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?

Hard Days (and Nights)

It’s been a tough two weeks, and with each day that passes, it becomes more doubtful that my relationship with survive. I’ve been in so much pain, and the man who I love is the one who’s caused it. It hurts even more that I can’t turn to him for comfort.

I wake up each day, and then watch the clock, wondering how I’ll make it to the end of the day. Not that things improve once I’m back in bed. I have trouble falling asleep, and once I do, I wake up early and can’t fall back asleep. Sleeping aids seem to have little or no effect. I don’t know why I’m so eager to make it through each day, but I guess I’m just waiting for some finality to the situation. One way or another, I need to start the process of healing and recovery, and I can’t do that until things are resolved. In the meantime, I take it second-by-second, minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour, day-by-day, week-by-week.

Time. Drags. On. So. Slowly.

He broke my trust in him. The sequence of events started with what I believe was a lie, and was then followed with a series of promises that he subsequently broke. It hurt on so many levels. It hurts because I was lied to. But it also hurts because at the same time that he was breaking my trust in him, he was pushing me away. Telling me he didn’t want to spend time with me. Hurting me because it seemed as if he wasn’t craving me as much as I was craving him.

He behaved inconsiderately and selfishly. He admits that. But he hasn’t made any effort to correct those behaviors. And he’s refused to talk to me on the phone, communicating instead through the occassional text message and email. I hate that he’s behaving childishly, and has resorted to passive-aggressive communication methods.

I admit that my behavior over the last two week hasn’t always been admirable. I’ve yelled. I’ve been stubborn. I’ve been demanding. And I’m not proud of that. But I feel pushed into a corner, driven to act out. I don’t want to be the proverbial “submissive doormat,” but he was treating me like I was one.

I’ve told him that our relationship is in jeopardy. I’ve told him that his actions send me the message that he wants out. He denies it. He brushes it off, tells me not to worry, tells me that all will be OK and that he loves me. I wonder how two people can be viewing the same situation and take away such differing opinions of it.

I’m not sure why I’ve held on for these last two weeks. Why didn’t I just end it all when the shit first hit the fan? I guess I optimistically expected that he’d fix it. He’d make it better. He’d show me that it was all a mistake.

But he hasn’t.  He says one thing, but his actions speak volumes…and they’re saying something else. His actions tell me that I’m not a priority. His actions say that he has no problem treating me inconsiderately. His actions indicate that he has no interest in saving this relationship.

Why am I still here? Why am I still waiting for this grand gesture? I guess I’m scared. I guess I’m still holding out hope. I lose a little respect for myself here. Why have I let him treat me this way? Why haven’t I just walked away? Why am I leaving the door open for him, knowing he can behave this way, knowing that if I forgive him he might do this again?

I am scared. And I love his positive character traits. I can’t imagine finding someone who is his equal. I realize I’m getting old. The dating pool is growing smaller. I’ve looked at the profiles on Alt and CM and Bondage.com, and I’ve gotten disillusioned. It seems hopeless. I want the happily-ever-after story, and I thought I’d found it in him. I searched and searched and searched, and I thought I’d found him.

Now I’m not so sure.

The Stranger

The restaurant was small and dark, and it was impossible not to brush against other tables and diners as we were making our way to our seats. But the proprietor sat us at what was probably the best table in what was probably the best section; it was a table for two adjacent to the huge window facing the street.

It was later in the evening, and this restaurant was an unexpected, last-minute choice. Given that it was a weeknight, there were only two other tables occupied, and I kept glancing at the man seated in my direct eyeline. He had a weak chin that he’d attempted to hide with a beard, and he reminded me of someone, but I didn’t recognize him or his female dining companion. The other table–at which sat two men–was directly to my right and cloaked in a shadow.

We opened a bottle of wine and started to relax, chatting as we perused the menu. Almost unconsciously, I found myself glancing to the bearded man, and then to the other table. Something familiar kept causing me to look their way, but I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I didn’t try. Each time I turned to look, the action was reflexive, driven by instinctively by something, but I couldn’t say what it was. I was hardly aware that I was even glancing around, and each time I did, my eye focused on the bearded, weak-chinned man who I thought I recognized.

