from here and with Him again.  I think that it must be time because our families are both in full support of us being together again.

The move will not be without some sadness for me.  There are those here who I do not wish to leave behind.  There are reasons that I live where I do, and those reasons also pull at my heart and bid me to stay.  The people attached to those reasons tell me however, that they do not hold me to those reasons and that they wish for me to go, and to be with Him and to settle into the life I have waited so long for.

So, I may delay my posting again for a bit after this next post I have prepared, but when I return I will be with Him and have more time for such things, and more food for thought.

 

Rebellion and Secrets

Yes, I know, two posts in one day.  Nobody panic, I’m only thinking.

I find myself confronted today with an insidious voice of rebellion rattling loudly within my mind.  “It’s alright,” it whispers softly.  “He’ll never know.”  I resist and it murmurs more gently to me, reminding me of simple facts, that I would enjoy that which I am forbidden.

I won’t say that the desire to cross that boundary is never there, but until today, I have either asked permission or simply ignored the desire altogether.  Today, it takes on a life of its own, and in His absence, it torments me.  To make matters worse, this is one of those times when there simply has not been any time for us to talk in a few days beyond quick phone calls that are invariably cut short due to time constraints at either side.

I think I am experiencing some odd form of long-distance sub drop.  The timing is about right, the physical distance coupled with the inability to spend time in conversation would certainly explain it.  And, then again, perhaps I am just frustrated at being so far from Him?

I want to cross that boundary.  I sincerely wish to cast everything aside and just cross that line.  I do not however wish to pay the cost of doing so.  I do not view the cost as being whatever punishment He would choose to deliver, either.  The cost is that His trust in me would be damaged.  One of the cornerstones of our relationship is our long-standing friendship, and another is that while we are neither one given to trust easily, we do trust one another.  I would never willingly or knowingly break His trust.  I know His mind in many things, and I know that if He suspected He could not trust me with a small thing in His absence, He would not be certain that He could trust me with a large thing, even in His presence.

Thus it is not submission, but my respect and admiration for Him that holds me back today.  Not submission but a rather egalitarian desire not to do something that will damage a relationship, or my partner in it.  Some days, I suppose, submission alone is not enough.

I should, truth be told, tell Him what I am feeling, but this is a very busy time for Him.  I do not wish to let my irritable little mood swing distract Him from things that are important to our future.  Telling Him would, in my thinking, only cause Him to lose time He doesn’t really have to spare, and all because I was feeling rebellious and having a tantrum because I haven’t had the time with Him I would like to have.  It would be selfish of me, and though I feel supremely selfish and petulant right now, I am not so selfish as to risk work He has invested months into just because I am having a tantrum.  I can, and will, wait until another time for this matter to be discussed, if necessary.

I don’t like this thing of not telling Him things.  Yet, there is a secret I’ve been keeping from Him since His visit last month.  Truthfully, I’ve kept it far longer than that, but I had not only the opportunity, but an opening to have brought it to the table, and I chickened out, again!  I kick myself for this because I know that it is only fear that causes me to remain silent.

I fear that if I speak this to Him, He will reject me.  I fear that finally He will determine that I am not well, mentally or emotionally, and He will cast me away from Him, or just as bad, that He will mandate that I seek therapy for it.  Either form of rejection would sting deeply.  Just as much, I fear that He will tell me that He understands, but that He is not interested in that form of play, and I will be told that it is no longer open for discussion.  As I said, it is not His knowing that I fear, it is His rejection.  While I know Him well, I do not know how He would react to this.  As is known, everyone has a taboo somewhere that they just can’t cope with beyond knowing that someone else might try it.

For me, this thing I have not told Him is that, despite everything in my life that should say that I would never want such a thing, I absolutely adore a little bit of Daddy/little girl play.  I do not wish to go to the extremes of dressing like a little girl, with pigtails and bows, even in public, and to have it be a way of life.  I would look ridiculous in such a get-up, not at all like a little girl; not at my age.  I do however enjoy a little of that play now and again, and by enjoy, I mean it makes my head spin, my heart pound, and the ability to speak becomes something uncertain.

But oh, He opened the door wide on that one while He was here, calling me a “good girl” one night.  My head about exploded as that unexplainable rush swept over me and dropped me into a nearly non-verbal level of sub-space.  I wanted so badly to tell him.  I wrote Him a long letter, intending to work it in, rather than just drop it on Him like a tac-nuke.  Again, I hesitated, and again, I did not speak.

