My Week of Baader Meinhof Phenomenon

(Also apparently called “blue car” or “red car” syndrome? I dunno. I just googled, “phrase for learning a word then seeing it everywhere”… because I knew it had a name!)

Anyhow, my new word has induced a great deal of brain cramp, so naturally I need to share!

Watts the Safeword (a YouTube channel which I really enjoy) released a video last week in which Amp has his third coming out. First gay, then kinky, now he’s adding “demisexual” to his identifiers. I had never heard of this term (which has apparently been around for 15 years - Way to keep up with the times, Jz!) but nonetheless, I learned something new. Three days later, I was seeing headlines in the news about Andrew Cuomo’s daughter coming out as demisexual. (I kind of question the newsworthiness of this revelation but hey, at least I knew what they meant!) Since then, it has popped up in a number of places and I'm feeling bludgeoned by the term.

(And for those of you who are in the same boat I was before watching Amp’s video, here’s the standard definition of demisexual: feeling sexual attraction towards another person only after establishing an emotional bond with that person.)

Now, before we go any further - the reason for the excessive brain time is that this identifier rings profoundly true to me.

And yet, frankly, I struggle with its relevance.

Even after a week of thinky thoughts, I’m still having trouble coming to grips with how I feel about this new distinction I’ve learned.  

Because I won’t lie. altho’ this term fits me to a T… a large part of me thinks this is a genuinely ridiculous concept to create a flag around. 

I understand the want/need/desire for nearly all the other sexual identifiers, because those identities will impact the partners a person chooses. But being demisexual (or, “particular” as we old-fashioned folk might say) only impacts the people you do NOT choose - and frankly, I don’t think that’s anything that requires explanation. That certain people don’t make the cut is a fact of life that we must all learn to accept.

Yet despite my inclination to eye-roll over something that strikes me as largely a quibble… the funny thing is that, for once, this identification is actually something that made me feel better. I thought, “Oh! You mean that’s not just me being weird??” - and felt genuinely relieved. None of the other similar revelations in my life have had this kind of effect, not even when SP let the submissive genie out of the bottle. Submissive was a surprise - one which explained quite a lot… but I can’t say I felt relief - it was simply another thing to incorporate.

Nor was it the textbook definition that resonated with me at first. At least, not until Amp expanded on the meaning with a quote from Olivia Davis: “Demisexuality is about desire and arousal … It’s not merely that I’m only interested in having sex with people that I love, it’s also that I feel a complete absence of desire or sexual feelings towards everyone else. EVER. What makes me demisexual is that absence.” 

THOSE were the words that made relief wash through me.

Because that complete absence has long been a stumbling block for me. I have been baffled by the fact that I can be with a guy that, intellectually, I recognize as sheer, unadulterated sex on a stick… and yet not feel the tiniest flicker of attraction. I’ve actually wondered at times if I could be asexual - except that when I’m with someone I am actually attracted to, I kind of go from zero to 60 in 4 seconds flat... so it’s not that I don’t have a libido. Yet I truly do not seem to experience the same level of itchiness during periods of drought that others talk about. 

SP often scolds me for over-thinking everything (not without reason) and I have genuinely spent a lot of time worrying that maybe this seemingly-peculiar refusal to go a-lookin’ for partners was caused by my overly-active brain. Was I thinking myself into a stunted life? Prods and urgings by friends seemed to indicate that they thought so. Could they be right?

So it really, truly felt wonderful to receive some validation that all my lack of action is not inevitably because I’m afraid or I’m overthinking or I’m just a plain ol’ nebbish. The realization that others also feel this way was actually HUGE for me. 

Additionally, this need for emotional ties to create desire also explains why, for years now, my body has known when a relationship is over long before I consciously realize we’re at the end. My libido is aware of disruption before my mind has seen past the habits of partnerships.

So this seemingly silly identifier is actually responsible for quite a number of pieces falling into place, worries being soothed and puzzling behaviors getting explained. I find myself a walking example of the validity of the term.

And yet, I can't stop shaking my head over it…

A Bit Surprising...

So here we are, emerging from a pandemic and ready to get our lives back to normal. 

Wheeee!

Except… what’s normal now?

Because like it or not, things have changed. Fifteen months is time enough to shift lifestyles and ingrain new habits and I’m finding that a lot of people are not the same as I remember. (Probably including me, but those changes seem more natural.) 

Has this happened to any of you?

You chat with a dear friend and find yourself thinking, “When did you get so boring?”

Or is that just me?

Interestingly, this effect seems most apparent in my Type A personality friends. I’m not a psychologist, so I won't even attempt any armchair analyzing of How This Happened. All I know is that some of my friends have forgotten how to talk to others. I’ve lost count of the number of conversations in which I’m either having my feet held to the fire as I'm grilled for minute details, or I'm not given the time to get a word in edgewise. 

I realize none of this is intentional but it’s trying, nonetheless. These are still wonderful people and I still care for and about them - but our worlds have shifted. Our lives are not as aligned as they once were, and it’s going to be more effort than I’d anticipated to keep the connecting doors open.

