I get a lot of visits from searches based on "how to make (insert person and characteristic here)". I get it. People want their husband or wife to be dominant or submissive, and they are looking for ways to make those desires a reality. I get it. Really, I do--there is need, and needs always want to feed.
The thing is...It always makes me sigh. You can make people do things, and yes, over time you can even mold someone into something they previously may not have been. Dominants are made over time. Experience shapes their approach, refines their methods, defines who they decide to be as dominants. Submissives are shaped and molded one step a a time over the course of a relationship, a little bend here, a nudge there, sometimes so subtle that we aren't even aware of the changes until something calls our attention to the fact that our reaction is different than it was before.
Yes, people change other people. Yet...You cannot force someone to become something that they aren't, in some shape or form, already.
I think that sometimes we are unhappy, and our first choice is often to look outside of ourselves at the people we are with to try and make them into what we believe will make us happy. The interesting thing about changing someone we love, I mean really making them into something they are not, has the terrible potential to create something we no longer love.
One of the things Alpha and I have fought most about in our time together is his sense of loyalty--how far he will let another person go, how much shit he will take, how forgiving he is willing to be of those that do not return his loyalties; of those who, for whatever reason, he deems worthy of his loyalty. He is solid and immovable in this. Once won, his loyalty is non-negotiable, unconditional, and comes with no strings attached. Sometimes this absolutely infuriates me. Because people are assholes. And, why? I mean, after all--assholes.
At the same time...His sense of ridiculously unshakeable loyalty is one of the things that I love most about him. If I had been able to change that, to make him into something he is not, he would not be the man that he is. He would not be the man that I fall in love with just a little bit more each day. Because he would no longer be himself.
I'm not saying that trying to makes someone dominant or submissive is exactly the same, and things work out differently if it turns out we are just helping someone become what they already are; however, what about ourselves? If we want our significant other to be dominant, are we truly willing to be the counterpart to that, so submit, to surrender to their will? Conversely, if we want our other half to be submissive, to surrender their all, can we become the dominant, the last call, the final say, the one who carries the weight of that responsibility? And if we are successful in bringing about these changes, will we still love what they have become?
All too often, I don't think that people ask themselves these questions. If we want to change someone else, we have to start by asking ourselves if we can be what they need should such changes occur. One must be careful when attempting to change that which they love, because the caterpillar turns into a butterfly and we will have to accept what they become with the knowledge that we asked for their metamorphosis.
We can help someone to become what they truly are, but we cannot make them be something they are not. And if we are asking them to become something which, by nature, requires a counterpart, we had better be damn sure of our ability to feed the beast we help to create. Because we are all so much more than the sum of our parts.
I don't even know anymore...Just me trying to survive this thing called life for the duration of my time in it...
Saturday, May 23, 2015
Friday, May 22, 2015
And It Was Good
We have been so caught up in survival lately, that there hasn't been much room for being caught up in each other. Okay, there hasn't been any room.
The dog woke me up at 4:00 his morning. Apparently, when a large male dog needs to pee bad enough to run back and forth down the hallway, he can still hold it for long enough to make sure he takes the time to go in six different places. Really. Six. While I stand in front of the door wrapped in a towel waiting.
Got a tad distracted...
I crawled back in bed and did the usual, "Must go back to sleep, it's to early to gt up, need to do this and this and that for work, we are so behind, I wonder, he really needs to get more sleep, did he even eat at all today, I mean yesterday? Today I need to, tomorrow I've got to, last week I should have, next will I'll have to..."
He rolled over and put his hand on my thigh. Just like he always does. Every time I get up at night and come back to bed, he places his hand on my thigh or on my hip in his sleep. Every night for nearly 17 years.
In contemplation of what my nights would be like without it, I went back to sleep with a deep seated appreciation for that touch.
I dreamed. Of power and dominance, of the comforts that come with being owned, the adventure that fills ones soul when they let go.
There was peace in the darkness like a thousand quiet candles lighting my way home. And it was was good.
