Shakespeare Sonnet 57

William Shakespeare

Being your slave what should I do but tend,
Upon the hours, and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend;
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love, that in your will,
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

Who Would You Rather Be? Read & Discuss

Imagine two women, we’ll call them Sub 1 and Sub 2, and imagine two men, Dom 1 and Dom 2.

Sub 1 meets Dom 1 and thinks he’s everything she’s been looking for. Sure, he has a few flaws, but doesn’t anyone. Within a few months, they’ve said, “I love you,” and start talking about the idea of moving in with one another and eventually getting married. But there’s no rush, no sense of urgency (even though, separately, each feels some urgency at different times). They talk about vacations they want to take, places they want to visit, things they want to do together. Dom 1 has a big, important job that takes him to many places in the world. Sometimes he brings Sub 1 with him, but often he’s forced to cancel plans, or reschedule. Apologies and flowers inevitably follow. Sub 1 loves the idea of the life they dream about, but the realities of their day-to-day life is a bit more difficult. She spends long stretches of time without him. She’s sometimes forced to be independent, but sometimes she finds herself being a third wheel with her friends when Dom 1 is away. But she is the supportive girlfriend. She pushes when things get bad, and sometimes raises a fuss. But she also does all she can to support him in his job and with his family. Then Sub 1 learns that Dom 1 lied to her. Their relationship cannot go on. Their life together is over.

Sub 2 meets Dom 2 and thinks he’s everything she’s been looking for. Sure, he has a few flaws, but doesn’t anyone. Within a few months, they’ve said, “I love you,” moved in together and talk about eventually getting married. But there’s no rush, no sense of urgency (even though, separately, each feels some urgency at different times). They take travel extensively together. Dom 2 has a big, important job that takes him to many places in the world, and he often brings Sub 2 with him. Sub 2 loves their day-to-day life is a bit more difficult, even though they have to spend short stretches of time apart because of his job. But she is the supportive girlfriend. She pushes when things get bad, and sometimes raises a fuss. But she also does all she can to support him in his job and with his family. Then Sub 2 learns that Dom 2 lied to her. Their relationship cannot go on. She must move out, and find a new home. Their life together is over.

Answer & discuss: Would you rather be Sub 1 or Sub 2? is Sub 1 in the worse situation because she’s suffered while he was gone? Is Sub 2 in the worse situation because she was living with him?

And what would you say if Dom 1 and Dom 2 were the same person, and these events overlapped?

Rules for Dominants

I’ve been dating my boyfriend for the last year. In some respects, it’s my first long-term relationship with a dominant man (at least, my first LTR where we acknowledge our dominance and submission). I searched long and hard for a dominant man. And while I was searching, I made a common mistake: I started to imagine my dream relationship, and it was perfect. Unfortunately, I met my dream man, and my fantasy relationship collided with reality. It’s easy in this internet age to read to much online. You read blogs that detail the blogger’s perfect life. You read stories where people talk about their perfect relationship. You meet someone online who tells you exactly what he’s looking for, and you imagine that it could be true.

But what you forget is that real life is never perfect. People get sick. People get mad. People have bad days at work. People take other people for granted. People get stressed out. People sneeze and poop and fart. People yell. People are inconsiderate. People have families. People have other demands on their life.

The last eight months of my relationship have been up and down. There have been a lot of fantastic times together, but there have also been a lot of tears, some harsh words for one another, and some questions about whether we are really meant to be together. Some of these tensions have been brought upon us because the outside world has interfered. But that’s life…there will always be demands from work and friends and family. You can’t avoid it. But, in our relationship, it’s caused tension. When we’re together, we’re terrific. When we’re apart, things start to unravel. Unfortunately, for reasons outside of our control (mainly work, but also elderly family members who need each of our attentions), we spend more time than we’d like apart.

I must admit that I’m often the one who starts the fights. I’m the one who is hurting and lashes out at him because I’m feeling neglected. That’s one dirty secret that blogs and the rest of the internet will never tell you: Even doms don’t always feel like having sex sometimes. Even subs get mad. Even doms make mistakes. Even subs make demands. Even doms apologize.

A dozen times I’ve asked myself, “Am I staying in this relationship because I’m submissive? (In other words, I love him, but am I too forgiving?) Is he acting the way he’s acting because he’s dominant? (In other words, does he neglect me sometimes because he thinks he can get away with it?)“I don’t have the answers. I’m fighting to make this relationship succeed, but there are times I wonder if I’m fighting too hard. When our relationship is good, it’s great. When our relationship is bad, I’m miserable.

I have certain expectations for a relationship, and if those expectations aren’t being met, then I have to seriously consider whether I want to remain in the relationship. Just today, after another phone call filled with tears, I hung up and thought to myself, “Can a submissive give her dominant partner rules that he must agree to obey?” In some ways, it’s not very different from a submissive who has a list of non-negotiables. But my non-negotiables are things like, “We have to talk every night if we’re falling asleep in separate cities,” and “Please don’t cancel plans without first talking to me about it.”

So I’m curious. For those of you who are submissive and in a long-term relationship, what spoken or unspoken expectations do you have of your dom? What bad behavior makes you say, “Stop it! That’s not fair. This is something I need out of a relationship!” Or am I just a bad sub for not silently suffering?

The Life of a Submissive

The last few months have been amazingly busy, and the BF and I have been on the go. But several times in the course of doing out-of-the-ordinary activities, I’ve paused to think (sometimes seriously, sometimes in jest): “Such is the life of a submissive.”

When…

…we’re in his native land–a place where I don’t speak more than a few words of the local language–and I have to rely on him to translate the conversations for me, I feel submissive.

…in front of his family and friends, he tells me it’s time for me to go to bed, I feel submissive.

…I know he’s master of the manor, but I didn’t think that meant I’d find myself, armed with a wheelbarrow and rake, doing yardwork while he supervised! It puts a new spin on the idea of master and servant. *g*

…we’re visiting his friends’ house, and I’m perched on their sofa with my ankles delicately crossed. I lean over and whisper, “May I cross my legs, please?” He shakes his head, “No.” I feel submissive.