The problem is, that requires patience -  which is not my finest quality even at the best of times, much less after the year we’ve all had. 

*inserts contemplative pause*

It will be interesting to see how this all works out.

    Says the woman planning her summer around her Type B chums...

Quote Ponder

Olivia extended a quote challenge - and I find those hard to resist. 

(Easy to put off, perhaps, but hard to resist! ;-p)

I was given a one-word subject, asked to share my favorite quote on that subject, and as they say in all the best exams, “Discuss.”

So today, we'll look at desire. It’s a subject that feels timely, as I recently experienced a highly significant (and moderately disheartening) birthday, with all the resultant musing that you might expect from such an event - largely about desires of the unmet variety. (Also moderately disheartening, but that's another story for another day...)

My favorite quote about desire comes from my favorite philosopher: Ralph Waldo Emerson.

“Desire is possibility seeking expression.”

(*bam!*) 

Can’t nail that much harder, can you?

Desire is identifying an attractive option and hoping to make it happen. Pretty simple, really.

Except that desire is not generally simple - more like a maddening itch. 

Most of us see within ourselves near-limitless possibilities and, because we are greedy by nature, we want to express them ALL (frequently at the same time,) which results in our often being awash in conflicting desires.

Which leads to the difficulty of winnowing and sorting of those possibilities. Which ones are actually attractive to us? Which are feasible and which are not? Some are complementary, some are mutually exclusive. Some require a distinct chronology in order to come into being, others are free-floating and independent - able to be picked up at any point along the way. 

It's a confusing jumble that does not respond well to organization.

No wonder then that so many of us are made restless by desires. They’re all crammed up inside us, waiting to burst forth like Black Friday shoppers at the doors of Walmart - jostling for priority and whining for attention. Desire sounds so attractive, yet it can actually be a big honking distraction. Particularly if you haven’t managed to pick the mass of feelings apart. 

As Emerson explains it, “Those who cannot tell what they desire or expect, still sigh and struggle with indefinite thoughts and vast wishes.” 

^^That right there^^ ?

That’s my problem - Indefinite thoughts and vast wishes… which I know are unrealized even tho’ I’m completely unable to articulate them. I just know there’s something… and can't shake the feeling that if I only think hard enough, surely I’ll be able to pinpoint the nagging lack.

Which takes us smack into another problem with desire: It can distract you from the blessings you already have in life. As Brother Ralph cautions, “We love that we have, but by desire we bereave ourselves of the love.”

So, yeah.

Desire.

I’m not really sure it’s all it’s cracked up to be.

The Gift That Time Forgot

(A Gratitude Month Post)

I came across something while doing some deep cleaning the other day.

A simple crimson box in the corner of my bookcase, it was one of those things that has sat in the same place for so long that you don’t even register it anymore. Because I was purging my shelves however, this time I actually looked at it… and thought. I remembered that it was a gift, but I could not recall when I got it, or who gave it to me… or even if I’d ever actually opened it. Nothing on the outside of the box describes the contents - it simply informs you that it’s a Creativity Kit. So I stared at it a while, gauging whether or not I wanted to open the box and risk being sucked down a rabbit hole, or if I’d avoid temptation and toss it, unopened.

Curiosity won, of course.

Nestled inside the nicely-made box, I found a “creativity journal”, three small wrapped disks that look like soap (tho’ that seemed unlikely,) and something reminiscent of a pencil box, with kanji characters on it. 

Yeah, I’m going to dig further…

I opened the journal and peered at the introduction. “This kit is intended to pry open the door to your imagination. It contains two tools: one active and one contemplative.” The disks are actually decks of “positive creative action” suggestion cards and the journal is for “contemplative writing on… creativity.”  There was no mention of the pencil-box-y thing, so I pried it open, only to find a paper cylinder, which itself held a plastic bag of incense - tho' nothing fragrant enough for me to place the scent.

I pulled a stick out and lit it. I am no connoisseur but I recognized the aroma as one of the traditional incense smells (patchouli, maybe?) - one that propelled me straight back to the mid-1970’s, hanging out in the bedroom of my free-spirited friend Butterfly, with her riot of red curls, wardrobe of Indian print clothing, and incomprehension of why I was still a virgin at the age of 15. (Did I want her boyfriend to fix me up with a friend? NO! Ok, just asking…)

(Can you tell I was well down the rabbit hole by now?)

Next, I carefully peeled back the sticker on one of the action decks. “Clean your desk” suggested the top one (that’s what I was doing when you sidetracked me…) followed by, “Give away a piece of jewelry” … “Decorate a cigar box”… “Bake gingerbread men”… 

OK. I’ve got the gist of those. Now, what about this journal?

I flipped the pages open to the workspace itself, curious to see what the quotes and prompts looked like… only to discover that I HAD opened this before. There was a single entry in it, written in what I think of as my Dante period about 12 years ago. (See this post for explanation.) My heart sank, my rabbit hole turned into a pit, and I crash-landed at the bottom.

Ouch. 

