Xanadu

Xanadu
In Xanadu did Kublah Khan a stately pleasure dome decree

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Horses, Not Zebras

I was all fired up to blog in late August when news of the incredibly reckless Fusion sun-branding debacle hit the scene. I was really, really upset and invested a lot of time in a draft post, then felt I should cool off and give it another read before putting it up. Cuz I was hot about it, hot. Still am. Then Master-slave Conference arrived, i helped with packet stuffing, flirted with the hotel manager, and boy t visited from far away, plus boy c decided to accept My strong suggestion to attend, and two other friends went for the first time at My suggestion, and of course seeing out of town friends, going to classes, that all was a whirlwind. I started a blog about *that*, esp. the last day when I participated in a BDSM research study. Then event drop hit and/or I got something flu-like for a few days, and ever since, well, I've just been in an inexplicable fog. There was some very serious nonsense-drama with a neighbor who wanted to dig under My foundation, and that took a lot of bandwidth for 10 days. Somewhere in there I feel like I've aged rapidly, I feel must stoopider, slightly grasping for or mis-using words, making regular typos and other did-I-really-do-that? mistakes, clumsy, I'm low energy, kinda bummed out and grumpy, even got weepy at work last week which I try to make sure never gets noticed by the male boss (failed), and hey, can always be attributed to PMS or perio, one never really knows. And I'm staying up later and sleeping later and muzzy-headed during the day. Chocolate and caffeine and carb consumption is up, veggie/ salad consumption way down. Thankfully, having My boys around gives Me the ability to notice these things more easily than I might on My own. They give Me a baseline of comparison. I've really been a little perplexed about what's going on, and it even crossed My mind that I should go see a doc to rule out a brain tumor. Brain tumor! Thought I had a damned brain tumor.

But as they like to say in medical circles, when you hear the sound of hooves, think horses not zebras.

Yesterday I looked up at the end of a work day, which is not infrequently about 7pm, and it was fucking NIGHT time out there. And I realized we just had the autumnal equinox (and I again missed the chance to stand an egg on its end, dammit). And I went... DOPE!!!  Of course. It's happening again. It's the changing of the light.  If I had stopped and written all those changes down, I would have put it together. But they were just passing thoughts, dots not connected, which is itself another manifestation of impaired mental clarity. In short, I let it sneak up on Me again.

Also not unlike PMS, this happens on a fairly regular cycle but I somehow manage to not remember/ notice each time. At one point I had light-change alerts set on My phone calendar but they were lost in an upgrade or reboot, leaving Me once more to re-discover what I have learned so many times already.

So it's time to brief the boys more fully about how I need them to be supportive. It's time to re-stock the herbs and vitamins, make up sets of portable packets, and go back to taking them something more like religiously, as I did until some point late last spring. It's time to turn on the sunbox at the office when I arrive and mull over getting one for the bedroom (the timed lights are a nice stopgap though). And time to buy a ticket to Florida in early February cuz man, I can already tell I'm gonna need it.

I really should live closer to the equator. I'm a northern-raise girl with northern genes and frankly, I consider it a genetic defect. Humans left Africa dark skinned, got to northern climes, lived in sod hovels, lost their melanin (think people = white asparagus), turned lily white, and in My case, lived on the northern oceans so they developed freakishly small respiratory equipment that lazily assumed the ocean would always be there doing most of the work to clean and moisturize the air they breathed. Not a fantastic combo for 21st century urban living successful.

The Celts didn't think in terms of four seasons. They had two, the Light and the Dark and each commenced on a solstice. I apparently run on a Light/ Dark two-season cycle too but it turns at the equinox. From here to March is My Dark season and I need to be vigilant. i'm like a clock that slowly winds down, then winds back up.  I mark My calendar and watch the weeks tick toward the winter solistice, then I count the number of weeks the solstice has been receding in the rear view mirror. 12 down. 12 up. Late January is hardest. If ya can make it to WinterFire-is-coming, you're in the home stretch. Yes, there will be wicked WF drop and it will be stupid cold or a blizzard or some such nonsense, but at that point, it's time to start planning the garden.