…I have to ask him for permission to go to the bathroom, even when it means waking him up in the middle of our 8-hour plane trip, I feel submissive.

…he calls me up and says, “Pack your suitcases, we’re going somewhere but it’s a surprise,” I feel submissive (and spoiled!).

Does Anyone Remember…

I’m a faithful reader of the smut on ASSTR.org, as well as the stories posted on Alt.com and similar sites. A few years ago I read an incredibly hot story that I think was posted on ASSTR, but I’m unable to find it, even doing a pretty detailed search via Google. Maybe someone else remembers it, and can point me to a link? As best I remember it…

The story featured a woman who met up with a dominant guy. They drove to a store where he bought a box of pens or pencils, then made her stick them in her pussy, one by one, slowly stretching her out. At another point in the story, he put an inflatible ball of some sort (maybe a football) into her cunt and inflated it. Toward the end of the story he pierced and padlocked her pussy, then left without contacting her for a month or two. The story was a bit extreme, but very hot, and I’d love to read it again!

If anyone can supply me with a link, I’d be very grateful!

D/s or Abuse?

About a month ago, I spent time with one of my childhood friend, and a couple weeks later I spent time with another childhood friend. They, too, were friends as children, but now I am the conduit through which they keep in touch. The three of us (and many of our other childhood friends) are spread across the country and globe, so I don’t often have the chance to see them in person, though we keep in touch via phone and email. At times, however, as much as a decade has passed between face-to-face visits.

Because we haven’t grown up together in-person (we were together in our early teens, but not during high school or college or post-college), I think our views of one another are sometimes stuck in the past. I can spend hours talking to Mona on the phone–hearing about her husband and their daughter–but when I see her in person, she is at least partially still that pre-adolescent girl who I met a couple dozen of years ago who is barely old enough to babysit. Or Ricki comes to visit, and I’m happily surprised at the woman who wants to nest for the weekend because I still remember the teenager who thought she was missing something if she didn’t go out every single night.

Ricki’s in a relationship with a man who I consider to be dominant, yet mentally abusive. This isn’t consentual D/s, unless you consider the fact that she was fully aware of his personality when she chose to marry him. In their relationship, it’s all about him, and he fails to take into account their collective interests when making a decision that affects both of them.

For example, they’ve twice relocated because of his job. In one case, they moved to a place where she was all but unemployable. After several years she was finally able to obtain a job, and then they promptly moved again. They now live 10 minutes from his office, and 90 minutes from hers. He easily makes 10 times her salary, yet he insists that they evenly split their housing costs. She suffers from some moderately serious health problems, and after a long week at work, there are weekends where she just wants to chill out at home. Yet he becomes irate–and threatens divorce–blaming her for the fact that they don’t know many people in this city where they’ve lived for about a year.

I may be a submissive woman myself, but when I spend time with Ricki, I just want to tell her to get a backbone. The fact is, her husband’s a selfish jerk. He only cares about himself. If he’s not having fun, he’s going to pack up his toys and go home. But is it abuse? Do the pros outweigh the cons? I can only guess based on what I’ve observed. He’s successful. He’s charismatic. He’s rich. He’s smart. He’s gregarious. He’s drop-dead gorgeous. But he’s also selfish. He’s shallow. He’s childish. He’s unsupportive.

I think Ricki feels as if she’ll never find another man who matches up to his good qualities (even though she herself is smart, worldly, fun and model-beautiful…she could attract a wonderful man, and in the past she has). It frustrates me, because I remember the girl who I first knew, who wouldn’t put up with crap from anyone, and loved and respected herself. As much as I adore her, in her 30s she’s become a bit shallow. I think she likes having a rich, handsome husband. But is it worth the pain? I think not. But then again, I’m not in her shoes. Might, someday, I be married and have my friends wonder, “What does she see in that jerk?”

Rosacea and BDSM

I have rosacea. It’s an affliction that affects a lot of people, but I’ve never read anything about dealing with rosacea while in a D/s relationship.

If you’re not familiar with rosacea, it’s a skin condition that’s actually a variant of acne. But unlike acne, it involves a lot more than zits (and sometimes involves no zits whatsoever). There are a lot of symptoms that accompany rosacea, and not every person who suffers from it experiences the same symptoms. One way that rosacea manifests itself as a bulbous red nose; Bill Clinton is a famous sufferer. Other symptoms include highly sensitive skin (which may react to heat, to cold, to sun, to wind, to anything abrasive, to florescent lights, to alcohol, to hot beverages, to sugars, to cosmetics, to stess, to exercise…in other words, to just about everything), redness across the face, watery eyes, broken blood vessels and small bumps on the face.

Last night my BF and I got home from a great night out. We’d enjoyed a delicious pre-Christmas meal with a friend. It had been a few days since we’d last seen each other, so when we got home, things quickly got hot and heavy. We were kissing, there was spanking, there was a lot of hard fucking. It was wonderful. Until it wasn’t.

My BF gets a fairly heavy 5 o’clock shadow. By 9 or 10 p.m., it’s even more dense. And when he’s kissing me hard and rubbing his face against mine, it can become too much.

By the time all was said-and-done, I was suffering horribly. I was crying, and had to jump out of bed to race to the bathroom. Imagine that you’ve gotten a horrible sunburn on your face–it’s red, the skin is hot and tight, it hurts to just touch it, and some spots are even a bit swollen or blistered. Now imagine feeling like that and having a stiff brush rubbed against your face dozens or hundreds of times. That’s what I felt like at the time. Even today, 12 hours later, my face feels like it got run over by a truck–and it looks it, too. From my upper-left forehead, across my left cheek and upper lip, down to my chin, I look blotchy and still feel a stinging sensation, even when I’m not touching my skin. My most soothing moisturizers made my face burn.

For people who don’t have rosacea, it can be hard to understand. And I hate to sound like a whiny girl who ruins the mood by asking my lover to shave his face. Several times I’ve tried to explain my condition. A few times I’ve talked to him about it when we’re not in the heat of the moment. And I understand how easy it is to forget. After all, when he’s stubbly, he doesn’t feel any pain.