I was pleased to note that the words on paper weren’t mortifyingly angsty (am I the only one who cringes when re-reading outpourings of Emotions Past?) but I cannot say I enjoyed being transported back to that time, either. I was, not to put too fine a point on it, a mess in those days. My dad had died, a 10-year relationship was just ending, and I’d realized I had lost hold of some indefinable quality, some spark that I’d always felt defined me. For the first time in my life, I was truly and profoundly alone - not just separated from others but from myself, as well. I was completely adrift…, and it was ugly.

This likely explains why I cannot remember the gift - that time of my life is not one I often choose to recall. (It’s not blacked out, but there are definitely some very heavy dust covers thrown over the details.) But still, despite the discomfort, I wasn’t sorry to read that one bewildered little entry, because it reminded me of just how very fortunate I have been. The whole process of loss and reconnection with that inner spark turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me, despite the misery of the struggle itself. It’s an obscure metaphor but the best way to describe the result is to say it reinforced my inner gimbal. I ride out tumult a lot better these days… a grace I'm very glad for.

So I think I’ll hang onto this little creativity kit. I’m not convinced my already-vivid imagination needs the help, but it’s always good to "pry open the door" to let gratitude in.

A Thinking Woman's "Sexy?"

Dansarani wrote a post the other day about the effects of aging on her body and how they have left her (at least temporarily) unable to feel sexy, despite her libido remaining unchanged. Since she is someone who teaches sacred sexuality, this leaves her feeling pretty discouraged. 

Understandable enough but still, something about her words niggled at me. There was nothing there I actually disagreed with - certainly not the disappointment of being stuck inside a body that is marching relentlessly farther and farther away from “pretty”… Nor can I argue with the frustration of joints and muscles that can’t quite do what they once did. (“Yes sir, I will happily kneel for you - but if you keep me here very long, you’re going to have to go get the crowbar to get me back up.”)

And yet… I cannot honestly say those changes have affected my feeling sexy. 

          How pretty I feel, yes - but sexy? No. 

Those are two very different (though related) things.

So what was the niggle?

As I poked and prodded, the sore point slowly dawned on me. I was tripping over the fact that I honestly cannot ever recall actually feeling sexy - at least not in the way I think people mean the term - which meant that at some level, her words simply did not compute.

I have felt desired, I have known the power of having someone’s dick wrapped around my little finger (figuratively speaking, of course) but in my head, those moments always get filed under “Very Specific Instances” - not “Sweeping Generalizations Based On My Own Awesomeness” (which is a very slim file indeed.) To actually “feel sexy” is kind of a foreign concept to me.

Partially, I suppose, this is because it has never seemed to me that the ability to get laid boils down to anything more than willingness and availability. People will fuck to relieve an itch and being the scratching post du jour doesn’t mean a danged thing more than that propinquity is at work. (I’m not dismissing the reality of a truly personalized lust - just saying that I know better than to assume that must be what lies at the root of any mating rituals I might get involved in.) 

Plus, what exactly makes someone sexy, anyhow?

It’s so highly individual, the stuff that flips our switches, that I don’t know how you ever identify a universal component, much less internalize that to project back out to the world at large. 

To me, sexiness is a random chemistry that happens between two people, not a thing that exists on its own. I can reflect it back to someone, but I don’t see it as something I intrinsically *am* - in which case, how do I “feel” it?

So you see why “feeling sexy” is such a problematic concept for me. I don’t know how you define it, I don’t know how you quantify it, I don’t know how you claim it.

On the other hand, I envy those of you who don’t get tripped up in this kind of mental tangle - the ones who say, “Hell yeah, I feel sexy!”  

God love you - Please send me your secret.

In the meantime, I’ll go back to reading my latest email from BG, which just happens to end with the timely sentiment, “overthink much?”

TBT - What Ever Happened to Flirting?

It's not my plan to make Throwback Thursday a regular thing, but I see it coming in handy when a topic arises that I've already said my piece about, even if the original post is lost in the mists of time.

So, we were talking about flirting.
Here's what I had to say about it back in November of 2009...

***************************************************

This isn't particularly related to this thing we do but I was thinking the other day about the lost art of flirting. I'm not sure if the loss is due to fear of harassment claims, if it's an unfortunate step-child of feminism, or just (my fear) part of the general decline of social mores but, whatever the cause, very few people flirt well anymore. And I for one feel the loss.

I'm not talking about heavy-handed sexual innuendo, or impertinent comments. Flirting is neither sexual nor vulgar. Rather, flirting is a fun exchange that lifts the participant's spirits. Flirting in the proper sense is nothing but a light-hearted expression of appreciation. It's a delicate, nuanced approach that opens the door to an acquaintance, not a bedroom.

Nor does flirting have to be restricted to your gender of choice. One of the most proficient flirts I've ever had the pleasure to watch was an old-school Eastern European woman. Her flirting could charm the pants off almost any man but she was equally adept at using it to make another woman relax and feel welcomed. Flirting was simply her way of saying, "How very nice to see you!"

