Hey, guys.

I have no idea why I’m suddenly getting ambushed by Mort Fertel — otherwise known as ‘the marriage fitness expert’. There must be a cookie that’s lodged itself in my browser somewhere …. Anyhow, the fact is, I am. EVERYWHERE. And in these adverts on every other page, (or the mailing list I, yes, signed up for — which is probably why, and I’m seriously going to get on them if that’s the case) he gives advice regarding how to save your marriage, or the keys to success, or what makes a good one, etc.

Guy seemed interesting, so I checked him out. Turns out some of his advice is pretty strong, while most of it’s common sense.

But he did say one thing in particular which struck me. (more…)

Love and marriage … love and marriage …
Be dishonest and there’ll be much … erm, tearage ….

(Yeah, you try rhyming something with ‘marriage’ that isn’t ‘carriage’ or ‘disparage’ that sounds halfway decent; wearage? Dare-age? You see my point. You’re stuck with something that sounds like the backwater cousin of the language abominations which brought us ‘suckage’ and other-such greats.)

I digress. But I do that.

Greetings and salutations, my … erm, kinky monsters? Evidently, that’s the latest from the japevine. I think it’s cute, and while I don’t believe that men will steal my creativity via my vag, ( … seriously, that Gaga’s got quite an interesting take on life) I appreciate the compliment, and it’s somewhat valid. I do have a degree in forensic-psych and a background in crim, am still – for all intense per poses – still a profiler. (Lotsa monsters in this noggin. And, no, the bloody lambs haven’t stopped screaming yet. But I’m workin’ on it. I’ll get there.) So, the monsters thing is rather apt in my case. And you are kinky li’l basterds, ain’t ‘cha? Well, as you know, I wouldn’t have you any other way. Of course, to be part of -my- monsters’ ball, you’ve got to distinguish yourself. So, we’ll work on that.

Lessee … where on earth to begin? Well, Dodgson was a fan of the beginning, so, in Carrollian homage, let’s follow suit.
(more…)

That’s a funny word, isn’t it? Indicating possession; something owned, or over which we have great control.

Which of the following seems out of place?

That’s my computer. That’s my car. That’s my spouse. That’s my apartment. That’s my lizard. That’s my favourite corset. That’s my braided leather cane. That’s my … complicated-something-or-other-which-doesn’t-really-have-a-name-but-we-love-each-other-dearly.

… Yeah. That obvious, huh?

Not to seem jaded or even talking-out-of-turn here — because, God knows I’ve very limited personal experience in this area — but I think poly people need to stick to having relations with poly people. Vanillas, or semi-vanillas, who are otherwise exploring the lifestyle or its trappings due to a particular situation in which they find themselves, always seem to find dawn’s breaking especially blinding.

It was the nightingale, and not the lark. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale ….

-sigh- Oh, but if only it were.

Reality sets in, and the one ‘un-partnered’, as it were, seeks one to whom they can come home as well, not having to spend their nights alone while a beloved sleeps beside their beloved. That’s where it gets complicated. But, if love is truly limitless, as it’s said to be in these circles, then there should ideally be enough left over for everyone — right?

I think, pragmatically, it depends upon the nature of the love. At one point, I foolishly thought I could quantify human relationship dynamics. (I know, I know. Let’s all point and laugh right about … now.) And, to an extent, it wasn’t a -totally- brainless and mad idea; there’s -some- merit to the notion of four major domains being present in relational compatibility: emotional, intellectual, sexual, and spiritual — and three degree classifications (high, moderate, and low) — from which the various resultant combinations being what drives human relational dynamics; of course, not always together, and in those varying degrees.

For example, a friendship being: HEM, H/M-IN, LSX/NA, and, depending upon depth and overall ‘kindredness’ factor, H/M-SP. Written out in long-hand, that translates into ‘High Emotional Dynamic’ (HEM) ‘High or Moderate Intellectual Dynamic (H/M-IN), ‘Low Sexual Dynamic or ‘Not Applicable / Present’ (indicating a platonic relational style) and ‘High or Moderate Spiritual Dynamic’.