I’m fortunate in that my rosacea is relatively mild compared to many sufferers. So I’ve never thought of rosacea as a handicap that limits my D/s activities. And I’ve rarely had a lover who was so passionate that it irritated me so seriously. (Though, more times than I can count, I’ve asked past BFs to shave before bed.)

Obviously it’s time for another discussion about my affliction. I hope I can make him understand without sounding like a nag or a girl who’s crying wolf. If you have rosacea, how have you helped your partner understand the problems it can cause?

Condoms, Trust and Saying No

Always Aroused Girl has made a couple posts about her experience with a trusted lover who promised her that he was using condoms with all other lovers. In time she discovered that this man had betrayed her, and was actually going condom free with several other lovers who each also believed that she was the only one with whom he was condom-free.

It got me to thinking about an incident I’ve tried to block out of my mind.

Earlier this year, I woo’ed by, then dumped by, a man I met online. He lived halfway across the country, so we spent several months getting to know one another through emails, phone calls and text messages. We discussed our expectations in anticipation of our first meeting. We talked about the best- and worst-case scenarios. (I thought) we opened our hearts to each other.

Before our first date, I warned him that I don’t sleep with men on the first date. In fact, I don’t have sex with a man until I’m sure it’s likely to become a relationship. He told me that he’d had a relationship with every woman he’s slept with. Even if no sex was involved, I told him, I hoped to spend the night sleeping wrapped in his arms. And we both agreed that in some respects it didn’t feel like a first date because we’d gotten to know each other so well. Even though we’d never met face-to-face, I felt as if a level of trust had developed between us.

That first night we went out to dinner. There was wine involved, but the quantities were relatively modest. I wasn’t drunk, and I don’t think he was, either. After dinner, we went back to his hotel room. That, in itself, wasn’t a surprise. I’d met him before dinner at his hotel. I’d even been up to his room before dinner, and he was a perfect gentleman. I wanted to go back to his hotel room.

Clothes were removed. Body parts were touched and kissed and fondled and bitten. Soon, he made it clear that he wanted to have sex, and I agreed. Get a condom, I insisted. He initially balked, but finally got one from his toiletry kit. We started to have sex. We stopped to engage in more fun that didn’t involve penetration. We started to have sex again. We stopped again. He removed the condom and we continued in our passionate ways, minus pentration. We were both having fun, and there didn’t seem to be any pressure to rush things.

I rolled onto my side, with my back to him. Suddenly he forced himself into me. “No Daddy,” I whimpered. “Please, no, stop.”

He didn’t. It lasted only a brief moment in time–maybe less than a minute–before he came inside me. “It’s OK, baby,” he said. “I’ve been tested. I’m safe. I haven’t been with anyone since I was tested 6 months ago.”

I didn’t argue. We curled up together an fell asleep.

I saw him one more before he left town. There was no sex involved. But in the back of my mind, I had a nagging feeling. Without any discussion, he’d fucked me without a condom. I hadn’t given permission. I’d asked him to stop. He didn’t. But for some reason, I found myself willing to overlook it. After all, I cared about this man. I’d fallen for him, head over heels, before we even met. And the rest of our time together–you know, except for the part where he was fucking me against my will without a condom–was magical. For whatever reason, I felt willing to forgive him for that heat-of-the-moment transgression.

He left town and we started to make plans for our next visit. Then, without warning, he disappeared as quickly as he’s appeared.

In my anger over what could have been, I also started to get angry over the sex. I was upset and bothered on a lot of levels, but I was also upset with myself, because to some extent I was willing to forgive him. Some of the things that went through my mind when dealing with the ramifications:

• I said no, and he ignored me. But in the BDSM world, when does “no” really mean “no”? We hadn’t set a safeword, so should he have listened to me when I said “no”?
• If I’d really meant it, couldn’t I have pulled away from him, gotten up and walked out the door?
• He never asked if I’d been tested, nor did he ask if I was on birth control. The irony is that he has two children under the age of 5 with two women. The younger of the kids–the one who wasn’t even a year old at the time–was an accidental pregnancy with his ex-girlfriend. Shouldn’t a man who’s recently made that mistake ensure that he takes all precautions to prevent another unplanned pregnancy?
• I have no insurance, and the cost of a full battery of STD tests costs real money. I walked into my local free clinic a month or two later, and immediately turned around and left. It was dirty. The clientele looked seedy. The wait would be hours, and they took no appointments. Eventually I broke down and got the tests from my OB-GYN. It was an expensive lesson, but fortunately the results were clean.
• This man was previously a law-enforcement officer. And not just any old small-town police officer. He worked for a federal law enforcement agency. (And, yes, it’s the one you’re probably thinking of.) He’s now an executive at a big company, where he reports to the CEO. (The kind of position where you worry about your image, and don’t do things outside of work that could tarnish your image at the office.) Aren’t these the kinds of people we should be able to trust?
• He has daughters who are close to my age. How would he feel if a man treated one of his daughters this way?
• If you agree to sex under certain conditions (with a condom) and then the conditions change (the condom is removed) and you say “no” is it date rape?
• Why was I willing to forgive him for ignoring my wishes when I thought things were going well between us, but I became so angry about the incident when things fell apart?

I’ve asked myself all of these questions, and more, over the last six months. And I don’t have the answers. Most of the time I’m able to put it out of my mind, but Always Aroused Girl’s recent post brought the memories back to me. It’s still upsetting because of what happened, and because of the way that I reacted–or didn’t react–to the situation.

Through Rose-Colored Glasses

First things first: I’m sorry that I went MIA! But there’s a good reason. The man I mentioned in my prior post? We’ve spent a lot of time together, and I couldn’t ask for a better guy. My feeling for him grow stronger by the day. I just returned from a weeklong trip with him, and I’m already missing him already. (We’ll be apart for a coupld days.) But this weekend we’ll be together again, and I’ll be meeting some of his family. (He’ll be meeting some of mine over Thanksgiving.)

