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Kana -> RE: A Dom who feels guilty about being one? (11/9/2011 11:32:59 AM)
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quote:
ORIGINAL: lizi
quote:
ORIGINAL: Kana
I just wanna point out that it took years of conflict for this boy to become so unconflicted.
So how did you do it then?
This is one of those short questions with no simple answers. It essentially asks me to tell my life story. Start with this, then follow the bullets.
-I grew up in a house with a single mom, and sisters, all of whom are strong vibrant independent, free thinking women whom I admire, love and respect greatly.
-I love women, always have. I value them, enjoy their divergent perspectives, they way they tend to think more with the heart than with the head, which I think speaks well of them as people. There’s no misogyny here. I think women are far and away the greatest thing on earth. I adore em. Hell, I have a granddaddy from the deep deep south who was a Southern Baptist preacher so I was taught the old Southern code. I was raised to be a gentleman. I know the proper way to act, hold doors open, carry groceries, pull chairs out, stand when she does. Not only that, but I like it. I like politeness. I like manners. I like class. I like making pretty gals smile.
And that’s good, because it was expected in my house and failure to act appropriately wasn’t acceptable.
-Underneath my calloused exterior, I am, like all cynics, a romantic idealist, an armor plated teddy bear. This includes a certain perspective of myself as acting/being, for lack of a better word, chivalrous. Not just that, but I’m pretty empathic, sensitive to injustice and others pain. I try real hard to be a good moral person.
-And I’ve always been attracted to violent sex. Like always. I don’t remember not liking the idea of sex. I knew what girls were for when I was a little kid, French kissed one before elementary school. My first sexual memory came watching a TV movie when I was a little kid-they had a scene where one of those 70’s California big hair blondes was forced to walk the plank, hands bound, half naked, helpless. God, that scene just lodged like a splinter in the back of my brain. I remember the little woodie I got to this day.
-Teen age fantasies revolved around helpless girls, spankings, sodomy. And I felt guilty as shit about them. Guilty as in WTF is wrong with me guilty. Guilty as in shame, as in I have secrets I can’t show, secrets people will judge me by, including those sisters and mother I discussed. And that’s an awful way to go through life. So you bet I suffered conflicts, part of which were that I could never tell a girl what I thought/liked/wanted because no rational woman would ever want anything to do with me (Looking back, it’s almost funny. My fantasies at this time were pretty freaking innocent. I’ve done far worse stuff since then, and my fantasies/plans now-wheeeeeew.Course that rational person fear probably should still hold true today-thank god for fucked up wimmins!)
-All of which leads to epiphany number one. One day when I was around 14 or 15,I was poking round the psychology section of the library and ran across a book by called my Secret Garden, by a female shrink named Nancy Friday. The book consisted of real interviews with live (as in live, not my pubescent fantasy porn chicks) women openly discussing their sexual fantasies. It read like steamy stuff, so I stole the book and read it when I got home and found there was a whole chapter devoted to bondage, and that slavery/domination/service/pain/control also figured across many other fantasies. This blew my mind. As in seriously peeled me open, made me realize that not only was I not a freak for thinking the way I did, but opened the very real possibility that not only wouldn’t all women judge me for what I craved, but that some of them thought the same way, wanted it, or at least fantasized about it too.
And that only changed everything.
-At 18 I dated an older gal. One day I noticed she had ping pong paddles, but no table. Bright boy that I am, I inquired. One thing led to another and it came out that she had been a lesbian (I knew that) and served for 3 years a slave to a mistress (I had had no clue). The paddles got used that day, and then next, and the next. The day after that I came home with a cane and things evolved from there. It was mostly heavy play, not serious BDSM/ hardcore ownership, but she taught me a lot (Clubs, the scene, how to use whips, canes, etc...but most of all to get in her head, to let me wander in her darkness and that the head and heart are where real submission lies), as in everything, and I’m forever grateful to her.
-The next big change came a bit later. I was doing a first sets of plays with a gal and we were on day two. First day had been light stuff, violent sex, some breath play, obscene penetrations, face slapping, hair yanking type of stuff.
Day two the hard stuff came out, canes, whips, those spiked ten pound clamps I love so much. And it started good, but, how to put this, slowly felt like it was disintegrating, that the scene was slipping out of my control, out of my hands. And she wasn’t reacting well. Not grooving into what I was doing, not falling into the rhythm of the play. Instead she was fighting (Or at least it looked/felt that way) even though she denied it, one of those her mouth says yes but body says no moments. I was young, and didn’t know better. Now I’d pause, slow down, get in her head, find out what’s up. Then, I just blasted through, took her at her word.
And she lost it. I mean completely lost it. Flailing, kicking, bawling. And I did what I had been taught. Ground the scene to an immediate stop. Yanked the dildos and plug out, took her down from the hook.
And did the right thing, held her till she came back.
A few hours later, at a diner we were talking bout what happened ( She was doing that ”Its all my fault” slave thing and I was resisting, cuz it quite clearly was not) and she laid another epiphany on me (out of the mouth of babes and all). I asked what the hell happened, and she said that she couldn’t go through the wall easily, that she went kicking, screaming and crying, but she needed that release to break through to the other side, to find the calm flying beyond.