But, alas, our understanding of social niceties has become muddled.
Even though I'm a tech and a devoted blogger, I blame the internet for much of this.
For one thing, any bonehead can post "advice" and some fool will follow it. My online dating site has posted a list of Top Ten Ways To Flirt With A Man. It includes "Use suggestive language."
First off, NO! That's not flirting. Flirting hints, it doesn't beat you on the head with a 2 x 4.
Secondly, Yuck! Suggestive with a total stranger? I think not. I'll keep my self-respect, thank you very much.

But even more to the point, the distance inherent in online relationships has loosened the strictures of etiquette. Interpersonal skills have gone down the toilet as people spend less and less time looking into the eyes of the person they're addressing. Instead, we invest our time in interactions with people we wouldn't know if we stepped on. (Like us!)
In one way, this is good because that distance shields us and allows us to speak our minds more freely. But in another way, it's quite harmful. We are not vested in the relationship, so there is no fear of embarrassment or censure. In fact, it's easy to forget that the person we're addressing is a living, breathing human with (hello?!) feelings. It fosters a de-humanization that can result in stunning rudeness.
(Never by US, however!)

I am saddened by the decline of civility. But I truly mourn the passing of flirting.

Attraction Through the Ages

A ponder brought to you by “The Book Club”… and an irksome friend.

A truth universally acknowledged: You can’t help who you’re attracted to. 

And another: You can't control what your body likes. 

OK - given.

What I find interesting, however, is how those attractions and preferences tend to morph over time. As I’ve said about 9 million thousand times (or so), I’m not a particularly physical person. What hooks me is something internal, not an external appearance, so my criteria have always encompassed a fairly broad spectrum. My beaux have few common features, be it build, hair color, ethnicity, or age. Even so, I’ve always been intrigued by how that spectrum keeps pace with me as I move through life. 

Certainly, many of the qualities that catch my eye have remained the same - fixed points of attraction - but when it comes to the age of the bodies that house those qualities, well, the variations there have made for an amusing ponder over time. When I was in college, I liked guys who were about 10 years older; when I was in my thirties/forties, age was irrelevant to attraction… twenty-two years older to ten younger, if I liked you, I dated you. Now that sixty is so close I can feel its breath on my neck, the range is narrowing again. It's within about 6 years one way or the other - old coots and young whippersnappers need not apply. 

When I hit 65, I’ll get back to you with the latest parameters…

But when you were younger, did you ever imagine that your tastes would keep pace with you like that? I don’t think I did. I think I assumed that love was the thing that made loose flesh bearable to the touch. (Which, of course, is partially true - except it’s “a” thing, not “the” thing.) 

Truly, the realization that my preferences would change along with me was one of the grand discoveries of life. Which I suppose sounds hyperbolic but it really was genuinely encouraging. I am not someone who takes easily to doing things simply because they’re what you’re supposed to do, so the knowledge that “when it comes time to do this thing that currently disheartens me, I’ll likely feel very differently” took a lot of dread for the future away from me. (About many things actually but for the moment, let’s just stick to attraction.)

So I can sit in that movie theater, honestly (and happily!) drooling over a grizzled Andy Garcia and completely getting why Candice Bergen would yank balding Richard Dreyfuss into the back seat of her car - and barely registering the cute young guy. 

Yet, it doesn’t work that way for everyone - which is another intriguing ponder. 

I have a recently “re-singled” friend (“The Expat”) in his mid-60’s who has been keeping me up to speed on his search for a new companion. It’s not going all that smoothly for him and I finally could not hold my tongue any longer. “Perhaps you’d do better if you expand your search to include women over 20?”

“No… I’m not attracted to women over 30 and I’m looking for someone who’ll last my lifetime.”

(I am truly fond of this man… he’s extremely smart, very funny… but our entire 30+ years of friendship have found me continually about an inch away from smacking him into next week.)

It annoys the pants off of me - on behalf of women everywhere just on principle, but mostly because I want to think he’s better than this. My mind wants to argue that he should have grown out of this nonsense by now. (That’s shorthand for what could be a VERY long rant on my part.) He’s perpetuating an unpleasant stereotype and I hate it.

So we end up with me thinking he’s stunted and him figuring I’m just envious. And we are each both right and wrong. It's a point we'll never agree on because, maddeningly, how do you argue against, “This is what I find attractive”? 

No conclusions here, it’s too messy and complicated of a question for that. Just a thought packet that’s been taking up a lot of space in my head lately…

Closure?

I think I’m finally healing back up again - which is both good and bad.

On the positive side, the fact that I’m no longer going through life with my innards spilling out is good. For one thing, nobody needs to see that, plus I was getting tired of landing on my face after getting tangled up in my own trailing viscera…

On the other hand, being closed off definitely doesn’t enhance my personality.

One of the things I liked very much about my relationship with BG was that I liked myself better when we were together. BG centered me, which calmed me. It was more of a side effect, but it was a good one. (The kind the commercial announcer proclaims clearly and distinctly, rather than one that’s rushed through at the end in hopes you won’t notice the words, “incontinence”, “stroke”, or “death”.)