The one thing I’ve come to realize: My previously, albeit limited, experience with D/s hasn’t been real-world experience. On the handful of times that the Dark Horse and I had honest-to-goodness, face-to-face dates (as opposed to hours spent on phone calls and trading emails), I was seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. Everything was wonderful because we didn’t let the outside world ontrude on those 4 or 6 or 8 hours at a stretch that we were together. The same is true of other dominant men I’ve met. The only exception would be my relationship with J2, but while ours was a relationship between a dominant man and a submissive woman, we didn’t use those labels, or incorporate a lot of D/s elements into our interactions.

So for years I’ve been fantasizing, and imagining the “ideal” D/s relationship. I’d forgotten that reality often interferes.

Before I talk about interference from the real world, let me just say that he’s great. (And, yes, I need to come up with a nickname for him.) He’s funny, charming, intelligent, successful, kind, strict, a gentleman and a dominant. And I adore him for being all of those things. And he adores me. But the real world? More often than not, I now realize that it can easily interfere on that “perfect” D/s relationship.

Last night I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. We’d had a bigger than normal dinner, and my stomach was aching. I had a butt plug in my ass, and wanted nothing more than to take it out because, as I said, my stomach was aching and (at the risk of providing TMI) I was a little gassy. He and I prefer to sleep in rooms that are different temperatures, so while he was comfortable–and snoring–I was cold. With an aching stomach. And an uncomfortable butt plug buried in my ass. Did I mention that I also have cystitis? Too much great fucking, of course. But that isn’t really much consolation when you have to run to the bathroom every 15 minutes, even when almost nothing comes out. That comes on the heels of me having had a cold and the flu (separately, of course). So I’ve been healthy for about one day during the entire time he’s known me. This weekend I also had an allergic reaction to some new lube we’d bought. We finished having sex, and I ran for the shower. Nothing like a burning feeling on top of already feeling as if your pussy’s raw. Oh, and remember the never-ending period? Yeah, I’ve been bleeding 3 out of the last 5 weeks. So I was lying awake in a hotel room last night, aching stomach, UTI, uncomfortable butt plug, cold, listening to him snore and thinking about the fact that I was probably bleeding on white sheets (because he wants me to sleep naked and it’s sort of hard to believe that I’m still bleeding). But there are a lot of things we have in common. Like the fact that I love to suck cock, and he has a cock Just one little problem, one I’ve never encountered before. He has a huge cock. So big that I can now understand how you could get TMJ from blowjobs.

I’m not complaining. I absolutely adore him, and could see myself with him til I’m old and gray. I’ve just finally come to realize that even in the best of situations, sometimes the real world can interfere with the best situation! But we’re both making the best of it, and we’re both able to laugh about it.

On Cloud Nine

I just spent a few wonderful days with the man I mentioned here and here. Any regrets? None so far! Our time together just reconfirmed my first impressions. And I know I got some grief for my post about my ideal man, but I just reread my list and, from what I can tell, he is almost exactly what I described. (I don’t know him well enough to know whether he meets several of the criteria.) Is he perfect? No, but none of his flaws are dealbreakers. And I hope that none of mine are dealbreakers to him.

This is going to be a short post, but I wanted to let you know that I’m alive, I survived the trip and I had an amazing time!

I’ll Admit to Being a Contradiction

For years now, I’ve felt that I’m ready to get married, if only I met the right man. After a breakup a couple years ago, I talked to a therapist about my past relationships in an effort to identify negative patterns, and avoid repeating those patters in the future.

One of the most insightful things she helped me recognize is that I’ve dated a lot of men who weren’t “available” in the sense that marriage to them was not a possibility. I dated the guy who was 6 years younger than me. I dated another man who flat-out told me that he didn’t want to ever get married. I felt frustrated in these relationships, and told myself, “If only…then we’d be married.” But, while seeing this therapist, I had a date with a young widower who had hired a matchmaker because he wanted to remarry. (The matchmaker my profile on Match and thought we’d be a good pair, so she set us up.) After my first couple dates with the man, I told my therapist that I was a little unsure of my feelings for him, and mentioned that he was very forthcoming about wanting to get remarried. She pointed out that I was unaccustomed to men who were emotionally available for marriage, and that I should be more open-minded. There’s nothing wrong with a man who’s straightforward, and doesn’t play games! I took her advice to heart, and I walked away from the next few dates feeling much more attracted to the widower. (Obviously, it didn’t work out.)

I now realize that I often say I want (fill-in-the-blank qualities) in a man, but when actually presented with some of those qualities, I automatically become suspicious, or suspect nefarious purposes. In some stupid way, it probably dates back to the dumb ways that we interacted with the opposite sex when we were kids. Remember how you’d never actually let on that you like someone? And remember “The Rules”? A little of that still lives on in me.

Which brings me to the present day. After a week of trading many emails, lots of text messages and several lengthy phone calls with a man I met online, we had a great date. There was instant chemistry, he followed up promptly after the date to tell me how excited he was about meeting me, and I did the same. He sent flowers and a gift. He invited me to spend a long weekend with him out of town, at his expense.

My initial gut reaction was, “What’s the catch? There must be something wrong with him if he’s so aggressively woo’ing me.” I considered pushing back. Don’t return his calls so quickly, I suggested to myself. Wait a week or two before going on another date. Decline his offer to go out of town. But then I paused, and I remembered what my therapist had told me. I want to be with a man who’s generous, a man who likes to travel and, most importantly, a man who wants to spend time with me! As long as I feel safe with him and trust him, what’s the worst that can happen? I go away for the weekend with him, discover we’re not a match, and never see him again? From what I’ve seen, he’s not obnoxious nor rude nor is he a bore. Egads–I have sex with a man who I later decide I have no interest in dating! It’s happened once or twice.

So I’ve decided not to sabotage myself. I’m making myself open and available, and I’m excited to see where it leads. Maybe he is the one.

(I should add that he’s been completely open, honest and forthcoming about all of his personal details. I know his name, phone numbers, addresses, job, etc. I’ve done Google searches to verify what he’s told me. I’ve seen his company website. I’ve searched the sex offender databases. And he’s encouraged me to share all of the information with a friend or family member before we go out of town together. Plus, we have several more dates planned before we our weekend together, so if I decide that we’re not a good match, I’ll still have the opportunity to pull the plug on our plans.)