In fact, I should be doing that now. Fall gardening. Get that dwarf lilac in the ground and buy some interesting tulips to replace the mountain of 'em the sneaky squirrels got last year. And throw down a bunch of crocus if at all possible... Somewhere.  Yes, I should bestir Myself, sit Myself up and go outside every chance I get. *yawn* get Myself up off this couch, out of this bed. *yawn* This is why I have never...had...fall...*yawn*...shit... Crops. Time for more lunchtime walking or at least sunshine sitting.  

Time to get serious about My winter, which has already begun.

Monday, August 22, 2016

Naked and Collared

At last, it is possible to open the windows and air the place out. We've been having quite the heat wave here in the mid-Atlantic and finally tonight I can actually hear the cicadas. One of My orchids has a new bloom and the other is starting a new leaf. The tomatoes are persisting, if nothing else. Today for the first time it is possible to imagine that fall might come.  It is time to look up beets and chard, probably time to get them started. And maybe it is already time to pull My spring tulips out of the fridge and start them forcing again. Hope I wrote the date on the bag; I hope the one that divided is the one I like best. The landscape designer comes on Wednesday to show Me the draft master plan and I'm more than a bit anxious about it.  It's a big step and lots of other issues are bound up with it, including resolution of some long overdue issues with My ex.

Things are going well with boy c and he spent much of the weekend with Me, being very helpful and generally trying out life at the Stately Pleasure Domme's better home, garden, and dungeon. he has a good bit of experience and had expressed willingness to try a collar, so I made that happen and hugely enjoyed watching him run around the house, collared and naked, cleaning and doing projects. It just felt like he belonged, he sort of looks and acts the part in a way that matches the idealized movie in My head, the one where reality does not intrude. We had a lovely visit, and when we got an hour from the end, I had him sit and did a debriefing of the visit, giving him an opportunity to express his opinions and provide feedback. When I asked him how he had felt about being collared, he replied:

Well...I hate it.

This I was absolutely not expecting to hear. I have always before been able to spot when someone is not enjoying themselves or just humoring Me, but this time I hadn't gotten even a whiff of it. I learned he is a frighteningly good pretender. So he had to repeat himself several times before I realized he wasn't going to crack and smile and tell Me he was just shitting Me.

He really hated it.

The next thing that happened was equally shocking to Me:  I started to cry. Just a few tears running down the cheeks, nothing cataclysmic, but I did tear up. I felt stunned and embarrassed and disappointed and frankly, like someone just took My candy away from Me.  But I'm a responsible sort so I brushed it off, and promptly asked if he would like Me to remove the collar immediately, he said yes, done. Then I asked how he felt about being naked the whole time, he had hated that too, so I had him get dressed. No sense subjecting him to something that doesn't work. We then had a good talk about all the other facets of the weekend, and I learned everything else was successful for him, the artifacts of nakedness and collar were the only issues. In retrospect, I can see that going into the weekend, they simply did not carry for him the positive symbolism and resonance they carry for Me, we understand them very differently. We had a good talk about the importance of being honest, transparency, safewords, and all those topics. In the end all was well between us, and he wants to return this week, wants to continue "being helpful". he has surprisingly taken to referring to himself as "the property" and intends to take better care of it because that's what a Master requires. 

We also negotiated that he will wear boxers next time, rather than be naked.  he does like wearing less than Me, though he did allow as how he wished I were naked too.  Cheeky bugger!  

I was reminded -- after My head cleared -- that I was once playing with My switch friend A, who is a beautiful, classic, olive skinned, fuzzy Mediterreanan body type. I find him to be very sexy in a Roman slave boy kind of way and on a whim, during a break in a scene in which I was beating him, I put black eye liner and a little pouty colored lip gloss on him, because it really played up that sexy slave boy look I so enjoy.  It was HOT for Me, he was really really hot like that.  I was seriously debating skipping the rest of the scene I had planned and just ordering him take Me.  But he safeworded almost immediately (and generously apologized later for doing so because he hadn't set that boundary in advance; he is always such a good sport). But he just couldn't go forward in the scene feeling so terribly feminized and humiliated in a bad way; he felt I must be mocking him. It was the only explanation that was apparent to him and it was very emotionally powerful, in a not-good way.  I explained why I liked it and how hot it was for Me, but that message just couldn't get through the static in that moment of feeling bad. Maybe now a few years later we could negotiate a Roman slaveboy cos-play scene that includes the eyeliner, but at the time I knew I absolutely had to let it go. I understand what happened with boy c might be something similar. Perhaps in time, with more familiarity with the scene and its symbols, more extensive negotiation and trust, we can revisit a collar one day, but I know that day is far over the horizon.