This particular friendship would be good to best — obviously, the better being High levels as opposed to Moderate. Also, because of the Low to Not-Applicable Sexual domain, it would be a platonic dynamic. Dynamics, by my understanding and experience, are simply present between people without us having to do a thing. It’s just what happens between us; what, as we’ve all experienced, ‘that person brings out in us’.

I explored the most common types for quick access: a few friendship dynamics, several romantic dynamics — ranging from marriage / committed relationship dynamics to NSA (no-strings-attached) sexual involvement. The thing I found most fascinating was, pretty obviously, the ideal sought that we all seem to refer to as ‘true love’ or ‘the one’ is where all four domains have a High quotient, resulting in balanced, strong dynamics. I also thought that it was oversimplified when I noticed that, in some cases — as many poly people I’m sure would tell me — they’ve experienced that — but with multiple people.

So, this is where you have to be extremely honest with yourself, and those with whom you are, or would like to be, involved. Is there -really- that high of a level of compatibility in -all- those areas, or just most of them? How are you measuring them? And so on.

But, in that instance when you -do- find the same dynamics present in two relationships where one is preferred over the other — you’ve got to ask: what’s going on? Why?

I haven’t been able to explore it all thoroughly yet, but I feel it definitely lies in a D/S, M/S spectrum scale. I also suspect that you’ll find that one of them is high on the Dominant Sexual dynamic (and weak on the Submissive) and vice versa. This would obviously paint a very clear portrait of one sexual dynamic being in operation and leading to the desire for fulfillment while the other remains lacking — and vice versa. Not a bad argument for poly then, considering that both spectrum needs would be met, on top of all other dynamic domains being present — and strong.

Herein lies the trouble, however. If one is married, or otherwise committed in a conventionally recognized relationship with one who satisfies one side of the spectrum (along with the full ‘true love’ dynamics) how are they supposed to find -another- who will present the same dynamics (plus intensity) but present a sexual dynamic domain strength that’s -opposite- to the first? How does that work? And … does it?

Further, what would the partner who can meet those needs also need to seek for him or herself? How likely is it that they would then find their own ‘true love’ dynamics met with, yet again, the -opposite- sexual dynamic domain from the one he or she is currently fulfilling in the first partner? It seems like a hell of a dynamic puzzle — which is, of course, true to its definition, constantly in flux and adjusting to find equilibrium.

It seems everyone would need to be fully established poly with enough experience to maintain this strange, complex dance. Anything less … leads to heartbreak. Of the ‘really, fucking bad’ kind.

-sigh- O, think’st thou we shall ever meet again?

I believe Andrew Eldritch (not his real name; kind of like the lot of us, hey?) said it best: love is a many splintred thing.

I s’pose this is to be filed under ‘Journal Entry’ given it seems to be about ‘my life and journey’. At times, I feel as if I’m a postmodern Victorian (yeah, try making -that- one make sense!) trying to lead a Bohemian life — because it’s all that seems to fulfill me entirely.

It’s the syncing up part that becomes rather trying after a time. And yet, the feeling I get when it -is- … well, that’s what keeps me running this especially mad hamster wheel.

The biggest obstacle to my happiness in this arena seems to be what I’ve titled this little drabble. Guilt. Specifically, over the feelings I tend to have which run counter to the monogamous lifestyle that (most) of my heart seems to be most secure in. But then those feelings surge, and mad, unexpected things happen, and, in the psychosocial whiplash aftermath, I’m left going: ‘ … the fuck -was- that?’

More than anything, I wish I could regret them.

I wish … I could decide to finally grow up and be a normal, functioning member of society. That these wild, zany notions would successfully slip from my mind, and I’d have no need to recall them.
(more…)

A trick, indeed.

So, we’ve all been in that particular spot. Someone we know, someone we care about — someone with whom we’re good friends — suddenly gets re-categorised into the ‘why am I blushing? Why is my heart beating this quickly? Why am I Goddamned fucking melting?’ folder.