The worst of this for me is not only that I know that He wants to know these things about me, but it’s that He has trusted me with a secret of His own, with many of His secrets.  How can I fear that He would reject me, when He has trusted me with so much?  How can I fear when I do not truly believe that He would reject me at all?  Understanding of course that I understand that what I fear, what I believe, and what I know, can all quite easily be three separate things.

I would tell Him, but our conversations when we are apart are not usually about such things, and I am uncertain about bringing the topic up.  What should I say, to begin with?  “By the way, I want you to be my Daddy sometimes,” just seems a bit blunt.  Never mind that I know myself too well to think I could ever manage to utter such a thing.  I hesitate and remain silent when we are together because for now, that time is so scarce and I do not wish it to be thrown into a negative curve.  Yet, it is not right that I should keep this from Him.  If nothing else, I should not keep it lest my fears prove true and He reject me over it.  How cruel would it be to lead Him on without ever speaking of this?  Of course there is also the possibility, though I dare not hope too greatly for it, that He shares a complimentary desire and my silence cheats us both.

I just do not know how to bring it up to Him at all.  I do not know how to discuss a thing which is so often taboo, even among those who enjoy these things as He and I do.  In so many other ways our desires are completely complimentary.  I have held my breath after telling Him of things I desire, waiting for a rejection, waiting for the words, “That’s sick!” to come flying from His lips; and they never did.  So why is this so hard for me?

Why can’t I just tell Him this one thing, and why am I still feeling so rebellious?

Soon.  Soon we will be together and we will not be parted again.  Perhaps then I’ll find the strength to speak to Him.

 

BDSM and Domestic Discipline

Another long hiatus, and another pot to stir.  This topic has been brought to my attention several times of late, through different sources.  One person who questioned me about it extensively is not even interested in engaging in a BDSM relationship, others simply stumbled into it.

I have known for some time about the practice of Domestic Discipline (DD).  A quick search on the term will yield many sites dedicated to discussing the topic.  There are sites and posts that support the idea and some that object vehemently to it.  There are personal experiences and outside views from those who have never experienced it.  There are even book and dating sites for Domestic Discipline.

In short, Domestic Discipline is the (usually Christian/Christian-based) idea that a woman is meant to submit to her husband and that as the authority in the house he is to provide discipline when she does not do so.  While I have found a few brief nods to Domestic Discipline outside of a traditional, heterosexual marriage, it is generally assumed that this is practiced within that structure.  There is one man, one woman, and they are already married, legally.

Beyond this point, it reads like any other general BDSM overview.  He makes rules, she follows them or is disciplined.  However, my experience is that there is a vast gap between the BDSM scene and those who practice DD.  Many DD practitioners will declare that what they do is nothing like BDSM, which they promptly paint with colors describing lascivious and immoral behaviors, inflicting and receiving pain for pleasure rather than for discipline, and with an abandonment of any sense of relationship commitment.  The people I’ve known in BDSM circles tend to hear about a couple practicing DD and simply chuckle and shake their heads.  Some raise concerns about how consensual it is, but by and large, the BDSM scene seems to recognize DD as a cousin who thinks it’s too good for the family.  The two areas that seem to stick in the throat of BDSM-folk when discussing the DD lifestyle is the concept of a woman being naturally inferior to a man, and the manner in which those who are not in closed, heterosexual marriages are excluded from the DD communities.

Despite the roles of dominance and submission being traditionally portrayed with a dominant male and a submissive female, the reality of the BDSM world is that there are dominant men and women, and there are those who are both dominant and submissive (switches) who are of both genders.  BDSM groups, while initially hesitant to accept non-hetero members, have become gradually more accepting of alternate gender roles and now will often use a label such as “pan-sexual” to denote that they are accepting of others regardless of sexual orientation.  Along with the widening acceptance of non-hetero lifestyles, comes a sense of protectiveness towards those who have been previously excluded.  When DD groups declare, with a nearly universal view, that what they do is onlyfor those who are in closed, committed, hetero marriages, the BDSM scenes tend to react negatively against DD.  At best, I’ve seen a sense of confusion and hurt as BDSM folk attempt to unravel why it is that what they do is wrong, when what DD folk do is the same thing, often with similar rules.

