I guess due to Mister P’s outburst earlier this evening, that we’re evidently taking a break from our kink. I can’t say that I’m entirely surprised, since I have seen it coming for awhile now — just wasn’t sure how to interpret, process, or phrase it. I’m still not; but writing is a wonderful way for me to better understand my own thoughts, and reach some kind of understanding. So, let’s begin at the beginning — since it’s typically the place to start.

Somewhere around February, our kink took a dive. Why? Maybe it was related to my getting my audio drama back online, and preparing to launch that ten-years-in-development project. Maybe it was his taking more hours at work. Maybe it was our nigh constant traveling throughout the month. Or maybe … it was something unexpressed, that had been growing for awhile. Maybe it took watching a powerfully obviously femdom Japanese film called Moonlight Whispers; though it was released a decade ago, it’s shockingly current. And in the end, the real take-home message seemed to be ‘kink always wins’. (To better understand that phrase and its full meaning, pick up the film. You won’t be disappointed.)

What did I realise? Something I had already known, and said a few times before, but eventually somewhat dropped and allowed to fade into the background — because it’s too complicated, or otherwise painful(?) to confront head-on:

I don’t like fake control.

This is dicey for me, being from a real femdom household. Not a ridiculous ‘stable of boys’ from wank material, but a real, non-kinky, non-consensual femdom relationship between a man and a woman, where the woman had all the power, and — for some reason I’ll never understand — the man let her; and even seemed happy for the arrangement. I had the opportunity myself, back during my first engagement, to a man that was younger than me back in college. When I think of just how much I ran his life, how in control of everything I was, it doesn’t shock me that he couldn’t take it and ended the relationship. When such a relationship isn’t negotiated — but rather simply develops — it can become dangerous to its participants. The one in control may not want to be, while the one who has given it all may not really understand what they’ve gotten themselves into. And such is the case of my mother and father; who after all these years, still operate like clockwork: with him making all of the money from his own business, and she spending as she pleases, and doing as she does. I was twelve years old before he finally decided that being a cuckold wasn’t so grand, and that was the only reason why that stopped.

Why? Because underneath it all, he had the power. I would watch my mother honestly think that she was in control, knowing that all my father had to do was take it back, and her fantasy was over. But he never did. Something, in fact, seemed to prevent him from doing so. And to this day, I cannot fathom why. He’s not a pansy; not a pushover. The man has brass balls in his desk so that he can literally bring them out and say, ‘These are the smaller set, so if you don’t wanna see the bigger one, don’t fuck with me.’ (People get the message, and yes, he has done this.) And yet, when it comes to my mother … ‘Yes, honey. Of course, honey. How do you want that? They didn’t have them at this store, so I had to drive across town — three different directions — before I found them, but I did!’ And, knowing the praise he would receive solely for making her happy and avoiding her disappointment, he would be genuinely happy.

If that ain’t fucking femdom, people, then kindly tell me, what is.

Of course, that was sort of a false statement, since, to me, it really isn’t femdom. It’s fantasy femdom. It’s what all these subby horny dicks think femdom is — or what it’s become. This whiny bitch princess-type that does jack shit while expecting her ‘slave’ to handle all of the difficult stuff, (see: life) for her as she lounges about doing nothing.

Jesus. Fucking shoot me now.

I couldn’t stand such a ‘cush’ life. In fact, I focus on the things I do, to develop what I have, do that I may hopefully, one day, be the sort of success I’ve always dreamed of being. I have no idea what kind of wedding to have, because I never daydreamed about my wedding day; never planned everything down to the tiniest detail. I think, somewhere in the back of my brain, I just assumed it would happen along the way while I was on my road to success. Like the Game of Life. Eventually, I’d end up stopping on the ‘Get Married’ square. It certainly wasn’t something I geared my life toward being, though the whole companionship thing has turned out to be pretty awesome. And I admit that I’ve grown rather attached to it at this stage of the game.

I don’t really know my mother’s dreams, because they always seemed to be lofty things that would send her into fits of disappearing into the master bath and listening to ‘Everybody Hurts’ for a few hours and crying when she thought I wasn’t listening. When she emerged, there was never any mention of what saddened her so deeply, and life would move on. When I’d inquire periodically much later, I’d get a list of the things she’d decided not to do or be — and, she thought, for good reason. Like going into the FBI and being a Special Agent. (Of which she informed me when I was 12 and decided I wanted to be a criminal profiler; that was a hard dream to let go. There are days I still have my own little ‘Everybody Hurts’ pity parties in my head about that one.) And she would never be an actress because ‘everyone in Hollywood is crazy, and I’d hate to be famous.’ (Instead, we guess, that she chose to be a drama queen on our own private stage.) She might’ve been a pianist, except something got in the way of that … or she feared she couldn’t be good enough to be a professional and compete on a wider scale, (though she’d already won numerous competitions at the national level). She was even asked by the protege of the woman responsible for instituting an entirely new form of education in the U.S. from Italy known as ‘Montessori’ (maybe you’ve heard of it?) to open up a school with her. But she ‘chose to focus on me instead’. She was a psychological counselor for a few years prior to my being born, and continued with it, working out of our home, until I was about 7 or 8. Then she quit.