I remember when it happened with my fiancé, Mr P.

Ahhhhh.

He was with his crazy girlfriend at the time, but it brought out that softer, romantic, definitely submissive side of him that, being his co-worker sharing his office, I’d never seen. As a result, I (somewhat legendarily now) poured myself an extra cup of coffee … having completely forgotten that I’d just done so.

Yeah.

Because my head was so caught up elsewhere. No one had ever affected me like that before — to the point where I still couldn’t forget about them years later. He just got to me. I don’t believe anyone will ever affect me the way that Mr P does — but that doesn’t mean every now and again someone can’t come somewhat close ….

Enter my co-star. Oh, bloody hell. Rational thought just … takes a little holiday some of the time. We writers are all more than just a little cracked anyway, so to find a fellow lunatic is always a bit kismet. That being said, it got me to thinking about this whole Roulette mumbo-jumbo, just what it is, what it was supposed to mean, and what I’ve really been doing with it.

Not much, is the short answer. Question is — why? When deciding to become a domme, and creating my (what is it, third?) alias, I did not do so lightly. Oh, of course, I went through all the classic configurations, finally deciding to stick a bit closer to home and go with something at least French. And, being with a professional poker player, (though, anything even moderately themed sounded retarded) I ventured to explore all gambling possibilities. What’s French and a game of chance? (Well, unless you count the ridiculous house edge, but that’s neither here nor there.) Yep! Roulette.

Ah, but a name has to mean something. It has to be a part of you, or allow you to express that which you’re having trouble doing as yourself, using the name you were given, saddled with your past, and all it entails. Roulette … I mused. What could I do with Roulette?

The answer did not evade me for long … .

What couldn’t I do with Roulette? Nothing.

(more…)

You all know the scene. (Literally.)

You and your significant other have just finished off a particularly heavy round for whatever it is in your chosen lifestyle, you’re both enjoying a bit of the usual aftercare afterglow, transitioning out of your respective head-spaces …

… and silently thinking: ‘Oh, fuck.’

Ah, now you get me. At first, you’re reflecting, ‘That’s a pretty typical scene, yeah,’ until it hits you. Oh. We’re talking about that kind of scene. The one where it got a little too intense, and you stumbled upon a little much truth, and now you’re quietly hoping your partner’s forgotten all about it — even though you haven’t.

Maybe, you said something that wasn’t true, and you’re regretting it. Or, perhaps, you said something that was true, and you really wish you hadn’t. Either way, the bag is definitely void of cats, and you’re driving yourself mad over whether or not you’re the only one aware of this fact.

First of all — relax. We’ve all reached a particular point, or been provoked to a certain level, where we went for defensive shock value, or, perhaps a bit worse, the equally unnerving truth. Since D/s is all about pushing envelopes, some are bound to be shoved around sometime. (Otherwise, you may not be doing it right.) Just be mindful that you and your lover are both in an extremely vulnerable spot during a particularly heavy scene — regardless of who’s topping and who’s bottoming. Some subs can be surprisingly provocative, leading their dom/me to play the truth game a little too seriously. In short, when — and if — the inevitable something slips, there’s a plan of action that should be undertaken to ensure that things don’t turn messy quickly.

(more…)

Take two people: one, a young whip-wielding dominatrix clad in glistening black latex, so tight that it appears her second-skin; lips the colour of blood and eyes so thickly lined in black kohl so that you can’t help but notice them from miles away. She snarls, snapping the whip inches before you, her voice risen to gravelly tones, sharp, and booming. It commands your attention.

The other, a modest gentleman, mid-fifties, salt-and-pepper hair, average height, to just a bit short, decent shape, but far from muscle-bound. He wears a simple suit, appearing like just another cog in the American corporate machine. His voice is steady, but not particularly noteworthy. He stands before you, asking you a simple question, or making an equally simple statement.

Now.

Of the two of them, who has the power? You may say this is an unfair comparison, and most unscientific — one is a man, the other a woman. Apples and oranges. Still, the whip-wielding dominatrix is more quickly linked to ‘power’ in most people’s minds than the older, average-appearing gentleman.