The other area is that of women being inferior.  I have often heard dominants express great admiration for submissives who are, by the admission of the dominants, every bit the equal of their dominants.  I have heard, and made the assertion myself, that I do not find submission with a man who is not my equal.  If he is truly my superior, then I am not submitting, I am accepting a fact.  If a man is my equal, then I am submitting out of choice, regardless of how complete that submission is, and this is a view I have heard from other submissives as well.  BDSM does not, in general, put forth any concept that women are inferior to men, expect perhaps in fiction.  The point there being that it is fiction, not reality, and often not even realistic.

I do have questions, and concerns about DD as a lifestyle.  I also have no issue stating that I understand that these concerns are not founded in any experience or serious research on the matter.  I am concerned with any lifestyle that teaches a woman she is not the equal of her partner.  I am concerned with exclusionary beliefs that label others as immoral for doing the very same thing they do themselves.  To me it smacks a bit much of hypocrisy, and perhaps a bit of the seeds of self-doubt.  I am concerned with the way DD seems to encourage people, women especially, to deny that they derive pleasure from something.  DD women, for example, are not to enjoy being spanked.  There are descriptions of a “maintenance spanking” which sounds strikingly (no pun intended) like a BDSM play scene.  Yet, the woman is not to find enjoyment, even though the human body has wonderful mechanisms for translating pain into pleasure.  That sort of repression is never healthy for the human mind.  I am also concerned about the manner in which discipline is to be delivered.  On many sites, I see descriptions of discipline being delivered until the wife is frantically begging for the discipline to stop, and then pushed a bit farther before ending; to be sure she has learned her lesson, of course.  My experience with BDSM punishments is that most dominants give a great deal of thought to exactly what the punishment will be, and how long it will last, and that they do this before beginning to punish a submissive.  To me, this seem far more rational than to simply beat at someone beyond their ability to bear it.  Of course, I also know that there are many disciplines that have nothing to do with corporal punishment.  Another area of concern is the way DD sites tend to link themselves back to the manner in which a husband was once allowed to beat a wife at his discretion, which again speaks to a time when spousal abuse was advocated and there was no refuge for a woman who wanted to leave an abuser.

My suggestion for anyone who is curious about DD is to research it fully.  Read the books, speak to those who practice it, and learn exactly what it is before getting involved.  This is, naturally, my view for those who are interested in BDSM.  If you do decide to engage in DD, check yourself and your relationship regularly for signals of abuse and abusive behaviors.  Or, as an article on about.com states, speak to a therapist before beginning, and find out what you’re really looking for.

 

A Day Alone, A Surprise Delayed

My night last night was far too short to allow for more than a couple of hours of sleep.  I would love to say that it was because I spent the night with Him, or at least that I spent it lost in conversation with Him.  I spent the night in heavy work, of which there is no need to speak here.  Then, today, I left early in the morning for a full day of work.

I called Him at the end of my first break, having settled the last of the business remaining from last night.  We had scant minutes to speak.  He told me He missed me, terribly, and I echoed the same sentiment, hoping he didn’t hear my voice catching in my throat as I tried to sound cheerful and to lift his loneliness in that brief moment.  He also told me that though He had wanted to send me flowers today (Valentine’s Day here, despite the strangeness of the time stamp here), there had been a problem with ordering and He had been unable to send them.   He sounded so sad about it, all I could think to say was that He was still the only man who had ever thought of doing that for me, and that if He wanted to send me something, He could send me an e-mail. 

When He still sounded sad, I asked Him, “Do you love me?”  He said He did, and I replied that His love is all the gift I could ask for.

We did not get the chance to speak again during any of my other breaks.  I wandered in and out of the building, smoking too much on my breaks, feeling completely alone.  The guards at the security desk watched me strangely.  I’m sure they wondered what was wrong with me, as I usually speak brightly to them as I pass them.

At the end of my shift, moments before I left, a friend of mine sent me a text message telling me to check in with the security guards before I left.  I snuck a message back to her asking why.  She replied, “Just do it.” 

Usually, checking in with the security desk is done when there is a problem or when a lost item is located.  I had not lost anything and knew that had there been a problem, someone would have called me and left me a message on my phone.  I was confused, and slightly concerned.

I left and headed down to the security desk.  Perplexed, I approached the guard and told him that I did not know why, but that a friend had said I needed to check in.  He asked me, “Are you (name)?”  Further confused, I said, “No, I’m (name that starts the same and ends very differently).”  He says, “I think these are yours.  We’ve been looking for you all day!” and gestures at a giant vase filled with flowers that I had seen on every break and had walked right past without a thought!