I have learned that boy c may be inclined to leap before he looks, and I'm going to have to work harder at moderating his impulses (and My own wishful thinking) so we don't get so far out in front of the headlights again.  

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Perseids Pool Party

This post was supposed to precede Epic Tomato Fail.  But a not so epic, very human fail resulted in it staying in draft long after I thought I had posted it.  Oops. This post describes the events of My most recent weekend.

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The electrician boy c continues to be a pleasant surprise.  he grilled out dinner for Me on Saturday night and then we popped over to the ClubFem party for 90 minutes after dark, floating in the salt water pool naked during the Perseids meteor shower. I saw a handful of meteors so tiny I wasn't quite sure they were there. Conditions were not great, with the city light glow, back yard lights, humidity, and bright moon.  Then just as we were about to get out of the pool near midnight I saw a nice, big, long one streak along the edge of a cloud. So magical.  It reminded Me fondly of My first summer in this area over 20 years ago.

The boy had not thought to bring a towel to the pool party so he dried Me off while he dripped, wrapped e Me up, and then I had him use My damp towel for himself. Thanks to his apartment's restrictive parking, I was unable to park there after 10pm without a guest permit we couldn't procure on the fly. So I invited him to My place for the evening, driving home wearing only My pool wrap, and we had a nice cuddle starting at about 1:30am.

boy c is in training for a half marathon, God bless him, so he intended to get up for a training run at 5am. When the alarm went off, he was tempted to skip it but I insisted he go... and not only so I could have the whole bed to Myself for a while. I believe it's not in My longer term interest to let him deviate from his training plan when he is with Me; it can tend to create cognitive dissonance about spending time together and I don't want that.  Also as Master, it's My job to support My boys in their life goals and that means keeping him on plan.

he returned a total blast furnace, showered, crawled back in and we had another nice naked cuddlenap in the sun for a few hours until starting the day mid morning.  he likes My curvy body and soft skin and says so often; I like his fuzzy tush and strong bod, and I can tell he enjoys being treated like a bit of a toy, so that's nicely matched.

We did the little dance people do, letting things unfold throughout the day, progressively foregoing our intended individual plans so we could remain together. In the end, we went to Starbucks for coffee and breakfast: the gas station where he pumped up My tires; and the farmers market where he carried the bags. Then he watered the vegetable garden; sprayed for the lawn insects that are munching on My feet; and attached an extension to the HVAC condensate line to get the dripping water away from the foundation. I made lunch; had him assemble the new weed whacker and do a bunch of other smaller tasks along the way. I taught him to kneel after each task is finished and inquire how I would like him to serve Me next.  I asked if he liked that - he did. I asked how it made him feel to kneel - he said pleasantly submissive. Excellent.  I think he really is a sweet boy and I suspect he has only scratched the surface.

Then I rewarded him with giving Me a naked massage on the massage table, where he proved to be surprisingly adept. It was a wonderful and long, deeply relaxing massage session that seemed to go on all afternoon, as we talked and got to know each other more. And he knocked it out of the park when I learned he has already studied the book I always recommend to boys about oral sex, She Comes First.  Thank you Men's Health magazine for publishing a list of must read books, that he actually read.  I know he has been in a romantic dry spell so I made a point of commending him for working on his skills, preparing for the day when he would be able to use them... For making himself ready to be with Me today so successfully. I wanted him to know those were good choices and had paid off and I appreciated them.

I had him lick My bottom several times and then introduced him to G spotting, with instructions to read up more and find videos online to advance his techniques. You could almost hear the cherries popping.