Is that what you think, too? If so, you’d be wrong.

(more…)

First off, a word about ‘alpha females‘; before diving into a subject, you need to know the vernacular.

I see this one a lot: on various websites of professional dommes — as well as Animal Planet. It seems like a strong means of advertising. It’s when they claim that it’s actuality — a component of their everyday existence — that I find myself … less than accepting.

So, I ask myself: how many of these ‘alpha females’ are actually dominant women? Plenty — and I mean, plenty — of pro-dommes are submissive in their personal life. (Why? Because there’s money in femdom for those enterprising beautiful people who are savvy enough to play a role 24/7 and not lose themselves.) Knowing this simple fact, however, I find myself always just a bit suspicious of those websites which tout such a thing to be the way it actually is.

One reason I love to get to know pro-dommes; I get to see beneath the veneer, and meet the actual woman. Sometimes, it’s a match. But most of the time — they’re just regular gals with an atypical job. They laugh, cry, fret over whether a guy they’re into will ever call them back, wonder and worry if they said something stupid to a girl-friend, bitch about their periods, and spend hours on the phone.

Because we’re women. Not automatons. Not weapons of feminine destruction. (For the most part.) And if you are, well, you didn’t get there through being a pro-domme. That’s just smoke-and-mirrors. That is the wizardress, my friends. Go take a peek behind the curtain and then let me know what you find.

I’m not saying alpha females aren’t in existence — there are a number of them; some of which I know personally. There are plenty of queenly women, too — who believe the world should bow down to them; that they shouldn’t have to work, to earn her achievements. That everything should be offered on a silver platter. Yeah. I know a few of those, too. (Though, I tend not to associate with them).

And, yeah, they tend to be beautiful. They tend to be from lots of money, have men falling at their feet, being given everything without asking for it, and taught to believe this is really the way it’s supposed to be. I know, because that’s how my mother was brought up — by my narcissistic beauty-queen grandmother who had celebrity boyfriends through most of her youth.

That’s why I laugh at a lot of pro-domme sites, and, often-times until I get to know them, the pro-domme they represent. Really? Do they really believe that shit? It’s like having an actor arrive for an audition fully-in and not at all breaking character — for even a second. You get lost after awhile — wondering if this is just them — their actual persona, or if they’re putting it on for the purpose of the audition. And the very good ones can fool you quite well.

Most pro-dommes are that: actresses. They know it, I know it. What gets me is that the men who so desperately want to believe — with a conviction more passionate than that of Fox Mulder — somehow can’t. But, hey, we believe what we want to. And in their case — they want to believe that these bitches really are the fucking rulers of the known universe … in their own minds, at least.

Sigh.

Ah, but all is not lost.

(more…)

… Okay, so maybe not. But it would’ve been a lot more interesting that way. Not to mention more topical in an age where boys could finally wear eye-liner and not be considered ‘weird’.

But rather than randomly throw lyrics to Thompson Twin hits at you, I’m here to continue my fledgling little SotW series, (that’s ‘Spin of the Wheel’, for the currently uninitiated; here’s a dime — buy a clue) ‘Dimestore Dominatrix’. Those of you that get it — bravo. But for the rest that don’t, here’s a brief history of, well, me.

Since I can legally market myself as a therapist but not a psychologist (even though that‘s where all of my bloody formal education and training has been) I feel I have some right in getting angry with those who are uninformed spouting advice; better known as the ‘dime-store psychologist’. (Look it up. It’s a fuckbuddy of the ‘armchair warrior — but where they do the deed, I have no idea. Some metaphors die half-way in, others live to see the final punctuation. Jury’s still out on that one.) Now that I have you in the right mood, dime-store psychs aren’t all bad. Hardly. Most of them happen to be in professions where they’re basically practising their trade and counseling people — the last part being for free. (You ever stop to think about all the shit you tell your stylist? Your manicurist? Your … Blackjack dealer? Buy those bitches a machiatto, please.) And, being that most of what being a therapist is about is just learning and listening to people, it’s not that big of a shocker that some who are actually formally educated in something besides clinical psychology have some pretty sage advice for you.