Suddenly I turned my head again. It wasn’t the weak-chinned man who was catching my attention, it was a familiar voice. I turned again to the two men sitting at my right, and my eyes immediately fell on one of them. My heart froze for a second, then I slowly turned my head back to my boyfriend and resumed our conversation, though my mind was hardly focused on the words coming out of my mouth.

I didn’t look again, but within a minute I was aware that the men were standing up, gathering their things, and walking out the door. My boyfriend started to ask me a question, but I halted him as I waited for the men to walk down the sidewalk past our table in the picture window.

“That guy used to be one of my best friends,” I told him after they’d walked down the street. “I haven’t talked to him or heard from him in about 5 years. I didn’t even realize that he’d moved back to the city.”

I was introduced to D on my first day at college. I was a freshman, and T was the first person I met when I arrived on campus. D was T’s his best friend, and T introduced me to D, a senior. They both lived down the hall from me, and I was flattered and happy to make the aquaintance of two attractive upperclassman. For the first month or two, I think D saw me simply as one of a gaggle of girls who competed for his attentions. But slowly, we found some shared interests and carved out something of a friendship. Admittedly, I had a small crush on him, though he showed no signs of being interested in me romantically, but every sign of being interested in me as a person.

That year flew by, and quickly came to an end. D graduated, and I couldn’t tell you what he did immediately after graduation. Maybe he stayed in town, working at a local job. Maybe he left immediately and I just got periodic updates about him. We weren’t close enough to be in direct contact after he moved away, but we shared a lot of mutual friends. I’d think of him sporadically, but he wasn’t at the forefront of my mind.

My college years were a wonderful whirlwind, and before I knew it, senior year had arrived. I went home from the Christmas holiday, and flew back to the city shortly after the new year. It was a cold, wet January day, and I decided to take a commercial shuttle from the airport to campus. The dispatcher pointed me to the van, and told me we’d be leaving in a few minutes. I climbed in and started to get settled when a voice greeted me from the back of the bus. I turned around, and it was D.

He was moving back in town after working elsewhere for several years. We spent the entire ride catching up, and, since his future roommates wouldn’t be home for another couple hours, I invited him over to my apartment to hang out. We spent hours together catching up with one another before he headed over to his new home. As I think about it now, that chance encounter probably cemented a new, closer stage of our relationship.

Within months I had graduated, and we’d both moved to homes further from campus and closer to our jobs in the city. Our offices were just several blocks from one another, so on a regular basis we’d meet for lunch. I can also recall many night spent hanging out at my house or his. By this time I was in a serious relationship, and I’d long moved past the idea that there ever might be a romantic relationship with D. That was confirmed the day we met for lunch and he told me that he was gay. I was the first straight friend who he came out to, and he was a bit let down that the announcement didn’t generate more of a suprised or shocked reaction. A few months later, at his request, I broke the news to our mutual friend T.

As the years flew by, our relationship grew even closer, and he became my family away from home. We celebrated holidays together. We commisserated over failed relationships. We took vacations together. We spent many a summer hour sitting in his garden, listening to music, drinking wine and cooking dinner. On the morning of September 11, I sat in front of his television and together we watched what seemed like the world collapsing.

Within a year, our relationship had fallen to pieces. To this day I don’t know what caused it, though I’ve often wondered if his then-boyfriend, always kind and cordial toward me, might have been a factor. After all, little else had changed in our friendship, but with the arrival of this boyfriend (and, perhaps not coincidentally, with the arrival of a new boyfriend for me, too) we started to see less of one another. Holidays passed without joint celebration. Our communication was reduced to quick phone calls and short emails. Then I got an email from him, “We’re moving to another state. I have a couple things of yours, but they accidentally got packed. I’ll send them when we’re settled in.”

Then there was silence.

