Ah, how good are holidays?!  i've been able to catch up on some much-neglected writing and c-mailing, and the following is one of my latest rambles.  Please be forewarned, it's a good 4 pages long, so have a cuppa ready before you settle in to read it :)  Also, it is based upon a monogamous archetype; polygamy is a whole other can of worms that i'll save for another day....

Love.  Such a strange, intriguing concept.  It’s so abstract.  So intangible.  So indescribable.  Yet we all seem to know what it is, and we all seem to know that it exists.  We all want it, desire it, dream of it.  We search for it.  We hunger for it.

One notably perplexing aspect of love is how for some (many?) of us, just when we think we have found it, often we have to let it go.  Sometimes it slips through our fingers.  Sometimes we have to stick it in a slingshot and send it as far away as possible.  Sometimes, seemingly of its own accord, it just leaves.

Additionally, once having consciously decided that, “Yes, I am in love”, a person will often compromise their individual needs/wants/ideas/values for the benefit of the relationship.  This appears to be perfectly normal— I suspect that it is very, very rare for two people to meet and discover that they are so perfectly compatible with each other that no compromise by either individual is required at all.   Many times, this compromise happens without conscious realisation that it is even occurring.  It just happens. 

(Ah, the beauty that is a human’s ability to adapt.  Perhaps this is one of the reasons behind our species’ rise to the top of the food chain?  But I digress.)

This leads me to one of the questions on which I have been pondering lately; that is, at which point should the compromise cease?  How much is too much?  When does the benefit that comes from “love” no longer outweigh that which the individual must “give up”? 

Is love really worth it?

The two most significant relationships in my life to date, the 5-year vanilla and my first D/s, both left me feeling somewhat ashamed and angry at myself for how much I had, sometimes unwittingly, compromised for the benefit of the relationship.  I gave each of them my everything.

 I try not to be bitter, and I simply refuse to regret.  After all, I would not be who I am today if I had not experienced those ups and downs.  Whether I like it or not, each relationship helped shape me into the person I am today; and I’ll be damned if I don’t like who I am! 

But every now and then, as I remember how much of myself I sacrificed in the name of compromise, in the name of “love”, I can’t help but be angry with myself.  How could I be so stupid??  How had alarm bells not started ringing sooner?  Goddamnit I can be so freakin stupid sometimes.  Bah.

This is especially true in the case of my first Dom.  I had known from the very start that a long-term relationship with Him shouldn’t and couldn’t work for many, many reasons.  And for a good while I was able to maintain a “play partner only” mentality.  But slowly, despite all the reasons why it shouldn’t and/or couldn’t happen, my love for Him grew.  Despite everything, I did love Him.

On the flipside, I have recently been seeing a wonderful Dom for whom there are just not enough words in the English language to describe how marvellous He is, and how patient and caring and fun and honest He has been with me.  On paper, He is perfect for me.  We have so much in common that it is almost ridiculous.  That which we don’t have in common, we compliment.  And yet, no matter how hard I wanted to, no matter how hard I tried nor how much sense it made, I simply could not grow feelings for Him any greater than friendship.  This might not otherwise seem to be such a big deal, but He is ready to collar and marry, and He deserves to find a sub who loves Him as much as He loves her.  If anyone deserves to find the love of their life, it’s Him.  But I knew that He felt strongly for me, and that while He was seeing me He wouldn’t find her.  And, inconveniently enough, she is not me.

Which brings me to another intriguing concept—“the love of one’s life”.  Is there only one true love out there for each person?  Or are there a number of people with whom we can find “true love”?  What the hell is “true” love, anyway?

One particular conversation sticks out in my memory.  I was working with a guy who was in the process of house-hunting with his missus, and one day he got a call from her on his mobile.  After a short conversation, he hung up and proclaimed matter-of-factly to the universe at large, “Goddamn I have the best wife in the world.”  I turned to him and smiled, and said, “It’s great to hear a bloke so openly in love and happy to be with his missus.”  He turned back to me, and explained, “Yeah, well, she’s been married before, and there were other women before her who I thought I was in love with too.  But when Kate and I met— well, it just clicked.  She’s it.  Compared to her, all those others...”  He made a face.  “They just seem stupid.”  And he hasn’t been the only one to express sentiments to that effect; many people out there feel as though they have found “The One”.