After the massage, I was feeling a bit greasy from the oil, so I had him wash Me down a bit on the table. It was warm enough in the house that we were both entirely comfortable and I rewarded him with a head scrub. We seem to be nicely embarked on a service oriented and sensual play dynamic. The boy says he is not in any way masochistic, so that's the next thing to explore incrementally. I think anyone who can run a half marathon probably has some pain processing capacities, but won't know until I prove it out. he did get his bottom smacked a few times when I commanded him to cum, and he later offered that it surprised him but he liked it. So that's an important little step in the right direction.

I can tell he is completely confused by the idea of tease and denial, and the thought of chastity, and not sure he wants to sign up for a dynamic in which he might not necessarily get to cum on a date, but we have talked it over, and he understands that it comes down to letting Me decide what I want and when I want it without any pressure, so that's ok for now.  We have made great strides in the first week, seem well matched in many areas, and he is promising boy. I have the impression he has have not felt seen and appreciated for the qualities I value, and it's perhaps a bit of a novelty to be receiving such positive feedback. Our schedules don't align well and he's far enough away that popping over isn't exactly easy, but those challenges are within manageable tolerances.

For now, he is ready, willing, and able, and we parted with smiles on our faces to prepare for another scorching week.

Epic Tomato Fail

Last night as I was staking up a plant whose exuberance had overflown its supports, the main stalk just... Broke. Shattered, essentially. I didn't even feel or hear it give out. I was left with about 1/3 of the original plant, a shadow of its former self, and three large broken off branches that between them had at least 40 flowers. And right at flowering/ fruit set time. Just a tragedy.

I've been hastily researching and trying different methods to salvage at least one branch but so far no luck. I fear the Cherokee Purple is for all intents and purposes done.  Damn.

The striped yellow/ red pineapple has lots of blooms but not much fruit setting. Today I read that can be caused by excessively warm night temps and we certainly do have that here in the mid Atlantic. He's got one really good fruit and two or three little ones but that's it.  He gets bigger and gets blooms but he's just not fruiting and I know he's got everything he needs in water and nutrients.  Damn.

And the poor Roma paste tomato is well, just a disaster. I had him under the cherry tree, moved him to evade the tree's blight, and he has put out more branches and flowers and a little fruit, but it's just not going well. The fruits are tiny, about the size of My thumb, and only about a dozen. I've been really babying him, but the blight must be in soil or stems or roots. Damn.

It's a cruel irony that My first two years were clueless slam dunks with great results and this year I thought I was competent and finally planted the sexy pineapple tomato of My dreams, and the whole tomato effort has been mildly accursed. Though I must add that word amongst gardeners is this is being a very tough year, and I did plant too late.  I comfort Myself with the success of the Hail Mary hardneck garlic crop.

Oh well. That why God gave us farmer's markets.

The rock star of the front yard this year is the poblano pepper which is absolutely magnificent and producing fruit like a total champ.  A neighbor brought Me some figs a few days ago and I returned the container with poblanos in it. SeƱor Poblano is right at the garden gate too, so by-passers can enjoy its magnificence and thus far, I don't believe any have been non-consensually harvested over the fence.  The basil is knocking it out of the ballpark too.

Dinner tonight was an empanada from the Sunday market, and I'm looking forward to Thursday when boy c will bring his meatballs for Me to eat in the evening (oh, you dirty, dirty people) for dinner. I'm thinking a nice toasted roll, red sauce, cheese, and some fresh green peppers.

And in other news, the landscape designer has asked when I'm free in the next week to talk about the plan. Not sure if this is a touch base sanity check or the official discussion of the official draft integrated plan. He said he has been waiting for some estimates in order to decide which of certain options are feasible and which aren't.  I'm getting really excited to see what he comes up with. 

I had boy c treat the yards with some insecticide three days ago and thus far I don't seem to have had any additional chigger-like bites while I'm out watering. The significant damage is healing slowly but getting there. 

Finally, I have had the idea that if the cherry tree comes down, I might slice the trunk and some branches into disks of even thickness and use them for some decorative purpose, maybe outdoor table tops or an accent piece to hang inside. Having boy c around has gotten Me thinking about that sexy atomic/ sputnik chandelier I've been wanting... if I got one salvaged/re-wired from Europe, he could assess its safety and do the install.