I know I had to look even more perplexed then.  I rounded the desk and reached for the card, certain there had been a mistake but at least willing to try to find the lucky woman who had been sent the flowers.  There on the card, in a terribly decorative handwriting, was my name.  I just stepped back, and stared wordlessly at the flowers.  I didn’t even have to look to see who they were from.  I knew there was only one person who would send me flowers.  I knew there was only one person who had the thought to send them to me.  My mind was stuck on His statements that He had not been able to send them.

“Are they yours?” the guard asked.  I looked up at his face, which echoed my own confusion and hinted at hopefulness.

“Yes,” I replied, still not moving.  “I just don’t think I understand.”  I looked up at the guard’s face and blurted out, “He told me this morning that He wasn’t going to be able to send them!”

Somewhere in the back of my mind I think I was still saying, “There’s been a mistake.” 

The guard broke into a smile then, and said, “We couldn’t read the card or you’d have had them sooner.  We just couldn’t figure out who you were.”

I finally lifted a hand to touch the curling petal of one of the lilies.  I touched it very timidly, as if it would vanish, or turn to dust at my touch.  I looked up at the guard again and stammered once more, “He said that…”

The guard chuckled at me, “It looks like he surprised you.”

His expression and his smile broke me from being so utterly dumbfounded.  I laughed, “Yes, yes He did!”  Then I grabbed up the flowers and fled for home. 

I did finally reach Him long enough to thank Him for the flowers and to tell Him how surprised I had been, and briefly what had happened.  I think I must have confused Him by not mentioning them sooner because He did mention that He had seen that they were signed for. 

I am still so surprised it’s absolutely stupid.  I am still so deeply touched that I do not know whether I want to laugh, squeal, cry, or crush the entire arrangement to me in an impulsive, albeit fragrant, hug.

 

Disclaimer, of sorts

I realized, reading back over these posts, that it is entirely possible for those who stumble across them to assume that I consider myself to be somehow superior, perhaps even perfect, in my submission to Him.  It is possible that some read these posts and that they are left with the feeling that I think that I somehow believe myself to know better, or more, than others.  It is possible, of course, that some see my posts and believe me to be quite completely full of idiocy.

Firstly, I am not the perfect submissive, and I am far from a “perfect” slave.  I struggle constantly.  There is a very simple reason for the title of this blog, and that is that despite myself and my deep desire to submit, I resist.  At times, I resist in ways that I do not even understand as resistance until later.  At times I test His patience and His understanding of me quite severely with my struggles.  I test my own patience far more often.  It is often as though I know where to be, but am not able to reach the point I need to reach.  I struggle, I resist, I fall.  I have lost Him to this struggle before.  That there is a second chance leaves me breathlessly humbled.

Secondly, while I have experience, I am not the most experienced person in any BDSM circle.  There are those who have many more years than I, and while I may not always agree with their opinions or their methods, I respect them for the sake of the journeys that they have taken.  Agreement is not, however, required.  Neither is it required that every person who engages in BDSM do so in the same way or with the same intentions or methods.  While I understand that my posts tend to have a tone that sounds as though I speak from some position of authority on the matter, all I have is my personal experience and the things I have witnessed.

Thirdly, these posts are not intended to be taken as any ultimate dictate or any other authority on the topic of BDSM relationships.  I write from an editorial point of view.  I am sharing my thoughts, only.  Though I understand that WordPress has a certain atmosphere which tends to discourage comment from others, I welcome discussion, so long as it is civil.

I offer my somewhat belated apologies, if I have offended with my tone.  I hope this explanation clarifies both my intent, and my source, going forward.

 

Informed Consent

Welcome back to the continuation of my little essays.  I’m starting with this topic because it ties so closely to the previous posts about BDSM and abuse.  It especially focuses on the one thing that separates BDSM from abuse.  Though courts in the USA do not recognize it, the single greatest difference between BDSM and abuse is consent.  BDSM has consent, abuse does not. 

The level of consent in BDSM relationships does vary widely.  For some it may be that there is consent given with a time limit.  For some it’s consent in only some areas of life.  For some it’s a blank check and there is no area of life that is immune to the will of the dominant.  Pick an end of the spectrum and there are BDSM relationships at each end and all across the distance between them.  One thing to remember, and I will harp on this, consent is not legally valid. 