Indeed, there was a time when I thought my vanilla ex was “The One”, and I had considered myself incredibly lucky to have found him at such a young age.  However, though he remains an important part of my history and was a vital part of my growing-up, we did eventually grow apart and come to require different things from the relationship.  Things that the other simply could not provide.  True, we could have stayed together, and we probably could have even convinced ourselves that we were happy, but neither of us would have been living our lives to their full potential.  Welcome to Rutts-ville, population two.

And so now I feel that although I undoubtedly loved my vanilla ex, he just wasn’t “The One”; He is still out there for me.  And when the time is right, the Universe will send Him my way.  And I will know it when I find Him— cue the lightning bolt.

Is that too naïve?  Too whimsical and romantic of me to believe in such a thing?

But there is just so much proof out there that “One True Love” actually does exist.  Or are those people really kidding themselves?  What about those who are in their 50’s, 60’s, 70’s, and still alone?  Is the Universe really so cruel as to deny them that One Special Person?  Or did they “miss the boat”, so to speak?

Could I miss the boat?  Could He enter my life, and leave, and I unwittingly let Him go?

Finally, I have become friends with a Dom who although familiar with bdsm, He until recently had identified as a submissive and so is still fairly new to the idea of being a Dom.  He is, however, in a long-term relationship with a very, very vanilla woman.  He loves her, and wants to make it work with her, but He wasn’t sure if bdsm – particularly, being Dominant and having control – was something he could sacrifice and live without for the sake of the relationship.  He was at a crossroads: If He decided that He could not live without kink, then He wanted to end the relationship sooner rather than later so that they could each heal and eventually go about searching for “The One”.  Alternatively, if He decided that He could in fact live without it, then He would sacrifice those deep and deviant desires for the sake of love.  As He put it, He had to decide which He needed more—love, or control.

The more I think about it, the more frustrated I become.  So if I start to get a little ranty, please forgive me.  I fully intend on slapping Him up the back of the head next time I see Him, but in the meantime this will suffice.

We sat and talked for ages.  Hours.  It was such wonderful, fascinating conversation, and time flew.  Finally, we played.  In the grand scheme of bdsm possibilities, it was fairly tame play, but it did give Him a taste of control nonetheless.  I know many will see Him as a cheating bastard for it, and me as the enabling slut and ‘the other woman’.  But boundaries were drawn, and adhered to, and He only did what He felt was necessary in order to gauge the degree to which He enjoys and desires the controlling hand of Dominance; to work out how deeply He really did crave the satisfaction and fulfilment that can come from a kinky relationship.

Despite His lack of experience, He was incredibly good at Dominating.   He took control with an intriguing, almost beautiful, natural ease.  He commanded my submission, and I could not help but submit.  I was compelled.  I wanted to submit.  He had that… delightfully Domly Domness that only “natural” Dominants seem to possess.  Oh, He could be such a magnificent Dom!  Just, wow!   Very few can control my orgasms.  He did.  Very few can mark me so enduringly without the use of a crop. He did.  Very few can instinctively instruct me simply and informatively enough that I understand exactly what He wants when I am in that dopey, floaty place.  He did.  

And that amazing Dom potential is being wasted on a vanilla!!  A vanilla who makes Him feel as though He should be grateful for any sex at all!  A vanilla who won’t indulge Him with His favourite thing in the whole wide world, to have her on His face.  Who will only do it one way and one way only, and if He tries to change it up a bit then she just closes up shop and refuses to fuck at all.

How infuriating!!

To be fair, I don’t know her.  She is probably a wonderful, beautiful, strong and loving woman, and I don’t doubt that they do love each other very, very much.

But whether you like it or not, sex is an important aspect of a relationship.  Just as green tree frogs are the first indicator on the health of an ecosystem, sex is a good gauge as to the health and happiness of a relationship.  Medical/health interruptions aside, if sex isn’t happening frequently and/or isn’t fully satisfying both partners (especially in the absence of kids), then chances are that something just isn’t quite right.

Now, of course, not all people share the same views as me.  Particularly those in the vanilla realm.  Many are quite happy to be married with two kids, having only ever had sex twice.  But I know for a fact that His sex drive is far above that of a regular Vanilla Joe.  So how can He possibly think that He could be happy long-term with anything less than regular amounts of regular vanilla sex, let alone anything less than the kink He desires?!  (I realise that I am making a big assumption about what “regular amounts of regular vanilla sex” actually entails, but for the sake of argument let’s just go with it.)