Sex, and No Sex

I’ve been reading the book “The Time Traveler’s Wife” by Audrey Niffenegger. It’s a fabulous book, and my only regret is that I didn’t read it earlier. (I have a tendency to poo-poo books that are on the front tables at Borders and Barnes & Noble, thinking they’ll be too brainless of a read. Often, years after they’re release, I’ll read such a book and find myself annoyed that I didn’t read it earlier because it’s a great story and terrific writing.)

But back to “The Time Traveler’s Wife.” In it, the male and female protagonists, who are married, have a conversation about sex. They love each other dearly, and love having sex with one another. The male protagonist, Henry, has had more experience than his wife, Clare.

“Henry–do other people have as much sex as we do,” [Clare asks.]

Henry considers. “Most people…no, I imagine not. Only people who haven’t known each other very long and still can’t believe their luck, I would think. Is it too much?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I look at my plate. I can’t believe I’m saying this; I spent my entire adolescence begging Henry to fuck me and now I’m telling him it’s too much. Henry sits very still.

“Clare, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize; I wasn’t thinking.”

I look up; Henry looks stricken. I burst out laughing. Henry smiles, a little guilty, but his eyes are twinkling.

“It’s just–you know, there are days when I can’t sit down.”

“Well…you just have to say ‘Not tonight, dear, we’ve already done it twenty-three times today and I’d rather read Bleak House.‘”

It got me to thinking about my past relationships and my sex life–and how much I’d love to have such a conversation with my (future) partner. So I’m going to make a confession.

I’m in my mid-30s, I love sex, yet I’ve probably had sex less than 300 times in my life.

According to a well-publicized 2002 study, the average adult has sex 2.6 times weekly. For Americans, the rate is 138 times per year.

I lost my virginity 18 years ago. If I were average, I’d have had sex approximately 2,484 times since losing my virginity. My actual total is nothing close to that number. (And by sex, I’m referring to intercourse with penetration…not blow jobs or the like.)

My quick calculations:

I lost my virginity to a man who was a summer romance. We probably only had sex 2-3 times.

The school year after I lost my virginity, I impulsively slept with a drunk guy. It led to nothing. Then I had a spring romance with a man who turned into a regular college fling–this was A, who I’ve previously mentioned. Let’s say that while we were in college, he and I slept together 25 times. (Though I actually think that number’s high. Our romance burned bright for just a few months, then turned into a booty-call situation when we were each single. There were several instances where months at a time passed with no booty call. Other instances burn bright in my memory because the sex was always great, even if the timing was odd. Like the January 1991 night we were fucking in my dorm room while the TV news told of the US invasion of Iraq, the start of Operation Desert Storm. But I digress, as usual. )

The following summer, I slept with two men, and had sex with each 2-3 times. Let’s call it a total of 6 times.

I was single for the next year, and my only sex was the booty calls with A that I previously mentioned (and counted).

The year after that, I dated a man for about 4 months, but our relationship was fucked up, and we didn’t have that much sex. Maybe once a week, for a total of 16 times.

In case you’re counting, we’re up to 51 times.

I then dated a man, A2, for 6 years. We had a lousy sex life. I can remember one 18-month period where we never had sex. Ever. If we had sex 50 times, it would have been a lot. But I’ll credit him with 50 times because, after all, we did date 6 years.

After that was my romance with J2. We dated for 18 months, and the sex was amazing. But it was long distance, and we only saw each other 4 to 10 days a month. Let’s say we had sex 6 times a month for 18 months. That’s 108 times. (We’re up to 209.)

That was followed by a three-year romance another man who I haven’t written much about. Again, he was a guy with whom I had a lousy sex life. (He was pretty submissive, and I hated having the upper hand.) After the first few months, we probably had sex once a month, if that. Let’s count that as 50 times. Again, I’m probably being generous.

Oh, and I started seeing J2 again after that relationship ended. We only sleep together when we’re in the same town, and when we’re both single. I’d estimate we’ve slept together about 8 times since we split up several years ago. (We’re up to 267.)

Then there was a shorter relationship, where we only had about 4 months of sex. We weren’t seeing each other daily, so we probably only had a once-a-week sex life. I’ll count that as 16.

Things have practically ground to a halt since that relationship ended. In the last 2 years, I’ve had sex with two other men, a grand total of 3 times. (There have also been a couple visits with J2, but I’ve already counted those.)

That brings us to 286 times that I’ve had sex in my entire life. (Now, if I counted masturbation, or blow jobs, the total would admittedly be a lot higher.)

It’s kind of sad, isn’t it? Or is it? I love sex when the chemistry is right, but on a relative basis I’ve had so little of it compared to the “average” American. And I certainly feel experienced–after all, I’ve been having sex for 18 years now, and I’m book smart–:grin:–but I’m a lot less experienced than many women. Maybe I’m a slut in virgin’s clothing. I suppose that some men might find that very attractive. I could be their little girl who raw and inexperienced, but turns into their personal tramp when shown the way. (Maybe I should suggest that in my next Craigslist ad!)

OK, I Give!

It seems that 100% of the commenters to my last post, My Prince Will Come?, think that my expectations are too high. I’m re-reading the post for the first time since I posted it 5 or 6 days ago, and I can see why people would think I have expectations that are too high! And I shouldn’t have implied that all of these expectations are non-negotiable from the get-go.

For example, I’ve dated a few men who would never have described themselves as “foodies,” but they appreciated my passion for cooking and searching out great food, and it was something we could both enjoy together. (By the same token, I also make an effort to enjoy my partner’s passions, even if it’s not something that has previously interested me. In the past, I’ve sat through countless soccer matches with one partner, and learned a bit about the game because it was something that he loved. Or, I learned a lot about some niche bands with another partner who was musically inclined, and frequently went with him to concerts that I never would have gone to before we started dating. I learned to love wine from a couple boyfriends who had an interest in it, and together we went to wine tastings, vineyard tours and the like. It subsequently developed into a passion for me.) 