Hmmm...

I'm quite impressed with boy c. I now know he got really frustrated with last week's big project, but he kept calm and gracious with Me nonetheless, and he persisted. That's hugely important. I have zero patience for men who take their frustrations out around Me. I also know he has started a job that involves being out all day in the heat wave, with minimal breaks, but he stays focused on the good opportunity and I don't hear him complaining, making like a martyr, or feeling sorry for himself. Such a good attitude, I like men who know how to man up in the right moments. Yes, he is making good inroads with Me.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Social Butterfly

The calendar for the week looks like this:

--Last Saturday - birthday party (I skipped the kink play party for which I was actually double booked)
--Tuesday - M/s summer cookout
--Wednesday - subby gives electrical service
--Thursday/ today - M/s munch
--Friday/ tomorrow - whips play party
--Saturday - FemDom pool party, possibly with a subby date

This may be the high water mark for a while, it is summer after all.  What's striking to Me right now is how easy it feels to be this social, I was never this social in vanilla social life. And I have noticed in the last three years that I'm distinctly more chatty and extroverted amongst My kinky tribe than I ever was in vanilla contexts.  It takes a lot of energy and attention to keep the big anti kink/ sex filters in place.  When I can just say what comes to mind, I'm much more engaged and much funnier.  I'm also quicker to laugh and be entertained when I feel all of Me is present.

Master Patrick Mulcahey says that if M/s isn't the easiest way you can think of to be in relationship with someone else, you should consider looking for a different way. These days, being completely My kinky Dominant Self is definitely the easiest way. I remember when socializing felt like really hard work so I didn't socialize much. Now I realize the hard work was pretending.

These aren't benefits I foresaw when I decided to come out into the public kink scene, but they have turned out to be among the most important.

Huh, a few dots just connected in My head right there

Being kinky allows Me to *be more of Me*.  Back when I first came out into the community, I didn't know I needed to be more of Me. ethan taught Me that. It's a story I will get around to, eventually.  If john thought the first posting about ethan was a little creepy, he's in for a treat with that  one.

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Shocked, I tell you! Shocked!

So I needed a little electrical work done, nothing earth shattering, just wire the stove vent hood (recirc) into the wall. The inspector somehow didn't think the extension cord dangling down behind the oven was quite up to Code. Fair enough. 

I know this isn't an especially difficult job. I can splice wires. I can make intentional holes in metal lathe plaster. I can patch and spackle. I know two homeowners that would totally DIY this from a YouTube video; they're a bit more experienced than Me but they're also a long way from pro's. It might be ugly, sure, but we're talking about a magical invisible piece of real estate behind the stove. As long as it doesn't cause electrical current to go where it shouldn't, I'm flexible on style points this time.

I called around and had some trouble finding an electrician who wanted this small job. Apparently all the sexy Licktricians are busy in August with big things like AC?  Eventually I found one company who actually showed up yesterday, so I ducked out of work to meet them, and hopefully have the work done then and there.

I explained the job in clear and fairly informed terms. The guy then jumped in and told Me I needed a much bigger wire in order to accommodate the microwave over the stove.

"But I don't WANT a microwave over the stove. I never SAID anything about a microwave over the stove. And I am in fact vehemently OPPOSED to a microwave over the stove."

Oh. Well. He thought I would want that.

Nope. Like I said, I want you to wire this hood right here (points to hold already installed) thru the wall to that plug (points to existing plug). This job should take two, no more than three hours and I know the going rate is about $XX per hour. The materials are under $20. So what's your estimate?

Six hundred and seventy eight dollars.

Ex-queeze Me? That's THREE, almost FOUR times what My research says it should be in this market.

That's right little lady, right there ya got yer written estimate.

I'd be happy to have you get the work, but I need to understand this estimate. How many hours are you assuming and at what rate?

Oh, we don't do it like that. No sir. Cuz sometimes it takes longer and this way the price doesn't go up. 

So this isn't an estimate, then, it's a fixed price quote with a built in safety factor for contingencies. I would prefer to work on a time and material basis. But I might be willing to work on a fixed price basis if I understood where this number came from. (I didn't say: cuz I suspect you pulled it out of your ass when you saw an unaccompanied female homeowner.)  Do you have a corporate price list?