As He sees it, He only has two options.  i) Love, or  ii) Control.

As I see it, He has a third option.  iii) Love AND Control.

This would apparently be impossible to achieve with His current vanilla missus.  She simply will not have a bar of it.  So, then, is she really “The One”?  Yes, He loves her, and she loves Him.  But is she His “One True Love”?

Would the Universe be so cruel as to pair Him up with someone who leaves Him so unsatisfied within such a vital part of their relationship?

Perhaps I place too much importance on sex.

But, damnit, it’s just so much fun!  And it’s healthy, for the individuals AND for the relationship.  There is no closer two people can get—physically, emotionally, mentally— than when He is inside her; especially if there is an underlying D/s dynamic at play.

Ah, just thinking about that closeness makes me all gooey and warm and fuzzy inside.  Oh, I do love the happy, floaty place.  But again I digress.

Is it not possible that, though they love each other very much, the two are not ultimately “meant” for each other?  That each was intended only as a vital part of the growth and history of the other’s life?  As shitty as it would initially be (trust me, I’ve been there.  It’s shitty), is it not possible that if they were to break up, then He could find love once more AND have the satisfying control that D/s can provide?

It just doesn’t seem right to me that such a natural Dom should have His talents wasted on a vanilla who, quite frankly, has no idea what a good thing she has and no interest in developing the potential.

After all, a relationship should ultimately be a partnership.  D/s dynamics aside—at the core of a healthy, long-term, loving relationship is the fact that each individual “lifts up” the other.  In every aspect, each person should be better for the relationship.  Each should assist the other to discover and reach their full potential, not hinder and/or discourage it.

Perhaps I am too much of an idealist, a dreamer.  Perhaps I take for granted the lessons I learnt from the life and demise of my vanilla relationship.  Perhaps I take for granted my naïve but genuine belief that I do in fact deserve the very best, and that the Universe will send it to me in good time.  Perhaps not everyone believes that they too deserve the very best, and that the Universe will provide? 

I truly believe that there is (at least one!) someone out there for everyone.  So do we need to be prepared to “settle” in order to have a someone; in order to have love?  Or is what we truly need out there, somewhere, waiting for us?          

Love.  What a mindfuck.

i was recently having a lovely conversation with my delightfully deviant sadomasochistic nympho friend, and she made a very, very valid point that somewhat blew my mind, and i would like to share it.

We were discussing the relationship between another very good (vanilla) friend of ours and her fiancée, the two of whom are getting hitched in almost two months' time.  They have refrained from having 'sexy time' since about six months ago, and are planning to continue this abstinence until they say "I Do".  Now, although we pretty-much understand the reasons behind this, and we know that it's a somewhat common thing for couples to do, my sadomasochistic friend ('SM') and i just could not imagine ever doing something like this ourselves.  Um, sorry, but we just need our appetite sated, and we're not ashamed to admit it.

However, my vanilla bridal friend ('VB') has made comments about denying her partner sex as punishment or in order to get what she wants once they are married.  In other words, using her vagina as a bargaining chip.

Now this initially infuriated me.  i despise the idea of vanilla women withholding sex from their vanilla partners out of spite.  I'm sorry, but just, no.  You don't do that.  Sex is not some special privilege or commodity that the woman can use to her advantage.  The vagina is not some prize that a husband might get to play with if he's a good boy.  Fuck that.  Sex is a mutually beneficial, relationship-enriching, healthy and FUN thing to do for everyone involved!!!  She gets just as much out of it as he does, so who the hell does she think she is, waving it in front of him like a carrot in front of a donkey in order to get her own way?  Grow the fuck up and try using a little bit of communication and willingness to compromise.  Stop acting like a freakin two-year-old throwing a tantrum because you don't want to eat your crusts.  And stop using your vagina to get bloody foot-rubs!!

So after i had a little bit of a vent (this really does get my goat), SM raised a very valid point.  VB knows about our kinks, but doesn't understand or approve of them.  She has a moderate idea of what we do, but she doesn't understand why we would ever want to do them.  But she's a believer in "different strokes for different folks", and is happy to let us carry on in our own deviant ways, and she even indulges an occasional deviant conversation without trying to 'convert' us.  She's happy to sit and listen and be amused by our tales and agree that although it seems like we're having a lot of fun, she's glad she doesn't have to try it out too.  