Yeah, that also changed lots.
-And then I got into a serious TPE relationship. And I learned something critical, maybe The Critical Thing (Trademark pending at the One Twue Dom TM site).
See, I want to be a nice guy. I want to be seen as a decent guy. I want to see myself as a decent guy.
And that can be tough in two ways.
1-It’s hard to reconcile beating the woman you love to shit with being a decent man. In fact, it’s damn tough. I like brutal sex and real hard sessions and it can be difficulty looking yourself in the mirror while the girl who loves you sobs uncontrollably, her entire body covered with cane welts, tongue clipped and tits skewered, looking like a series of class A felonies. I used to crash real hard post play, emotional as well as mental crashes, much of which was rooted in the inherent conflict between caring and torture.
2-Being a good guy is averse to enforcing discipline. And this is huge. As in mammoth. When she fucked up, I wanted to cut her a break, and often did, because I wanted her to like me. And this was a major fuck up, and it’s one a lot of news guys do, especially because there’s a fear that if I act like an ass, she’ll leave and I hadn’t yet realized that I could always find another freaky chick to fuck. But that’s not cool, and this was, and still is, continually reinforced, not just in my relationship, but in talks I had, and have, with other female subs. The main reason for this is that, as crazy as it sounds, when I was trying to be nice, to be a good guy and not enforcing rules/discipline, I was in actuality hurting her in myriad ways.
First, by not enforcing the rules, or worse, enforcing them according to mood and whim, I was making her feel uncertain of the ground she stood on, of her role in the relationship, and more importantly, my role. Thus, it eroded the trust inherent, and with trust's loss, respect as well. In addition, by not enforcing the rules, by not holding her (And myself) to the standards I set, I was in effect and action, lying to her. She had come to me expecting a certain thing, a level of control and ownership that I had implied and stated I could give. By failing to create that structure, and then regularly maintain it, I was failing to live up to the contract between us.
And this is a complaint I heard again and again from women. “He won’t take control. I want him to do this, but he won’t. Or if he does, he’s tentative about it. Worst of all, he asks me if he can, or if I mind.” And I learned that some women wanted to give over, that they needed to, that they found sanctuary and identity in doing so.
And that they were going to serve someone.
So why not me?
I’m a decent guy (Not a nice guy, a decent one. I tend to speak my mind too much, to shoot from the hip w/o regards for others feelings to be anything but an asshole. Plus I mock the world. To it’s face. And that’s pretty much dickish shit). I’m not going to rape her. I’m not going to do ridiculous unsafe shit with her. I’m going to treat her with dignity, class and respect…and own every inch of the cunt.
Once I realized that, things flipped.
That lil tidbit meant that I could ethically do whatever I wanted and live with it…provided I was completely upfront about who and what I am going in.
And I am.
Anyone who reads my posts knows exactly what kind of stuff I like. There are no surprises here. When a girl serves/plays with me, she knows going in what hellish shit I am gonna rain down on her.
There are no fallbacks.
There are no you didn’t tell me’s
(Course I use that to my advantage, constantly reminding her while she makes those wonderful mewling noises that she signed up willingly, that she was such a slut that shedidshedid so WTF does that make her—mmmuuuaaaaaaaaaahhhhh)
When I meet a gal with intent she, by showing up, is admitting by implication that she wants me to do the things I do to her.
Which makes her a wonderfully worthless piece of fuckslutmeat. One that I treat accordingly. And that is a joyous thing.
That’s half the game.
The other half is simply growing up, getting rid of the insecurities I had as a child. I’ve gone through the school of hard knocks and then some, broken over 50 bones, been homeless, stabbed, shot at, gone through windshields, had the paddles slapped on my chest, taken the $5,000 shock trauma helicopter ride. I’ve slept on streets, watched my best friend die, twice. I’ve been strung out, run down, ignited, addicted, inflicted, rejected and neglected. I’ve witnessed someone shot so close the wound smoked from the speed of the bullet hitting the skull. I’ve seen heinous shit.
I’ve achieved a few goals, run a company or two, hired and fired, been rich, been broke. I’ve lived with a prostitute (Not dated, just lived with) and dated escorts, porn chicks and an NFL cheerleader. I’ve fallen in love again and again and had my heart broken until I hurt like I didn’t know a person could be hurt. I’ve danced on the razors edge my entire life, chasing.
And I’ve survived.
And after a while those little fears slip away as I realized how small and futile most of them were.
And that simplified things.
I’ll say this as a closing thought. I suspect most folks think I’m kinda extreme in my perspectives on BDSM, in how I live my life. And that’s cool. Whatever works for anyone is great with me. But what I think most folks may miss is that the reason I am extreme is that it makes things simple. I have no ambiguities in my relationships. There are no negotiations. There are no limits for me to remember or rules to have to follow. She never has to not know her place. I own. She serves. It’s that simple. And that makes it easier on both of us.
See how easy that was?
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