Looking back, my mother and I had some of the same dreams, and some different ones. But by the time she was 24, she was married. And by the time she had me, I hope to have a career. I used to feel like I was the reason she never pursued her dreams, but the sad reality is … I’ll never know why she chose to put all of her energy into dominating her husband, and then creating the sort of household that would have me doing her bidding. I know my father’s dreams, for the most part, and he achieved the practical ones: recording a hit song (check), building and running own business (check), maintaining rock band well into sixties (check). In fact, as the years go by, he continues to make progress toward his goals and dreams. My mother … finds more opportunities to listen to REM.

The reality of femdom isn’t pretty, but it’s all I really know. It’s not so much a sexual turn-on for me as it is ‘this is how life goes … this is the way it’s supposed to be.’ I knew pretty much as soon as the time I began dating that I didn’t want some spineless idiot I could dominate with my more colourful, intimidating, forward personality. And I spent plenty of years knowing a number of people who would try to tell me I’d never find anybody being the way that I was. For the most part, I didn’t give a shit. But, eventually, I thought that having someone in my life — a real companion — might be something I would enjoy. My mother obviously gave me plenty of real-femdom dating advice that led to all sorts of unsatisfying relationships. It became pretty evident to me in high school that if the guy I was dating didn’t want to massage both mine and my mother’s feet in the living room than he was ‘clearly not deserving of me.’ I mean, what the fuck. Seriously? Nobody behaves that way out here in the real world. In essence, while she might’ve not realised it, not being openly kinky, (although I do suspect a bit from her younger years … ) she was looking for a good ‘slave boy’ for her daughter. After all, I gave her all of my time, energy, and attention. The exact same was expected of any man that I dated, who would be given the honour of spending time in her home.

Needless to say, I lost many boyfriends due to my mother’s basically running them off; her always saying the same thing; ‘he isn’t a real man if he can’t stand up to me.’ Funny thing is, so I would learn almost 15 years later, she was absolutely right. I needed someone more like my father — minus the whole broken-spirit part. A man who didn’t take bullshit in general, and wouldn’t take mine nor my mother’s. Of course, she had no idea what she was getting herself into when she made that declaration, and so many years later, I would bring home Mister P — who proved, in more ways than one, but definitely by her definition, — he was indeed, a real man.

So. What is someone like myself, having grown up in a real femdom household, and a suppressed dominant for so much of her life, now in an actual femdom / female-led relationship supposed to do with so much conflicting information? When I need, and crave, and — on some level — expect to be silently understood — the very thing which is wrong, damaging, and in some ways — not even sane? Which I try so hard to avoid — but end up drawn to with such certainty, it feels as if someone’s turned my world upside down if it’s denied me?

In short — consensual femdom. The way it’s supposed to be. Safe, and sane. I don’t think I even know how to do that, honestly. A part of me seems to need the uber-willing, unconditionally submissive man who wouldn’t dare question my methods, needs or even timing, while the rest of me (I can only imagine the sane, normal part of me) understands that to want that is to want what my mother did to my father — which is the antithesis of what I need, and I’ve done well to somehow avoid, given my upbringing. Being reminded that it’s a privilege that I’ve been given — that it’s something that isn’t really mine, control I don’t actually have, and power I don’t fully wield — just seems to always kill it for me. And trust me, I know, until I have the ability to be making the kind of money I once did, and can honestly say to myself, ‘I can fully sustain myself without assistance from anyone or anything,’ again, then I can’t even hope to have a real power dynamic — where I actually hold the power.

And I hate that, more than you could ever hope to imagine.

I don’t like that I have to depend on others. I don’t like the fact that he’s the one making the money right now, and in our society, money = power (for some fucking reason I don’t want to get into here). Unlike my mother, who, (I guess) actually enjoys having people do everything she wants them to and be completely under her control even though the whole thing is a fucking illusion — I can’t stand it.

So, the long and short of it is … I don’t know how to be satisfied with fake femdom. Maybe you guys can launch into this fantasy in the bedroom that never bleeds over into the rest of your lives and be happy as little clams — but I can’t. I always feel like I’m fooling myself, and there’s always something that can steal my interest away from scening. Maybe because it doesn’t seem to give to me what I want consistently — and only in small doses. I can get very disappointed if I don’t send him so deeply into sub-space that he’s sort of stuck there for several minutes following. I dream of the day when he’s so genuinely feeling everything that he’s unable to fake any of it. It breaks my heart when he fake resists. If he’s going to be saying, ‘Ow, that hurts, please stop, stop it now,’ I want it to be because he’s actually in pain, and he’s really begging me to stop.

I know. It’s fucked up.

Now you see my dilemma.

What I want isn’t sane, and I’m a sane individual. A fucking therapist, for God’s sake. I can allow myself to explore controlled, consensual, fantasy sadism. But the real stuff … that‘s what has to remain the fantasy. And until I can find some sort of satisfying compromise between the two … I’m stuck here in the limbo of never having what I want, but always needing to give what I just don’t really get. I crave the synergy. Without it …

Well …

It’s this.