The dog woke me up at 4:00 his morning. Apparently, when a large male dog needs to pee bad enough to run back and forth down the hallway, he can still hold it for long enough to make sure he takes the time to go in six different places. Really. Six. While I stand in front of the door wrapped in a towel waiting.
Got a tad distracted...
I crawled back in bed and did the usual, "Must go back to sleep, it's to early to gt up, need to do this and this and that for work, we are so behind, I wonder, he really needs to get more sleep, did he even eat at all today, I mean yesterday? Today I need to, tomorrow I've got to, last week I should have, next will I'll have to..."
He rolled over and put his hand on my thigh. Just like he always does. Every time I get up at night and come back to bed, he places his hand on my thigh or on my hip in his sleep. Every night for nearly 17 years.
In contemplation of what my nights would be like without it, I went back to sleep with a deep seated appreciation for that touch.
I dreamed. Of power and dominance, of the comforts that come with being owned, the adventure that fills ones soul when they let go.
There was peace in the darkness like a thousand quiet candles lighting my way home. And it was was good.
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Well Then...
You know how sometimes you come across a post and you waffle about leaving a comment? "I should. No...I probably shouldn't...But maybe I actually should. I totally shouldn't. Yep, definitely not." Then you do, and later something happens or someone says something, and you know that you really actually shouldn't have?
Yea...
Shit happens, right?
Yea...
Shit happens, right?
Sunday, May 17, 2015
That's Us
I wandered into the bedroom last night to find Alpha watching TV on the computer. When I asked what he was watching, he said, "look at these people, this is the story of our life!" I had my doubts until one woman was talking about a new set of hurdles for their business, and she said, "It's okay, I don't sleep anyways. Ever! Just look at the bags under my eyes." And I thought, "Oh shit. Yea...That's us!"
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Yep--that's me these days! Bet you didn't know my beauty was so overwhelming. |
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Lines
While I have acknowledged that there are some key definitive differences between slavery and submission, for me they are so intertwined as to have become interchangeable forms of expression...
So often we circle back to the fact that if I'm drawing the line anywhere, we are not what we believe ourselves to be. Because that's just not how this works for us.
It's those things really...The things where I want to pull up short, draw the line in the sand, and exert my nonexistent veto power. Those are the things that define my slavery. Surrendering regardless of the doubt, the distaste, the overwhelming desire not to.
It is easy, is it not? To submit to that which one finds pleasing and appealing. That is not, however, what I believe slavery to be. Yes, there are times when I am more than willing, wanting, needing, desiring. The flow is...Easy. It is those edges I pull up short on though, those places I do not want to go, the experiences that make me cringe, those are the things which feed the junky in me. No choices to make, no options offered or allowed, being forced into that which I either abhor or want desperately to pretend is against what I desire...
Truly, to me, slavery is defined in that one small sentence--it is about one's willingness to accept things which one is absolutely unwilling to experience. The knowledge that I will be shattered into a million tiny pieces, carefully collected, and put back together again. Each piece treated like a fragile scrap of glass to be gathered with the utmost care...
Our arrangement is based on core agreements that I will not renege on, nor do I wish to revoke them.
Ultimately, I will accept anything he asks of me. He will draw my lines in the sand, define the places I will not go, the things I will not do, and make he determination of what is too much or not enough. Some people will think it's wrong, others that it is not actually possible.
The thing is, in the end, he has always been better than me at weighing my discomfort against actual harm.I have a thousand tiny scars accumulated in a very short span of time before he came into my life. When weighing my personal desires against their ability to damage me, well, I don't actually do that and I never really have. He does.
He tells me that everyone has a box full of darkness, and it's a privilege to be allowed to see inside. Our boxes of darkness belong to us, and no one is obligated to let another look inside. He explores mine carefully with unfettered access, stepping gently in the absence of light without offering judgement on the shadows. He opens his own and invites me to cast a glance inside. All that he asks is that I return the favor and not pass judgement on his demons.
So often we circle back to the fact that if I'm drawing the line anywhere, we are not what we believe ourselves to be. Because that's just not how this works for us.