Because a calmer Jz is more open and accepting of people. She doesn’t frazzle as easily, making her less likely to flare up and run off at the mouth. (I know, this is a hard scenario to imagine…) She finds it easier to be genuinely interested in people, rather than wanting to strangle those who drone on and on about minutiae. (You know, like progeny, pets…, anything truly meaningful to them…) She can even smile indulgently at the folly of those she assists with computers, rather than rewarding their befuddlement with her best “Resting Bitch Face” expression. (Thank you, Bookman!)

Yep… I’m not all that fond of this here reversion I seem to be going through. Let’s just hope that eight years of centered calm resulted in enough synaptic re-routing that my new norm stops somewhat short of its former level and leaves me with at least a modicum of tolerance.

Otherwise, I’m going to have to call myself part-Vulcan and claim biological imperative...

On Being Pleasing

Pygar wondered the other day:

If you are a submissive, do you like to please? Is that not what you are for?

Do you go out of your way to please? Do you constantly think of ways to please your dominant? Are you imaginative in seeking out new ways to give pleasure?

Or are you just there, available, for your  dominant to take their pleasure whenever, however, they want?

I found myself flip-flopping all over the place as I considered this. 

I don’t subscribe to the passive “serene lily” philosophy of submission.

Rather, I prefer mine to be active. No sitting around waiting to be needed here!

And yet…, well…, 

I have a life (as does he) and frankly, I don’t have the time to sit around thinking of new ways to please BG. I wish I did… it’s a lovely way to pass the day. (Plus, if I had that kind of time, I’d be able to blog more, too.) But it’s not realistic, nor does it reflect how I feel about submission. Quite honestly, my first reaction to, “Is that not what you are for?” is actually, “No. That is not what I am for ” - altho’ “pleasing” is certainly one of the primary things I want to be for him. But a constant, unadulterated absorption with my submission isn’t anything that either he or I want. (In fact, we both get pretty testy when it happens.) 

Which is not to say that he doesn’t want my submission accessible at all times - one of his favorite games is to flip the dom switch when I’m least expecting it (generally in public) and watch me slam into sub mode. (That brings a very particular grin to his face.) But the reality is that we structure our D/s more loosely than many. It's our foundation but not the entire frame - and as such, is simply not uppermost in my mind at all times.

Even more than our D/s style, tho', is the fact (as I noted in my comment to the post,) that when I try to imaginatively seek out new ways to pleasure BG, I tend to guess wrong. Like that whole snot and saliva question, what he likes is often something that I would never have thought of (and which, when I do think of, makes me go, “Oh, surely not…!?!”)

Turns out, I am simply not the best judge of my own pleasingness.

So I walk a line.

I want to please, I certainly make my best effort to please… 

      but I don’t go out of my way for it.

     (Which actually turns out to be what he wants, so I’m still being pleasing, go figure. ;-p)

I am open to finding new ways to please him… 

      but my brain does not churn over the question day and night.

I do my best to learn what pleases him… 

      but I’ve given up on trusting my own imagination.

Basically, I follow his lead.

Which feels passive in description, but is active in reality...

This is really a bugger of a question!

Disdain or Denial?

Like many men, dominant or otherwise, BG is really big on the hot, sexy portion of our relationship - and not nearly so interested in “Emotions”... either the showing or discussion thereof. Given his druthers, he would just focus on the part where we fuck like rabbits and draw a veil over the rest.

Yet he has chosen, not once but twice, to throw his lot in with me… one of the most tenacious prodders in the history of ever. And I want to know where we stand in the spectrum of emotions. I am not a bludgeoner, I can bide my time… but trust me, I will come back to the question at hand. (There is a reason my boss calls me a junkyard dog! ;-p) 

So BG may not exactly want to discuss emotions, but he’s surely not surprised either, when every now and again, (like, oh, say, now) I press the subject. 

I want to preface this little musing by saying we’re okay. This is simply normal relationship stuff and we’re reacting in normal relationship ways. I’m not waving my arms in frustration or dissing BG. But whenever we hit one of these phases, it always gets me thinking... and this is the latest ponder:

affection (əˈfekSH(ə)n/) 

          1. a gentle feeling of fondness or liking.

There’s almost a hint of the insipid about that word, isn’t there?  A slightly offensive overtone in our world of passion and roughness, where there is no room for half-assed feelings. Nope, around here, we dream of burning lust and primal connections, no-holds-barred use, abject submission, and all-consuming relationships… "Don’t insult me with this piddling “gentle fondness” thing! I want passion and volatility! Heat and raging emotions! Make me soar or move along!"

Which is all very gung-ho and all…

But it kind of lacks nuance, doesn’t it?

Because I can't help but think that affection, though perhaps a bit mild as a stand-alone emotion, is also like the proverbial salt in our food -- a necessary component of any more complex interaction. Gentle fondness strikes me as actually playing a very important role in a successful day to day relationship. It may feel mundane but it is a bond that relies on attachment rather than passion… so by it’s very non-volatile nature, affection provides consistency, serving to buffer the parabolic swings of intense emotions. It’s the voice that says, “That was great… now how ‘bout we order take-out and binge-watch "Farscape" together?”