On the flip side, I would say that some of the expectations I list are character traits that are fairly set by adulthood. For example, I can’t imagine teaching someone to be modest, trustworthy and compassate at this point in life.

I probably didn’t express it clearly enough, but these are ideals, not minimum standards of performance! I always try to be openminded when I meet a man who’s a potential romantic partner, and in the past I’ve dated men who didn’t share a lot of these attributes. But I’ve also learned from experience, which is why I’ve included some of those attributes. For example, I’ve dated a couple men who didn’t want children. And I’ve thought long and hard about whether I would be happy if I never had children. Ultimately, I decided that I’d like to at least have the possibility of having kids, and I don’t think it’s fair to waste the time of myself or the time of a potential partner if we’re not a match on that level. Because I want my next relationship to be my last relationship.

My Prince Will Come?

Are my expectations too high?

I’ve said it before: I refuse to settle. I’ve dated men who were terrific–and where we both worked hard at the relationship–but something has always been missing. I realize no relationship is perfect. Trust me, I wouldn’t have worked so hard to make each and every of my past relationships succeed if I thought relationships had to be perfect. But on the flip side, I also realize I have high expectations. (At the risk of sounding like a snob, I realize every time I see someone with some huge character flaws–the kind of things that would be dealbreakers for many people–who have not only been married once, but married two, three and four times.)

What do I expect from a partner? In only some particular order:

1. He must be dominant.
2. We must share most of the same moral, ethical and religious values.
3. He must be at least spiritual, but preferably religious, with a Chistian, Jewish or Muslim faith background.
4. He has to be attractive–to me. (Yes, it’s a matter of personal preference. Brad Pitt is good looking, but I don’t find him to be attractive. There’s a difference.)
5. He must have a healthy relationship with his family. (Is there anyone who ever says, “I want a man who has an unhealthy relationship with his family? )
6. We should have similar attitudes toward finances. (Meaning, he has little or no credit card debt, he’s planned for his financial future, he’s fiscally prudent and responsible, but he also understands that for life to be fun and enjoyable, you sometimes have to spend a little money.)
7. He must have a college education, and probably has an advanced degree.
8. He makes more money than me. (I struggle with the idea of submitting to a man who makes less money than me.)
9. He enjoys great food and a good bottle of wine.
10. He doesn’t abuse drugs. (I experimented at points in my life, and don’t hold it against other people who have also experimented, but I also know that a drug addiction can consume much of a person’s time, attention and energy. I prefer to be number one. )
11. My heart leaps every time I catch sight of him. (Ok, maybe not every time, but most of the time!)
12. He’s a romantic, and cherishes the idea that I want to be swept (literally and figuratively) off of my feet.
13. He’s athletic.
14. He’s a good communicator, and is happy to share his feelings, and initiate conversations, even when they might be difficult.
15. He loves to travel.
16. He’s well-read.
17. He loves children and animals.
18. He gives of himself: To family, to friends, to the less privledged.
19. He knows how to have a disagreement, but he’s also willing to consider other view points.
20. He’s a bit of a guy’s guy.
21. He has a good sense of humor.
22. He’s generous.
23. He’s a gentleman.
24. He appreciates a woman who takes the time to look good for him!
25. He’s probably an executive in a white-collar position.
26. He gets along with his ex’s (or, at the very least, don’t bash/badmouth them).
27. He believes that D/s is about romance, not just about kinky sex.
28. But we share some (most?) kinks.
29. He’s mature, but he still has a boyish side to him.
30. He usually has a calm demeanor, and doesn’t fly off the handle.
31. He’s fairly modest.
32. He cares about earning the respect of people around him.
33. He is kind.
34. He’s cultured, and enjoys some of the finer things in life.
35. He’s rather spend a long weekend exploring a new city than camping under the stars.
36. But he can understand the attraction of sometimes camping under the stars.
37. He’s adventurous–in most aspects of life–but he’s also realistic and thoughtful.
38. He’s trustworthy.
39. He goes out of his way to help people.
40. When he enters my life, he’s probably going to make an immediate, positive impression.
41. He’s compassionate.
42. He’s monogamous.
43. He has high expectations–of himself and his partner.
44. He doesn’t easily give his heart to another person, but when he does, he gives it his all.

So tell me: As a 30something submissive woman who’s living in the big city, am I expecting too much when I say that I’m looking for a man with these qualities? It may go without saying, but I’ll say it nonetheless: In most instances, I have compatible or symbiotic qualities to offer my partner. At the risk of sounding immodest, I think I have a lot to offer. But, by the same token, that’s probably why my expectations are high.

Do you know anyone who might be a good match?

D/s? D/s!

When I started tagging posts as “D/s” I didn’t realize that it has a different meaning to some people. Apologies if you’ve stumbled across this blog while searching for the latest and greatest in the world of video games. Ooops.

Sixth Time’s a Charm?

I’ve posted five or six ads on Craigslist in the last couple years. I keep a file of the different ads, all of which describe what I’m looking for, but each is written in a different style. I also have a file of each profile I’ve posted on the various BDSM dating websites. These ads show the progression of my thinking and attitudes toward D/s. I read some of the things I wrote in the early days, and I sometimes amazed at how much my approach and thinking has changed. But I like to keep these old ads and profiles on hand, because often there’s a phrase or description I particularly like, and might want to use again.

The analytical side of me likes to informally track how my Craigslist ads do. If I write a new one and the response is lackluster–or the men who do respond are far from what I’m looking for–I’ll take down the ad and replace it with another one. I recently posted a new ad–one I wrote from scratch, which contains few, if any, phrases or descriptions from past ads. Fundamentally, I’m still looking for the same qualities in a man, and I still describe myself in a similar fashion, but the overall theme is subtly different.

The response has been great.

In addition to saving ads, I also save every response I’ve ever received from an ad. Ah, the glories of unlimited Gmail capacity. If I get an email that sounds interesting, I’ll often search my files to see if the person has responded to a past ad. In some instances, I don’t even bother to read the emails–as soon as I see who it’s from, I file away because I know I have no interest in the individual. (These are usually men who I’ve gone out on a date with, and upon meeting them I realized they misrepresented themselves.)