And then … there’s the rest.

The know-it-alls that think fucking watching Oprah makes them an expert on the human condition. (Though one would be surprised what they learn from listening to years of Howard Stern. Strange, perhaps — but valid.) If they confined it to lesser-travelled corners of the Internet, I’d be fine, but most of these people have huge audiences. And they don’t know the first thing about what it is they’re masquerading. You can fake just about anything these days, but take heed: those who are experts and professionals in the field in which you’re pretending will know.

And you will annoy the fucking shit out of them.

That being said — dime-store shrinkism. (‘Shrinkology’ sounds fun, but since an ‘-ology’ is the study of, we’re not studying shrinks, so an ‘-ism’ works best.) In homage to my hatred of fakers spewing bad advice, I have ironically labeled my own series ‘Dimestore Dominatrix’ — which will feature bits and pieces of random advice and experiences from a formally educated and trained therapist in the field of clinical psychology, but who has chosen not to be a clinician, and doesn’t like the boxed-in feeling of certification and licensing. A lot of it is common fucking sense, but backed up with hard evidence from various disciplines in which I have experience.

It’s also free, assholes. You’re welcome. Oh, but if you do seek to thank me for my valuable service — that ‘Donate’ button ain’t gonna hit itself. Just sayin’.

That being said … on with the first of many!

‘Fuck Me / Fuck You‘:

Fuck. Whatta word. Ain’t it just astounding how we use identical vernacular with such broad, contradictory expression? One thing remains the same about it, though: it’s always passionate. Whether it’s, ‘Fuck you, asshole!’ or, ‘Oh, fuck me, baby,’ it’s got intensity. There are other words for conveying a sense of mild frustration, ennui, or partial conviction. Oh, no — when we f-bomb, we’re fucking serious about that shit. (See?)

It’s no wonder then, why we somehow think it’s okay to fight and then fuck.

(more…)

Sex.

Man. The power it holds over us human beings is pretty phenomenal, isn’t it? While it has a greater physical impact upon men, it has an equally emotional one on the fairer sex (and, of course, some men as well). So the intensity, and the need, is quite equivalent, but expressed very differently — and with enough overlap to create the dance between the sexes we all know well. The truth is, there’s a lot of research that says we’re basically serial monogamists as a species; while some of us can certainly hack forever, we may not be expected to do so consistently.

And, yep, that means just what you think it does: when she’d rather read, and you’d like to … erm, ‘make use’ of your own ‘reading material’ — it doesn’t mean the honeymoon’s over completely and eternally — but the infatuation is. While it’s a rather sad thing to mourn, and I’m happier in general knowing that my fiance’s orgasms are under my control, these blips on the sex-dar are pretty normal — and very human.

Once you’ve come to accept that, what the hell do you do? It’s tricky, honestly, because what I’m about to tell you proves a real test for most couples, and explains a good portion of the rising divorce rate over the last 30 years. When both partners decide against ‘forcing’ the sexual chemistry back into their relationship, they tend to ‘let each other be’ — sometimes entering a no-sex spiral that lasts for months. Or years. What began, ‘Not tonight, honey. I really want / need / have to X, Y, or Z,’ became a lower expectation of sexual interest, which then became a decreased need, and the forming of a habit and entirely different dimension of the prior sexual relationship. This is typically how, and why, couples that were once engaging in a healthy, active sexual relationship have managed to dry up and go celibate for years.

So, what the fuck happened? A number of things. Habits are tough to break, and a respite does not equal a permanent sexual lull. There are a lot of dependent factors, but also some ways to avoid the major pitfalls — if you know what to look for and have genuine compatibility.

Hmm. Speaking of lulls and genuine compatibility, my fiance’s getting home soon. While I feel this is no doubt a very important post to be making, I think it’ll have to wait.

Keep your eyes peeled. And in the meanwhile, ask questions. You know I love those.