Affection is an emotion that binds, one that extends past mere chemistry and roots itself in actual caring. It is, perhaps, less a gentle feeling than a feeling that prompts gentleness... potentially even to a degree that thwarts our original desires.

And that makes me wonder…

Do we dismiss mere affection because it’s mundane, irrelevant... or because it’s so powerful?

In Which I Reframe a Trope

SP and I had a bit of a communication hiccup the other day over my use of the term “sub fail” while describing a recent date night.

The moment those words hit his screen, my beloved champion hopped right up onto his knightly steed and began the defense: “Bullshit. He’s the dom, he’s responsible for the tone. If there was any failure, it’s his.”

I was initially a bit startled by his reaction - it felt wrong, stronger than was called for somehow - but then I got thinking about it. Subs are prone to picking up and shouldering any stray bit of blame that happens to be lying about, aren’t we? (<< klunky sentence but I’m leaving it.) 

This tendency toward martyrdom is a trait of mine that has always frustrated SP, so upon further consideration, I’m not surprised that he reacted so strongly. He knows I judge myself harshly in comparison to others - and generally disagrees with my conclusions. So when he hears me declaring myself a failure as a submissive (the common interpretation of the expression) he’s gonna speak up. (Much as I long to do when I hear other submissives use the same phrase, in fact.)

So that took care of explaining his response… 

What took me a bit longer to suss out was why I felt that response was off. Even bracketing the part where I felt he was blaming BG (which puts me into my own form of defensive mode,) it still felt like he’d missed the point, like he was putting words in my mouth… but why was that? There was no question that I’d used the term, so why be surprised at his reaction? 

After some fairly extensive pondering, the penny finally dropped. 

(Bear with me, we’re about to inch our way along a very fine line here…)

I’d been taken aback because I hadn’t feel like a failure as a submissive. What I’d experienced, and was attempting to describe, was a failure of submission. (You know, the other “sub”.) That is a far less encompassing thing - more like when your patience fails you. You feel bad about it, sure, but you know it doesn’t mean they’re about to revoke your membership card to the human race, either. It happens, you sigh regretfully, then move on..., in the sure and certain knowledge that no matter how hard you try, this will happen again, so you'd better get used to it.

It’s kind of a third-party software failure, if you will.

Housed in me, certainly, but something with its own rules of operation, which occasionally override operator control. Frustrating, but not a question of fault or failure, per se.

So really, the problem was simply that I'd meant a second dictionary definition and SP had assumed the first. 

There... Weighty issue resolved to my own satisfaction. (*nod, nod*)

Mind you, my solution doesn’t adequately address the issue of responsibility… but I’ve decided to take, “If there was any failure” to mean that SP didn’t consider “failure” to be an apt word in the first place. 

Point Two neatly dodged,

  Misunderstanding cleared up,

    Alternate definition filed for future reference...

Happiness reigns.

Now I can start my weekend with an eased mind.

(I'd say "and conscience" but that would start the whole muddle all over again! ;-p)

A Problem With Persnicketiness

Once upon a time (when I was still a spring chicken,) I had a beau who was a genius at ruined orgasms - except mine were the ones he ruined, not his.

If it hadn’t been such a maddening trick, I could almost call this knack a “mad skill”, because his success rate was distressingly close to 100%. We’d be fucking along merrily and I’d start the internal flutters, begin to spiral my way up that last bit, just needing that last little bit more…. then he’d wail loudly (right in my ear) and… we were done.

Like, Done.

Fini.

Kaput.

Time to snore now.

Done.

Every. Stinking. Time.

This might not have been so irksome if he just plain came whenever he felt like it, but no. 

It was always the initial flutters of my burgeoning orgasm that set him off and he could never hold out until I hit “full tilt”. 

Total ruined orgasm, every time. 

So naturally, it didn’t take my body very long to figure, “well, fuck this with a bunch of bananas!” and just withdraw from the process… A withdrawal that took several years to overcome after we’d split.

I think about this sometimes as BG has me edging…

Bad Sex?

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Closure and Questions

I got a phone call the other night from a beau of 20 years ago.

Talk about your blast from the past! A potentially painful blast at that… 

Our breakup had been pretty ugly - he’d handled things appallingly and caused a lot of hurt - of the kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew - and we’d never had a conversation after that to get the air clear.

So in a lot of ways, the call was good. I got my looong overdue apology and I realized that the bitterness is gone. I talked to him and never once felt like spitting... which I told him. (To his credit, he laughed pretty hard at that.) I was able to see the good traits that had caused me to fall for him (meaning I hadn’t just imagined them, which had been one of the questions) but I was also reminded of all the things that didn’t fit well, qualities that made it A Very Good Thing that we were no longer together.

Even at this much of a distance, the call really helped me get that last bit of peace to truly put the whole thing behind me, and that is worth a great deal.

Unhappily, however, some of what he said has magnified other doubts I’ve been grappling with lately. Basically, he pointed out that I lack direction in life (which the jellyfish fully recognizes) and said that lack made it difficult for him to judge what I wanted and how we might align our lives. So, he took his best guess... and left.