My newest ad has drawn a significant response from men who have never previously responded to one of my ads. So I must have done something right in this version. How it ultimately turns out remains to be seen. The ad hasn’t been up long enough for me to fully gauge the response, nor have I had a chance to respond to a single email. But I have about 15 messages that may merit further conversation.

Of course, there were some oddities, annoyances and morons.

• I got my first email from an African scammer. I’ve heard that the Nigerians and others prey on people through the online dating sites, but I’d never run into any. You’ll be happy to know that Lazare from Camaroon wants to be my boyfriend! I never thought I would be so lucky.
• A photo tip: Don’t send a picture of yourself, where, visible in the background, is a framed photo of a some girl in a bikini. I’m guessing she isn’t your sister, or your mom! Oh, and a a shot-glass collection does not really qualify as home decor.
• Yeah, right! Gotta love the “dominants” who send a two-sentence email ordering you to send your picture to them IMMEDIATELY, and then they’ll give you their picture, and tell you more about themselves. Oooohhhh…I swoon when I read your note, because you’re obviously a true dominant man. And then, I click the delete button. (Well, I actually file it away in my “no match” folder, but it sounds more dramatic to say that I delete it.)
• Another photo tip: If someone says they’re looking for a partner who’s fit, athletic and/or height/weight proportionate, you probably don’t want to send a photo that shows your triple chins.
• Yeah, right (part 2)! Then there was a guy who asked me to read a particular book in the next couple days so we’d have something to discuss on our first book. Um, yeah…I’ll get right on that. (And that was the entirety of his note to me.)
• Not only was he 10 years younger than me (which is a hard limit for me), but then he suggests, “I would love to make out, and see where things go from there.” (You mean, you’d love to see if I go home with you after we make out?) Sorry, I don’t do “make out” first dates. At least, I haven’t since I was in college.
• Or what about the guy who sends me an email that says (in its entirety), “Your profile it too long. I couldn’t read it all. Please respond.” My apologies. I understand that the three minutes you might spend reading my profile will certainly cut into the time you have available this weekend to read “War & Peace.” I’ll keep my response short and sweet: NO.
• I say a lot of things in my profile, but what to do with the man who emails me and quotes from something I didn’t say in my profile (and have never said–period)? There’s nothing like a cut-and-paste email.
• what about the guy who doesn t use punctuation or believe in periods at the end of sentences and capital letters at the beginning of sentences fortunately those guys usually write very short notes i don t know that i could deal with a longer note because it would give me a headache to try to decipher the message though those guys never seem to have much to say anyway thank goodness

That Felt Cathartic

Sometimes it helps to just write about it, and get my emotions out. For a couple weeks now, I was just hoping for a sign. And I got one, even if it wasn’t the sign I was hoping for.

Maybe I’ll write a post about all of the men I’ve (thought) I loved, and why I now know we weren’t a good match. It might serve as a good reminder that broken hearts do heal.

Sometimes I Hate Myself

Sometimes I hate myself. I hate myself for being vulnerable. I hate myself for being trusting. I hate myself for opening up. I hate myself for caring so much. I hate myself for being honest. I hate myself for not being more skeptical. I hate myself for being forgiving. I hate myself for loving.

Because it hurts so much more when you fall.

I let a man into my heart. I told him I wanted to take things slowly. I believed the things he said to me. I ignored some of the warning signs. I trusted him with my feelings. I let myself imagine a life together. I let myself be seduced. I looked at pictures of his home and family, and envisioned being a part of that. I couldn’t imagine being more compatible with him. I put myself into his hands. I thought he felt the same way.

Then he disappeared.

No advance warning. No apology. No explanation. No response to my calls and emails.

I worried that something happened to him. I wondered if he’d reappear after a few days with an apology, and sweet, soft words of comfort. I held out cords of hope that grew thinner with each passing day. I worried that I’d done something to hurt him.

But he’s gone.

I cry. I ache. I rage. I mourn. I hurt. I’m pissed. I’m regretful. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m confused.

How is it so easy for some to find love? Why do some of us look, open our hearts and just get hurt? Am I too gullible? Too demanding? Too picky? Too cute? Too ugly? Too dumb? Too smart? Too short? Too tall? Too happy? Too sad? Too quiet? Too talkative? Too good in bed? Too bad in bed? Too submissive? Too dominant? Too old? Too young? Too liberal? Too conservative? Too passive? Too aggressive? Too emotional? Too distant? Too close? Too far? Too happy? Too sad? Too optimistic? Too pessimistic? Too thin? Too fat?

I have no answers. I just know how I feel. I think, “I’ll never find someone more compatible.” I tell myself, “You were too good for him.” I remember that I’ve felt this way before. I know that the hurt does fade. I know that I have something special to offer. I just need to be patient. I will love again. I just need to keep repeating that.

Snap Judgments

Recently I “met” a guy on Alt who described himself as dominant. His photo was attractive, and he was well spoken. Based on our fetish checklists, it seemed as if we would be a good match. Then he told me what he did for a living, and my hopes were dashed. You see, when I envision myself with a dominant man, I don’t just take into consideration how he treats me. The fact is, I look at the whole package. And call me superficial, but I just can’t envision myself with a dominant many who’s an actor in a children’s theater group. It’s not that I think he’s submissive. But when he’s acting tough and in a domly mood, I fear that I’d picture him dressed up as Barney and lose all respect for him!

So that got me to thinking…Are there some professions that are inheriently more dominant than others?

What’s the Secret?

I’ve written before of my frustrations with BDSM dating. In my post-college life, I’ve been in several long-term relationships, ranging from 9 months to 6 years. In between relationships, it’s taken anywhere from 6 months to a year before I’ve been ready to move on, and meet someone new. And I never really had any difficulty meeting great men.

Until I decided to limit myself to dating dominant men.

“Michael Tolliver Lives”

I just finished reading Armistead Maupin’s newest novel, “Michael Tolliver Lives.” I’ve been a fan of Maupin’s writing for 12 or 15 years, ever since my gay friends first discovered them, and shared them with me.