How is this any different to the way i feel about her vanilla denial of sex from her partner?

i don't understand why she would want to do something like that, and i certainly don't approve.  But it works for her.  And the two of them are so so happy together, so it must be working for him as well.  Who am i to pass judgement on what it is that they do, and whether it is right or wrong?  If it's working for them, and they're happy, then let sleeping dogs lie.  Different strokes for different folks.

i suppose it has parallels to a female Domme/male sub, and orgasm denial and/or punishment.  On a much, much more vanilla level, she is his Domme.  lol!!  Oh i'm going to get such a kick out of telling VB that on Saturday..... ;D

And so, just as VB doesn't understand or agree with what SM and i do, nor do we understand or agree with what she does.  But we're still tremendously close friends, and our love for each other has never been greater.

cue the warm & fuzzies..... 

Time, with a little help from wine and a lot of help from friends, certainly does heal all wounds.

Thankyou to everyone who has sent me messages of encouragement and support-- even if i may not have had chance to reply to each of you, please know that i truly and deeply appreciated every word.  I genuinely took a great deal of comfort from what many of you had to say.  Thankyou.

Damnit.

i shouldn't.  i can't.  i won't.  For crying out loud, we are so wrong for each other!!  It was never going to work, deep down i know i knew that all along.  There was never any long-term future for 'us'. 

i drove him stark-raving mad with my quirks.  i can be incredibly irritating.  Hell, some days i even annoy myself.

But i need to be appreciated and *loved* as a whole, not just for my parts.  i am finally starting to understand-- i am not just a submissive.  i am not just a slut.  i am not just an obediant fucking machine.  i'm all of the above and much, much more.  i'm me. 

i am not a lil girl.  i am a woman.

A deliciously obedient and delightfully submissive woman who takes pleasure from pleasing and loves to be dominated; but a woman nonetheless.

And besides, he's insane!  He's a freakin sociopath, he said so himself.  He's angry, selfish, malicious, anti-social, egotistical; all of which are in direct opposition to my own personality!  And not in a yin&yang kind of way, but in a this-will-never-work kind of way.

He said such horrible things at the end.  He threatened those who mean the most to me.  And  then ridiculed me for holding such values. 

He left me reeling.  Hurt.  Confused.  So, so damn confused.  Who am i?  Am i really submissive?  Can i be both a woman and a submissive?  Is a D/s relationship what i really want?  Can such a thing be healthy?  Is it possible to have happy and healthy vanilla and kink lives existing simultaneously?  Am i just totally nuts???

With the help of friends, some of them here on cm, i am slowly untangling the birdsnest in my mind.

i deserve better than fucked up.

And so, i shouldn't.  i can't.  i won't.

But damnit, i do.

i miss Him.

Master has instructed me to explain my aversion to anal.  It’s complicated, and i have never detailed this part of my history to anyone until now.  This is my story:

I was nineteen, and going through what I refer to as my "Slutty McSlutAlot" phase.  Most girls go through a Slutty McSlutAlot phase at some point during their lives, and it usually occurs after some sort of trauma or event that invokes a kind of identity crisis.  She desperately tries to redefine her sense of self and create a false sense of freedom and strength by "slutting it up", so to speak.  My "event"?  I had my virginity taken from me.  Not violently, but it was taken against my will nonetheless.  My previous sense of self had greatly centred around my virginity-- sure I dressed promiscuously, sure I partied hard and hooked up with a lot of randoms; but it didn't matter what anyone thought of me, because I couldn't possibly be a "real" slut because I was still a virgin!  But that was taken from me.

Enter the Slutty McSlutAlot phase.  Trying to prove to myself and the rest of the world that I could single-handedly change society's misconception about promiscuous women, I slept around.  A lot.  Now, being (very) sexually active is not a bad thing at all and is definitely nothing to be ashamed of.  One of my very close girlfriends today I even fondly refer to as "Our Little Nympho".  Sex is, and should be, fan-friggin-tastic-- as long as you are doing it for the right reasons (i.e., fun!).  When I was nineteen, I wasn't.  I didn't fuck boys for the fun of it.  I never, ever came.  I only wanted that fleeting, false sense of power and strength a woman has when she knows a boy wants to root her.  Yet I hated the term "slut", and vehemently denied that I was one.