The way the courts see abuse, even the most carefully written contract is not binding in this instance.  We are not permitted, legally, to consent to be struck.  It is a strange contradiction to the concept that we are free to choose our own path in life.  It is also a very good reason for dominants to be very certain of the consent that is given, and to be certain that they are aware if and when that consent is withdrawn.

But what is it?  What does it mean to consent to things that the rest of the world considers abusive?  How can anyone consent to these things and call it “informed consent?” 

From a submissive perspective, there are a few things to keep in mind.  Firstly, do you know the person you’re with well enough to know that they will not take advantage of a situation and push you into something to which you do not willingly consent?  Secondly, are you being truthful with yourself about what you want or need in this interaction, or are you consenting to things that you might prefer to leave in the realm of fantasy rather than in reality?  Thirdly, do you feel that you need an exit, a “safeword” or signal so that should you need to end things instantly, you  can?

I have a very deep, personal sticking point with submissives who meet up with dominants that they do not know anything about and instantly run to play with them.  I understand that they want to be seen as submissive, but it is, in my thinking, unecessarily risky.  To me, it is the same as taking a ride from a stranger because he drives a nice car.  It doesn’t make it safe.  While I think “safe, sane, and consensual” takes much for granted (like what is safe or sane), it’s not entirely a bad concept to keep in mind.

Informed consent, to me, means that when you consent, you know that what you’re consenting to is what will occur and that you will not be pushed outside of that area of consent without first giving further consent.  It means that you can trust the person you give your consent to. 

For example, I am not able to engage in electrical play due to health risks.  If I give consent, this is known by the dominant and I am terribly cautious about giving consent to any setting where I will be restrained because of it.  There are those who think that such claims (health risks) are not real and that they are simply a submissive trying to avoid something she doesn’t enjoy.  Those sort of dominants would readily drag out electrical play implements and use them on me in an attempt to “teach” me that I could enjoy such play.  Thus, I must take responsibility for my own safety and decide when and where I can afford to give consent, or gamble with my life.  True, this example is a bit extreme, but it does perhaps make it possible to understand what I mean when I discuss having such boundaries respected by the one you give consent to.  A good rule of thumb is to simply talk it out and make sure your interests and the interests of the person you intend to consent to, are aligned well enough to avoid that situation.

Secondly, know what you’re consenting to.  “I’ll tie you up on the bed and have my way with you,” is a bit vague for someone you do not know well.  What is meant by “have my way?”  Not knowing this can lead to bad scenes, or just disappointing scenes when you’re expecting to be bound, beaten with a riding crop, ridden hard and put up wet… and what you get is tied up loosely, a quick round of very vanilla sex, and the night is over.  It is not unsubmissive to ask for further details.  It is not unsubmissive to simply state, “Before we do this, I would like to know what you are asking of me.”  If a dominant who is new to you says they want to surprise you, then you get to choose; trust them without any evidence that you should or can, or end things before they start.  You might miss out on something wonderful for that night, but if the dominant is worth much, they’ll understand building trust before heavy scenes and before expecting you to just blindly walk along whatever path they choose.

BDSM fiction has made a mockery of consent.  The Story of O has no real consent given in it.  O is purely victim throughout the story.  She is taken to a strange place with no knowledge of where she is going or what she is doing.  She is beaten, used and raped by multiple men, and given no say in the matter.  She is passed, by the man she loves, to another man, who continues this cycle.  True, the fantasy of it is rather exciting.  The reality of being abducted by someone you trusted, and raped and beaten, is not.  Likewise, the Sleeping Beauty series completely ignores any concept of consent, unless you count the strange consent given by her parents at the beginning of the story.  Though I haven’t read The Marketplace series, I can’t imagine that it does much better beyond people requesting to be a part of the house from which they hope to be sold.

This is the reality.  As submissives we have a defined and clear responsibility, not to our dominants or to the thoughts of anyone around us, but to ourselves, to be informed, to be aware, and to make rational and intelligent decisions for ourselves until the point where we find ourselves with someone to whom we are to be collared slaves.  This is not the velcro collar of the internet, either.  Nor is this “play with me for a night” and assuming a collar.  This is the “wedding equivalent” collar.  Even then, it is up to each of us to remember that we are meant to be first in our own maintenance and defense, and to think with our heads, not our hearts and not our sex drives.