The bad news is, this is not the first time I’ve been told that upon breakup. The first time I heard it, I simply ignored the information, because it came from that jerk guy I’d dated just because I thought he was the kind of man I was supposed to find, so his opinion that my lack was a problem had actually been easy to dismiss.

But this same “problem” has made guest appearances in my life since then. Online Guy held fairly strong opinions about how I was wasting my talents, and even SP (who I do at least know loves me to pieces anyhow) has chided me gently about it on more than one occasion. 

The suckiest part, however, is that lately, I’d already begun to think that an offshoot of this same fault may be part of a stumbling block that BG and I are facing… and now I have this fourth bell chiming in on the chorus that the issue stems from me.

And I’m not sure how to proceed from here.

It’s true that I haven’t found my “what” in life. 

It’s also true that I’ve refused to grab onto to just anything to say I have a “what.” 

I didn’t want to be one of those people who stick with something that makes them miserable for no better reason than "it's something", nor did I want to be one of those who jump erratically and with great enthusiasm from one unfinished attempt to another.

Instead, I made the decision to live my life with the most contentment possible, while still trying to remain flexible and keeping my eyes open...
I put my focus on the "how", rather than the "what."

I didn’t realize that this decision would have such a negative impact on me finding a “who”…

Did I mention I’m not sure how to proceed from here?

Be Careful Out There

I lost a follower the other day. 

Not a big deal in and of itself, certainly, until I realized later that the reason she had vanished was because she had closed her blog down. As in, "this blog no longer exists" (as opposed to the "is by invitation only" we all go through every once in a while.)

And that made me sad… because, altho' this person wasn't one of my blogging chums, I did read her periodically… and had been concerned for her over the past several months. Her online D/s "match made in heaven" did not weather the transition to real life very well. No assholery involved, just the simple realization that the idea wasn't as viable as they'd thought, that they couldn't maintain their roles amid the reality of day to day life.

Yet when she started her blog, she was blissfully happy, brimming with confidence, giddy with expectation…

       Because she had read "Fifty Shades of Grey" and found herself.

Can I just tell you how apprehensive I get when I read those words?

Certainly, there are many submissives out there who've been able to put a name to their desires from reading the books and for whom reading the book was a watershed event. Please don't hate mail me because you think I'm scoffing at you -- I'm not, truly. 

Anything that helps us find and understand ourselves is valuable and awesome.

But…

There is a great deal of difference between reading a hot-but-somewhat-dubiously-accurate work of fiction that makes you long for a similar kind of excitement in your life, and the reality of actually yielding yourself to a dominant.

A lot of us are susceptible to the allure of that fantasy… it's extremely compelling, after all. (Even typing the words "yielding yourself to a dominant" just made me a little melty…) The problem is, however, that not nearly so many of us are actually in possession of the kind of nature that makes submission a viable option. 

Initially, we think we are, of course… it is certainly exhilarating to revel in the attention, the fantasy-fulfillment, the plain ol' high of being kinky, after all. And that high can prove to be very addictive, very quickly… particularly when you're being asked to do things that let you fly. No one ever balks at being required to do something they already want to.

The first time your dominant insists on something you're not that keen on, however, you realize that it really isn't all one big party here. Sort of like joining the Navy because you think sailing sounds like fun… and then experiencing boot camp. The gloves come off, the fantasy crumbles, and it's no longer fun, it's not longer easy…

And, for some, it's no longer right.

Sure, it's tempting to dream about how relaxing it would be not to have to make any of the hard decisions that face us. But the charm of that thought can lead us to overlook the fact that someone else's decisions may very well not reflect the choices we would make - and that's not always so easy to be sanguine about.

Yet the reality is that at some point, you will be asked to comply gracefully with a decision that you disagree with -- something that makes you want to argue, rather than accede.

And when that happens, it can be a surprisingly short number of hops from, "I'm deliriously happy" to, "This is not what I signed up for…" to "Fuck off!"

Even in my relationship, which is far looser than what most of my fellow bloggers choose, following his way often leaves me wanting to grab the damn crop and smack him with it.

It's not easy stuff...

Of course, any relationship is a crap-shoot, we know this. Life never hands out guarantees so I certainly am NOT saying that people shouldn't explore and experiment in the name of "following your bliss" -- they absolutely should.

But I'm far more comfortable on their behalf when they do so in a considered fashion, rather than a "holy shit, this is great stuff, let's go face down and snort it up our noses!" fashion. 

You may be well be right that you have found your niche, but please, take your time. 

Make sure you can float before you jump into the deep end of the pool.

I don't want to lose any more followers to BDSM Fantasy Fail.

Welcome to Kink -

Please Mind the Gap

Decisions, Decisions...

I can smugly announce that I'm pretty much done with my Christmas shopping.

Except…

I've gotten a bit bogged down looking for BG's kinky gift for this year.

You see, after the debacle success of last year's magnets (gg, I still have a bone to pick with you about that!) I learned a very important lesson:

This man doesn't necessarily use toys the way I fantasize about.

(Go figure, huh?)