For those who are unfamiliar with the “Tales of the City” series, it began as a newspaper serial that Maupin originally wrote for the San Francisco Chronical. The series ultimately took on a life of its own, and was eventually turned into six or seven books. “Michel Tolliver Lives” is the latest book featuring “Tales of the City” characters, though it also works as a standalone novel.

I {Heart} Gordon Ramsey

I admit, I have a schoolgirl crush on Gordon Ramsey. I’d first become aware of him at the launch of “Hell’s Kitchen,” a reality cooking contest where aspiring chefs compete for the chance to run a restaurant under the mentorship of British bad-boy chef Gordon Ramsey.

Ramsey’s known for his ultra-high standards of perfection; he doesn’t restrain himself someone fails to meet his standards of perfection. “You donkey,” he’ll scream at someone who has left him down. Prepared dishes, ready to be served, are flung in the trash. He never fails to turn a mistake into a teaching lesson (even if it’s delivered at a loud decibel). “Shut it down! Shut it all down!” he’ll order when he’s run out of patience with his cooks, and at that, diners are summarily kicked out of his television “restaurant” regardless of whether they’ve actually been fed.

Beware Bengay

I know some sadistic doms like to use Bengay/IcyHot/Deep Heat on their sub’s private parts. Apparently a teen athlete died after using too much of it, so exercise some caution since the mucus membranes are thin and more likely to absorb more of the cream’s ingredients. According to this article, methyl salicylate, which is an anti-inflammatory, is the potentially lethal ingredient.

Out With The Old

In case it wasn’t obvious from my last couple of posts, things with the Dark Horse finally came to an end over the last couple of months.

Learning More About Myself

In January 2006, I was tired of going on vanilla dates with men from Match, so I started surfing around, searching for dating sites that might be a bit more “alternative.” I probably typed “bdsm & dating” into Google, and what popped up but Alt.com. I was ready to take the first big step.

Tears

It’s been about a year since I decided that I needed to make D/s a top priority in my dating life. I know it was the right decision–I’d been searching for it for years, and just not finding it in vanilla relationships–but at some level it’s been one of the more painful decisions I’ve made.

I’m lonely. I miss the intimacy that comes with being in a relationship. (Right now I feel as if I’d give anything to just fall sleep in someone’s arms.) I get frustrated and wonder if I’ve made an impossible decision. I beat myself up because I live in a city where that’s huge, but the number of people seeking a BDSM-flavoried relationship seems inexplicably small. I question whether all of the pieces will ever fall into place. I see that the clock is ticking on other things I’d like to accomplish in life–a husband, children, the whole shebang–and wonder if I’ve made it harder to attain those things. I’ve spent most of the last two hours in tears.

I think of myself as an optimistic person. I’m upbeat, and hope for the best. But sometimes life just gets me down. I hate this feeling, because it hurts and it feels hopeless.

Well, They’re Still There

The gods must be smiling on me, because my date this week was postponed. In the meantime, I’ve been popping arnica homeopathic tablets, and rubbing arnica gel on my nipples. I don’t know if it’s working, but I think that ice actually made it worse.

The thing I forgot to mention…the biter is one of the first men I described in one of my very first blog posts. It had been about a year since I last saw him, but we decided to go on another date. As evidenced by nipples, it went pretty well.

Fuck…

…fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. (I know, not very sophisticated use of the English language.)

So, I had a date this weekend that turned more physical than I’d originally anticipated. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t bother me. But…I have a date tomorrow that’s almost certain to turn physical. And I’d rather not have to explain the bite marks on my nipples.

(I already tried to see if a lip stain would turn them uniformly reddish-purple. At least that would be slightly easier to explain than purple bruises that only cover parts of my nipples. Damn. Anyone have any suggestions?)

Why I Love a Mark

Caitlin’s recent post about marks reminded me that I’d been wanting to blog on a similar topic.

I’ll admit that I’m a relative newbie when it comes to marks and bruises. While I probably fall on the conservative side of the black & blue scale, I’m quickly learning to love marks.

Almost every time I’ve seen the Dark Horse, he’s left me with a mark. He does it deliberately, so I can have something to remember him by, so I can feel a little bit owned. He also tries to put it in a spot where it can be easily covered with clothing, but with a short skirt or deep neckline, someone vanilla might spot it.

In all honesty, the idea of someone spotting a mark isn’t much of a turnon for me. I’ve always been one who bruises easily, so I’m used to have black & blue marks (mainly on my legs, but also on my arms) from being a klutz and bumping into things. (Right now I even have black & blue toenails!) So for all of my years, I’ve been accustomed to having a few self-inflicted marks, and I’ve never paid much attention to whether other people notice them.

But when I have one of his marks, I love to trace my finges over it. I press lightly and feel the ache. I slide my fingers over the skin to see if there’s a welt. And for as long as the bruise lasts, I feel close to him. (Not that I don’t feel close at other times, but it’s another way to feel closer.)

The first guy who gave me bruises marked my breasts through a combination of clamps and a vaccuum pump. I’ve always had sensitive skin, and within a day I noticed marks. The skin on the tips of my nipples turned from soft and smooth to dull, dry and peeling. (I told you my skin is sensitive!) Although I wouldn’t necessarily choose to have dry, flaking skin, I smiled every time I noticed it and remembered the cause.

The next man who gave me bruises marked my ass, leaving a handful of finger prints from a particularly energetic fucking.

Then I met the Dark Horse. He told me early into our conversations that he wanted me to wear his mark (in the form of a bruise). And now I look forward to it. He usually marks me through a combination of sucking and biting. He’ll work on a spot until he gets distracted (usually by my moans and squirms), then he’ll come back to it again and again, building up the mark with layers of attention, until I’m left with a mark that can easily last three weeks.

Red to purple to blue to brown to green to yellow…it seems to pass through a rainbow of colors as it fades. And all the while, I smile every time I see it.

Ups and Downs

With the year ending in less than two weeks, I realized that my sex life this year has been a mixed bag.

I had sex four times this year. That is, real sex–Bill Clinton sex–with another human being. Vibrators don’t count. That’s twice with J2 and twice with Mr. P.