What does it feel like to be struck with a flogger?  Do you know?  Can you honestly agree to allow someone to strike you with one whenever they wish if you do not know?  Do you know what kind of flogger they intend to use?  You are not O, you do not have limitless physical endurance.  How much is your body capable of taking before you are in danger?  What if the dominant in question wants to use several tools?  Do you know the difference between a flogger, a whip and a riding crop?  What about the difference between a riding crop and a quirt?  These are the sort of things you must know in order to give informed consent.  It’s actually quite fine to admit, “I haven’t had that used on me before.”  There is no shame whatsoever in admitting an area where you haven’t had experience and telling the dominant so.

Dominants, there is a side of informed consent that applies to you, as well.  Are you certain that the submissive you’re about to play with understands what you expect?  Are you certain she won’t bolt halfway through it and tell everyone that you beat her mercilessly and wouldn’t stop?  Are you aware of any past mental health issues, emotional health concerns and her physical health issues?  (Think on that before you answer, even to yourself.)  Scenes are, as most are aware, deeply emotional and mentally taxing at times.  Will what you propose create a scenario in which the submissive feels that she is literally at risk?  Unless that is the agreed upon goal, review things and gain consent again for your own protection, and even then, go cautiously!  To new dominants, yes, there is far more to consider than how many times you can hit someone with your shiny new whip before they bleed.

In the simplest terms possible, informed consent means, know what you’re getting yourself into.  Be certain that it’s really what you want and not something better left to fantasy.  At the same time, don’t worry if someone else thinks what you want in reality is “wrong.”  It is your choice after all.

 

Essay series

I have not abandoned the more serious essays I began.  I have, in fact, planned an entire series of essays about BDSM relationships.  Topics that I am working on include:

BDSM interaction in public

BDSM and religion/spiritual practice

Informed consent: What is it?

If any readers have other ideas, I’m up for a few challenges.  Feel free to add your ideas in the comments.  What would you like to know more about?  What questions about BDSM do you want to ask, but never felt right asking a “live” person?  What perceptions do you have about BDSM relationships that have been challenged already?

 

The deeper loneliness

This is the hardest part of any long-distance relationship.  It’s not the long days that run from countdown to countdown until you will be together again.  It’s not the countless moments when you see something stunning, like a perfectly full moon lighting the night, and wish you could share it.  It’s not the random moments of inside humor that strike you and leave you choking back a laugh because there’s no one there who would understand the humor.

The hardest part is the loneliness that sits on my chest like weights that threaten to crush my heart.  It’s feeling the absence that is felt in the cold abyss of where He should be.  It’s the tears that slip through the defenses and fall unwelcome, and unwiped, from my eyes when I try to sleep.  It’s the feeling that I’m ready to throw what little I can into a couple of bags and leave, tonight, to be near Him again, to be back in my place at His feet.

I know that I can’t do that.  As much as I’d like to and as wide as I know His smile would be when I appeared at His door, I can’t do that.  We both have much to accomplish, and for now, we must each remain where we are in order to accomplish the things that will lay a solid foundation for our future together.  I know, rationally, that this is not a bad thing, this time apart.  I know that it will enable us to have the sort of life we wish for in the future.  I am, however, so weary of the wait, even as I count down the days to when He will be here with me again.

I am weary, as I know He is, of nights where all I want to do is kneel beside the bed and wait for Him to call me into it, into His arms.  I am weary of waking alone to start another long day, not knowing with any certainty when I will see Him again.  I know that He is as weary of the wait as I.  I know that we will not give way on this, however.  There is too much riding on the things we strive to accomplish.  As happy as He would be to see me there, were I to sacrifice what is being built and run to be with Him, we would both pay for many years.  The weight of having me there would hinder His progress as well, no matter what help I could give Him towards that end.

And so, I wait, with this deeper loneliness that penetrates my body, my mind, and even to my spirit.  I wait with the knowledge that our future is being secured for us, daily.  I wait with the surety that when the day is ready, He will send for me, and that when that day arrives I will go to Him and there will be nothing to hinder either of us.

Yes, this is the hardest part.  It demands patience, which I have not so much of.  It demands forethought, at which I am competent.  It demands acceptance of life, as it is and nothing more, with which I often struggle.  It demands strength, of which He believes I have a deep source.  It demands much, and leaves me feeling inadequate to the task at hand.  It leaves me asking, not can I survive these next three years, but how will I?