There was a group of boys I met and drank with every weekend at the local pub.  One of these boys was the guy who took my virginity.  Even though he had stolen something so precious to me, I still had something of a school-girl crush on him.  After all, if we ended up together, then it wouldn’t be so bad, surely?  All’s well that ends well?  I kept sleeping with him, trying desperately to win him over.  I slept with some of his friends, trying to make him jealous.  I slept with other random boys, trying to grasp that fleeting sense of strength and self-confidence.  And I tried not to hate myself for it.

I reached my lowest point one long weekend (Australia Day, actually) when the boys held their official Housewarming/Pool Party.  The guy I had the crush on knew from our previous bedroom-conversations that I had yet to participate in a threesome, and that I was keen to try it one day.  I don’t remember a lot of the details very clearly (half a bottle of vodka before the incident and years of trying to forget it afterwards will hinder a memory), but I do remember finding myself in a room with the guy I had a crush on and one of his friends.  The door was closed.  The light was dim.  They said something about wanting to check out the pink swimsuit I was wearing under my clothes.  Then I was naked.  The guy I liked was behind me, and I was bent over his friend who was sitting on the edge of the bed.  I think I was being fucked.  I know I was sucking a cock.  Then it was over, and I was alone in the room.

Later that night, I found myself making out with yet another guy in yet another bedroom.  One of the boys who I considered a good friend of mine, and who I knew had deeper feelings for me, walked in on us.  That’s when I realised we were actually in his bedroom—the same room that he had finger-fucked me in a few weeks earlier after my drink was spiked.  Heh, I guess he wasn’t such a good friend after all.  But I saw the look on his face when he opened the door to find me half-naked with another guy.  It was a strange and heartbreaking mix of hurt and disgust.  He closed the door again, and the guy I had been making out with suggested that we go back to his place.  I downed another shot of vodka, and agreed.

The sex was terrible.  It just went on and on and on as I laid there wondering if he would ever bloody cum already.  Finally it was over, and as he rolled over to fall asleep, I snuck out and called a cab home.

Gossip travels fast at the best of times, let alone in a small college community where everyone knows everyone and they all drink at the same pub.  Everyone knew me, and everyone heard what had happened.  Three guys in one night.  The third guy told everyone that he had fucked me in the arse.  I tried to tell everyone it was a lie.  I tried to tell myself it was a lie.  But I couldn’t be certain, and deep down I knew that.  To this day I still don’t really know if he did or not.  I heard the phrase “on the spit”.  I heard “slut” and “easy”.  I saw the look of disgust on people’s faces.  People who I thought were my friends.  I tried to tell myself that it was okay, that I could still hold my head up high, that I still had some dignity and self-respect.  Yet I couldn’t look anyone in the eye.

I slept with that boy I had a crush on a few more times.  One night he fingered my arse, and mentioned that he “had heard that I like anal”.  It was unpleasant.  Not just the sensation itself, but being reminded that I was such a hot topic of cruel conversation.  I stopped him, and we proceeded to fuck like normal.

Not long after that, I met my ex.  I settled down and stopped partying.  I cut off all ties with my old “friends” and way of life.  I never spoke to that boy I had a crush on again.  I identified myself as my ex’s partner, and over time my self-confidence grew.  I gained back my self-respect and learnt how to demand it from others.  Five years later I am now single again, but I am eternally grateful for the gift my ex gave me.  He taught me how to love myself again.

I have always hated the idea of anal, because it instantly takes me back to that time – to that day, in particular – and all those horrible emotions come flooding back.  Hurt, alone, betrayed, self-loathing, disgust.  But it’s been six years since, and the fact that I am able to write about it in such detail I think is a sign that I am finally ready to truly, truly move on.  I’m single, and I love it.  I’m free to sleep with whoever I want, but that doesn’t mean that I will.  I know how to cum, and I know how to make others cum.  I enjoy sex, and I am not ashamed of it.  I am free.

And so i think i am ready to give anal a go.  i have a Master who i trust wholeheartedly; who i know genuinely cares for my wellbeing and would never hurt me.  Who will take it slow and push my limits but never break them.  Who will be pleased with me and call me his lil one and let me know that i am a good girl; He will look at me with approval, not disgust.  He may call me a slut, but i am His slut, and that pleases Him.  And pleasing Him makes me happy.

There is such a vast, beautiful difference between being a BDSM slut and a vanilla slut.  In BDSM there is a silent, underlying respect between Master and slut.  He owns her, and she serves Him, but underneath it all He is grateful for the gift of her submission.  In the vanilla world, there is no respect.

That is my story.