It's those things really...The things where I want to pull up short, draw the line in the sand, and exert my nonexistent veto power. Those are the things that define my slavery. Surrendering regardless of the doubt, the distaste, the overwhelming desire not to.
It is easy, is it not? To submit to that which one finds pleasing and appealing. That is not, however, what I believe slavery to be. Yes, there are times when I am more than willing, wanting, needing, desiring. The flow is...Easy. It is those edges I pull up short on though, those places I do not want to go, the experiences that make me cringe, those are the things which feed the junky in me. No choices to make, no options offered or allowed, being forced into that which I either abhor or want desperately to pretend is against what I desire...
Truly, to me, slavery is defined in that one small sentence--it is about one's willingness to accept things which one is absolutely unwilling to experience. The knowledge that I will be shattered into a million tiny pieces, carefully collected, and put back together again. Each piece treated like a fragile scrap of glass to be gathered with the utmost care...
Our arrangement is based on core agreements that I will not renege on, nor do I wish to revoke them.
Ultimately, I will accept anything he asks of me. He will draw my lines in the sand, define the places I will not go, the things I will not do, and make he determination of what is too much or not enough. Some people will think it's wrong, others that it is not actually possible.
The thing is, in the end, he has always been better than me at weighing my discomfort against actual harm.I have a thousand tiny scars accumulated in a very short span of time before he came into my life. When weighing my personal desires against their ability to damage me, well, I don't actually do that and I never really have. He does.
He tells me that everyone has a box full of darkness, and it's a privilege to be allowed to see inside. Our boxes of darkness belong to us, and no one is obligated to let another look inside. He explores mine carefully with unfettered access, stepping gently in the absence of light without offering judgement on the shadows. He opens his own and invites me to cast a glance inside. All that he asks is that I return the favor and not pass judgement on his demons.
Friday, May 8, 2015
It's About...
It was one of those nights...We were in bed, talking and giggling. Close. Then he said something. Not something new, not something surprising, not something out of the very deepest darkest boxes, something truthful, something long ago accepted...But I got hurt. His surprise was palpable, his disappointment tangible...
For a few years, he had time. Time and energy. There was a micromanaging aspect to which I had grown terribly accustomed, and it's gone now. No time. No energy. I have been making a hundred tiny decisions a day. Word decisions. A "must" or a "may", sounds so small but defines how an entire business will function on the ground. There are so many words in my head, so many little decisions that make big differences. Those words don't go away. Always there is little miss independent...I absolutely cannot shut off. Ever. I eat, drink, live, sleep, and dream it. Every. Fucking. Moment.
Even right now...I have a call this morning, and I'm not really ready for it. So I'm writing this, and its there in the back of my mind, swirling problems and questions, intricate needs and a lack of understanding about how something is going to work. Nagging at my brain...
I've run so far from him. Not fast. Just a slow steady retreat, until the gulf was so great...Until he showed me again, a not so strange peek into his box of darkness. A simple thing, long ago agreed upon. Because submission is not about what comes easy.
No.
Slavery is not about the desires of the slave. It's about one's willingness to accept things which one is absolutely unwilling to experience...He reminded me that it is all or nothing, that if I draw a line somewhere then this reality is just a fallacy, an illusion, a game to be tucked away on the shelf.
If I balk at this concept of another woman, something which has been for so long, that thing held as absolute proof of where we stand and who I am. That I am his and I will do as he wishes, then I'm not all in. And we don't do halfway in.
I can't do it. I cannot function in a relationship, be little miss fucking manager, exist with some sense of stability, without feeling his control. Without that sense of absolute inability to make one single decision. Where it doesn't matter what the world is doing or thinking or how it needs to be fixed, because all decisions are his.
It was one of those conversations that as a little bit miserable, and a little bit hot.
And in the end we landed where we always do. He's the most gorgeous man I've ever known. And his dominance is like crack. He's my drug of choice, my one reality so strong that all other realities fade into him...