I got no reply to my emails. I never saw my possessions. (I was less concerned with my possessions and more concerned with our dissolving friendship.) I was hurt when I sent him a note sharing some bad news but got no acknowledgement in reply. A mutual friend fell upon hard times, and I read about it in the paper; at that point I wouldn’t have expected D to contact me about it, but I was surpised that D never called when our friend died. By that time I’d given up trying. I’d reached out to him too many times in the past, and was stonewalled at every effort. The rejection was too painful. Plus, other friends also felt as if he’d turned his back on us. That at least gave me some comfort; I shouldn’t take it too personally.

And then I found myself sitting less than 4 feet away from him. I was stunned at the notion that I didn’t even recognize someone who’d been such a close friend, someone who I’d known for nearly two decade. Should I say something? Did he recognize me? What would I say after all of these years? A dozen thoughts raced through my mind, but in the end I did nothing. After all, he was a stranger to me.

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.

Please Don’t

I don’t particularly like IM’ing. I find it clunky and obtrusive. A lot of things you do in IM would be considered rude in other settings. When you IM someone, you don’t know what they’re doing at that particular minute. They could be in the middle of another conversation. Or engrossed in reading something. Or in the midst of a heated battle in some MPG. But still, when we IM, we barge right in. “Hi. I’m here. Talk to me.” Assuming you have any modicum of manners, you wouldn’t just walk into someone’s house and demand that they talk to you. Nor would you do it if you saw two colleagues engaged in a serious discussion. But we do it with IM. And we hope our friends will forgive our sometimes rude interruptions.

How then to deal with the almost stranger who wants to add you to his IM list? When I post ads on CL, I use a Yahoo address. When when I reply to interesting notes, about half of the men respond not with another email, but with an IM. And I hate it.

Just because I gave you my address doesn’t give you the right to barge into my house, does it?

I try to remember to keep my IM software set so that I’m invisible. But sometimes I forget. Then what to do when I get an IM from someone who I’ve never “spoken” to before, someone with whom I’ve only traded one or two notes? Sometimes I ignore it, but I wonder if they can see that I’m online. Do they think it rude of me not to respond? Or I’ll wait an hour and send a quick response, “Saw you IM’ed me. Sorry I missed you.” Yes, perhaps I’m being passive aggressive. Should I just accept their invitation and then let them know I’m not available to chat? (I hate to come across as curt or rude, so it seems easier to ignore these messages.)

Even worse is when I feel like I’m being cyber-stalked by some IM fanatic. If I don’t reply to an email quickly enough. If they see me briefly log on, then set my profile to invisible. These are the people who send somewhat demanding emails wanting to know why they haven’t heard from me. Ugh.

Five years ago, we complained that cell phones made us too connected. We were at the beck-and-call of our family, friends and bosses, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Now, I feel tethered to IM, and I hate it. I don’t always want to have to answer to someone when they IM me, particularly if it’s someone I don’t know very well.

It’s No F’in Fair

Of the last 12 weeks, I’ve had my period for 6 of them. It all started when my doctor switched me to a new birth control pill…

I finished the last of my old prescription on June 9, and had my period the week of June 10. (Period 1, Week 1.)

On June 17, I started my new prescription. (Week 2.)

On June 24, I left for vacation, and because of the time-zone change, I probably let more than 24 hours pass between taking my next pill. By the next day, I got breakthrough bleeding, and it lasted a week. (Period 2, Week 3.)

On July 7, I finished the last pill in my prescription, and had my period on the week of July 8. (Period 3, Week 5.)

Then, three blissful, period-free weeks passed.

On August 4, I finished the last pill in my prescription, and had my period on the week of August 5. (Period 4, Week 9.)

On August 23, I was again traveling and just spaced out. I forgot to take my pill that day. The next day I got breakthrough bleeding, and it lasted nearly a week. (Period 5, Week 11.)

On September 2, I finished the last pill in my prescription, and had my period again! (Period 6, Week 12.)

Ugh!!!!

Kids, repeat after me: “I will not forget to take my birth control. I will not forget to take my birth control. I will not forget to take my birth control.”

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?

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.

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.

Bad Email!

Always Aroused Girl’s recent post on The Grammar, It Saddens Me inspired me to write a similar post of my own. I get introductory emails from men who read my profile on Alt or CM, and some of the emails just make me cringe because the grammar–or other details–are so bad. Since AAG has covered the grammar, I’ll focus on some other details that annoy me!