Even already-perverted pervertibles can take on new and unexpected purpose in his hands, so I must be vewy, vewy careful…

Those stinkin' magnets were purchased because I'd been swept away by visions of intense, erotic nipple pain - wave after wave of lovely burning torment, running straight from my breasts to my groin. Such was my dream… and is indeed the reality -- IF he chooses to use them on my nipples. But that truly is an iffy proposition, since his favorite way to use them is still... on my tongue. (#evenpainslutsweep)

And while I am generally able to withstand the searing agony of that for long enough to please him, I freely admit that each and every time, I'm also thinking, "What dang fool went and bought these, anyhow?"

So gift selection has been a far more deliberate affair this year.

Anything - anything at all - that makes me purr, "ooooh, that looks deliciously wicked…" must now be scrutinized from all angles, all possibilities considered. I've tried to see them with the eyes of a dominant… which generally results in a very short list of possibilities very quickly.

Yet I don't want to go completely chicken-shit on him, either. 

I still want to get something that will bring that evil grin to his face. 

Because let's face it, that's a pretty hot thing, that grin…  ;-D

What to do? what to do…?

Sometimes...

I was listening to an old interview with Mollena and while I don't remember the exact context in which this comment came up, she actually uttered the words, "God, I feel like a terrible submissive for even thinking this, but sometimes, I just want somebody to do me."

Thank you, Jeezus!

I realize that's not a particularly popular sentiment here in Lower-case Blogland, but surely there are more than two of us that feel that way? I mean, I really don't consider myself a selfish submissive… I genuinely do get off on pleasing my dom. I enjoy giving over to him, I enjoy letting him direct our every interaction, I love to make him happy.  

But submission is actually a lot of work. Work happily done, but work, nonetheless.

And sometimes, a girl just wants to lie back and get fucked. 

It doesn't have to be a vanilla fuck…, spanking and girl-slapping would still be A-OK. 

I don't need it to center around my pleasure.

Nor am I wanting to call the shots… that wouldn't be enjoyable, either.

It's just that sometimes, I don't want to have to do anything. 

Sometimes, I feel passively receptive, rather than actively submissive.

Or maybe this is just me…?

A Tangled Thread

This one is kind of an abstruse ponder, and nothing that really needs an answer even, but much in the way that greengirl got wondering about how doms truly feel about subs, I got wondering about our wants, needs, and desires in this world of BDSM -- how mutable are they, really?

I'm not talking here about the normal fluctuations of degree that are built into every relationship. What I'm pondering are the inherent, foundational definitions we all carry within our heads. 

Just how granular do these things get?

For example, BG likes bondage, dominance, and sadism… but does he express those things differently with me than he has with previous subs? Are there particular actions he has to take to satisfy those needs? Or could an entirely different set of behaviors quench those urges, instead?

Is the devil in the details or the overarching theme?

It's a bit of an odd question to ponder, I realize, because every relationship changes and grows, just as every new relationship is different from the ones that came before. So there will always be some degree of fluctuation and change -- I get that. It can also be a bit tricky to pick apart the threads of wants and needs, because you can only go so long with having your wants neglected before satisfying at least some of them becomes a need. They are distinct, yet entwined.

I think it's this very complexity that makes me so curious, tho'. It makes me wonder about what this all really looks like at the deepest level, beneath the snarls and tangles - at the place where our definitions live.

Do we enjoy domination and submission in whatever form our relationship gives it?

Or do we need very specific behaviors to quiet the voices?

A Quandary

Every now and again, it becomes neccessary to work on my posture.

It's not totally wretched… both Mom and Dad were sticklers for comportment so it's pretty ingrained in me to straighten up. It's not like dowager's hump is imminent or anything quite so dire… But when I get stressed, my shoulders tense and pull up toward my ears. 

(C'mon, raise your hands. I know I'm not alone in this.)

This gives me bunchy neck muscles, which segue into headaches, plus it's plain ol' unattractive. But when things are hectic and stressful, relaxed trapezius muscles are the last thing on a person's mind. So a vicious circle of tightening, hurting, and tightening more ensues. (lather, rinse, repeat…)

These past couple of weeks, I've been practically battering my earlobes with my shoulders, I've been so frazzled and wound tight. 

Time for renewed action!

  I broke out my nice little cron script that reminds me to drop my shoulders…, but that only works when I'm smack in front of my computer.

  I've pasted little sticky notes in various strategic points around my house.

   I chant, "Down and Back" as often as I can remember to, trying to embed the mantra into my subconscious.

It all helps, but only for brief periods at a time.

I triumph in small battles but stress may yet win the war…

Then Date Night rolls around…

Oh, good! This should help me relax, right?

Let me ask you, oh fellow subs…

What do your shoulders do when he has The Grip of Death on your breasts?

*sigh*

I'm certainly not about to ask him to stop -- that would be both silly and counter-productive. 

I enjoy all the other stuff that comes along with the pain, after all.

But it would be nice to figure out a way to respond that doesn't undo all my hard-fought efforts of the previous week...

Do you think he'd mind if I put a sticky note on his forehead?