For a few years, he had time. Time and energy. There was a micromanaging aspect to which I had grown terribly accustomed, and it's gone now. No time. No energy. I have been making a hundred tiny decisions a day. Word decisions. A "must" or a "may", sounds so small but defines how an entire business will function on the ground. There are so many words in my head, so many little decisions that make big differences. Those words don't go away. Always there is little miss independent...I absolutely cannot shut off. Ever. I eat, drink, live, sleep, and dream it. Every. Fucking. Moment.
Even right now...I have a call this morning, and I'm not really ready for it. So I'm writing this, and its there in the back of my mind, swirling problems and questions, intricate needs and a lack of understanding about how something is going to work. Nagging at my brain...
I've run so far from him. Not fast. Just a slow steady retreat, until the gulf was so great...Until he showed me again, a not so strange peek into his box of darkness. A simple thing, long ago agreed upon. Because submission is not about what comes easy.
No.
Slavery is not about the desires of the slave. It's about one's willingness to accept things which one is absolutely unwilling to experience...He reminded me that it is all or nothing, that if I draw a line somewhere then this reality is just a fallacy, an illusion, a game to be tucked away on the shelf.
If I balk at this concept of another woman, something which has been for so long, that thing held as absolute proof of where we stand and who I am. That I am his and I will do as he wishes, then I'm not all in. And we don't do halfway in.
I can't do it. I cannot function in a relationship, be little miss fucking manager, exist with some sense of stability, without feeling his control. Without that sense of absolute inability to make one single decision. Where it doesn't matter what the world is doing or thinking or how it needs to be fixed, because all decisions are his.
It was one of those conversations that as a little bit miserable, and a little bit hot.
And in the end we landed where we always do. He's the most gorgeous man I've ever known. And his dominance is like crack. He's my drug of choice, my one reality so strong that all other realities fade into him...
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
A Question of Lack of M/s and Spending Money
Not sure exactly how I lost this one! If anyone else asked me something and I lost it, um...Feel free to give it another go, and I'm sorry!
Courtesy of Misty,
"Do you feel like this recent lack of M/s in your life could strengthen your submission in some way? If someone gave you $1000, what would you do with it? No necessities or plane tickets. :)"
Ack, I don't know...It doesn't feel very strengthened at the moment! Though I do think that something about the inevitable cycling back around which always follows these times is reaffirming--a reminder that it is, and always will be, there regardless of whether or not it is obvious and forefront...Oddly enough, perhaps, the more in-charge I am in daily life and the less I want to submit, the more I crave that mindlessness that comes when one lacks the ability to make choices of their own...
If someone gave me $1000...No necessities or plane tickets?! Obviously, you know me too well. Lol. Hmm...I'm thinking that we'd go blow it on a weekend of fun with the kids. Heck, we could get more than one weekend out of that! Okay, well maybe not all of it--we could use some new toys and I...Ahem, My "Play" collar was not in the case and I left it at home :[ so another one of those. I also may have left a bag of dildos...Yet another reason to pray daily that no one breaks into our house! And no, I'm not terribly keen on replacing those, and since this imaginary money is mine to blow as I wish, they will not be included on the list.
Courtesy of Misty,
"Do you feel like this recent lack of M/s in your life could strengthen your submission in some way? If someone gave you $1000, what would you do with it? No necessities or plane tickets. :)"
Ack, I don't know...It doesn't feel very strengthened at the moment! Though I do think that something about the inevitable cycling back around which always follows these times is reaffirming--a reminder that it is, and always will be, there regardless of whether or not it is obvious and forefront...Oddly enough, perhaps, the more in-charge I am in daily life and the less I want to submit, the more I crave that mindlessness that comes when one lacks the ability to make choices of their own...
If someone gave me $1000...No necessities or plane tickets?! Obviously, you know me too well. Lol. Hmm...I'm thinking that we'd go blow it on a weekend of fun with the kids. Heck, we could get more than one weekend out of that! Okay, well maybe not all of it--we could use some new toys and I...Ahem, My "Play" collar was not in the case and I left it at home :[ so another one of those. I also may have left a bag of dildos...Yet another reason to pray daily that no one breaks into our house! And no, I'm not terribly keen on replacing those, and since this imaginary money is mine to blow as I wish, they will not be included on the list.
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