Is Everyone Pregnant?

Four friends have had babies in the last two months. In two instances, it was their first child, and for the other two, it was their second child.

In the last week, I’ve learned that another two are pregnant with first children. (And I will become aunt for the first time.)

One one hand, I’m thrilled for my friends. I love children, and relish the time that I get to spend with my friends’ and relatives’ offspring. But it’s also bittersweet. I want children myself–or, at least, want the opportunity to have children. But I’m getting older, and I’m unmarried. In many ways, I’m a traditionalist. I have no interest in having children out of wedlock, no adoption or artificial insemination or unintention pregnancies for me. I want to have the opportunity to stay home with my children while they’re young, and that’s tough to do as an unmarried mother (unless you’re independently wealthy or on welfare, of course).

So instead I congratulate my friends. It’s a heartfelt congratulation–I’m truly happy that they’re having children because in many ways I can live vicariously through them. But I still hope for one or two of my own some day.

Things I Don’t Understand

A few weeks ago, I jumped in my car to run a quick errand. I’d been working from home that day, so I didn’t have on any makeup, and wasn’t wearing anything very dressy. For all I remember, I might have been very casual–perhaps a pair of yoga pants and a fitted tee–because the errand (to the Department of Motor Vehicles) didn’t require me to look good.

I turned from a minor thoroughfare onto a more major one, and drove about a block up to a traffic light, which was red. As I waited for the light to change, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. To my right was a man–maybe in his late 20s or early 30s–in a cheap sports car, gesturing for me to roll down my window. I recently had a flat tire, and my first thought was, “Is something else wrong with my car?” I rolled down my window and the guy said to me, “I hope you don’t think I’m rude for saying this, but I think you’re–”

That Sinking Feeling…

I try not to get my hopes up before a blind first date, but sometimes it’s tough to rein in those feelings. If I’ve talked to the guy on the phone, or exchanged a series of long, thoughtful emails, and if I’ve seen an attractive photo, I’ll let my mind start to wander. Could he be the one? Might we live happily ever after? What if I like him but he doesn’t feel the same way about me? Is it possible that the chemistry will be as amazing in person as it is over the phone?

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.

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.

I’ve Had a Bad Week

The past few days have been tough on me. I’ve tried to put on a happy face and think positive thoughts, but last night, shortly before heading to bed, I broke down in tears. Today I was just focused on getting through the day, and I don’t have plans tonight, so I’m just counting the hours until I can head to bed. I’m hoping tomorrow will be better.

Feeling a Little Down

Last week I was floating on air, eagerly anticipating my date with the Dark Horse. It was the highlight of the upcoming week, so I was quite excited. The date has come and gone, and it was terrific. But today I’m feeling down…sad…a bit blah.

Over the years, I’ve had a couple bouts with depression, brought on by legitimate, real-life events. Fortunately, I’m pretty good at reading my own body and mind. I know when I might be heading toward clinical depression. Then there are the days like this, where the stars align and I just feel lousy. Every one has them. If there’s a bright side to having been clinically depressed (but still highly-functioning) in the past, it’s that I know how to distinguish between my own serious bouts and short-term blues, and I also know what to do in both cases when I think I’m having an onset of one or the other.

In this case, I think it’s a combination of a few circumstances.

Guy #5 (Sometimes You Have to Kiss a Few Frogs)

Guy #5 was another case of a guy who gave good email. He was smart–brilliant, probably–but he lacked common sense. He wasn’t going to get anyone killed with his lack of common sense, but he was the kind of guy who probably needed a wife to keep him organized. After a few dates where our vanilla conversations just left me grinding my teeth, I realized I could never get serious with G#5, because I couldn’t respect him. He was slowly driving me crazy. So I thanked him, and we went our separate ways. (Oh, and things never got more hot and heavy than making out and some public groping. He was actually a decent kisser.)

Why Is It…?

Why is it that some dominant guys think they can act like complete boors online when they’d never behave that way in the real world? And do dominant men really think that begging and arguing will get submissive women to change their mind after the sub has rejected them?