No.

So we danced in a circle for a while and I eventually I grew weary of the charade, bade them a good day, and kicked them out. What caught My eye through the whole thing was the way the non-talking 40s guy was looking at the bossy talking 60s guy.  The non-verbal was distinctly smug, ha-ha, I told you it wouldn't work. And then toward the end it was more: heeheehee, now you're screwed, way to go, Pops.

It felt as if when I had pulled up in My car and they were still in the truck together, maybe the old salt had said to the young buck, something like, "hey, look at that. This is gonna be like shooting fish in a barrel, watch and learn my friend."  And then he overplayed his hand, couldn't walk it back, and lost out on a legit job. I could hear the young guy ribbing him as they drove away... "Watch and learn, eh?"  I have the distinct feeling somebody owes somebody a beer.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, though I have struck a blow in self defense of Lady Homeowners, I really need this job done and I've now wasted a week on these yawbos. So I did something I stopped a while ago: I turned to a subby friend to solve a home crisis.

I know, I know. But hear Me out. He had already volunteeered to do the work, and was the basis of My negotiating position with the Licktricians (which, for the record, was consistent with another SWAG I had from a third source). So when I had to boot the yawbos, My choices were start from scratch; revert to the previous bunch of guys who had had to come out and fix a bunch of their mistakes under great protest (220v dryer outlet upside down, anyone?); or take the new guy up on his offer. 

Now it must be said that I have learned some things since I bought a house and I no longer trust folks - even subbies - as readily as I once did. Losing three years of smartphone data will do that to a Master. So I asked mutual friends who work with him about his competence for the job. I took care to establish that he actually has the professional training one should have. And I considered that he has a longer professional history in engineery things, possesses the relevant equipment, and was generally consistently talking good sense about the project. And he was clearly *listening* to Me.  I was comfortable he had the straight up electrical skills. What I didn't know about was the rest of it, and I knew I didn't know what I didn't know.

But the price was right and I needed it done. He really wanted to help and to build some trust with Me. I was pretty sure it was a safe calculated risk but also struggled with the fact I've been burned before. I spent a lot of time debating Never Again vs This Time Is Different. I was much troubled by the possibility of burning the house down. Or causing a gas leak. Or accidentally snipping through the fridge's thin water line. 

But Necessity is the Mother of Questionable Decisionmaking so 24 hours later here we are. It took most of the day and it was a bumpier ride than either of us expected. Houses that pre-date modern building codes are wildly variable. One knows this intellectually, of course, but one can never predict how it might manifest This Time. Such a house will laugh at your assumption of studs 16" on center. They barely deign to notice that a standard junction box is 3/4" deeper than the gap they offer between brick and plaster. They defy the wan efforts of your 21st century fish tape tool. They absolutely insist on multiple Diva Trips to Home Depot.

But it is done and it works and nothing blew up or ruptured, and done is beautiful. The city codes inspector shall now visit and declare Victory! Meanwhile, I have a new friend, a new approach to fixing some things around the house, and we have done a moderately stressful thing together and come out still wanting to spend time together. 

It was uncomfortable but it might just turn out to be a much better way to vet boys: Talk less and give them something challenging in vanilla space before getting to the kink... Hmmmm...

Sunday, August 7, 2016

You Can't Always Get What You Want

I have recently crossed paths with a lovely man who enjoys having his balls busted.  We met at camp and had lunch shortly thereafter, where I was more surprised than I should have been to realize he is married.  Since that lovely lunch -- wherein we discussed the current effort to gently re-negotiate his marriage contract to allow for other women to bust his balls since the wife isn’t really into it – I have been feeling that *feeling* I get when I am around a married man I like who hasn’t figured out how to have a Dominant in his life. It reminded Me that out there in cyber space I have a profile in which I addressed the matter.  And it got Me thinking that the substance of that posting really should be here in the blog so that it is more accessible.  So here it is, with some minor tweaks:

I must speak directly to the married men among you. This is a position I have come to slowly and somewhat painfully after countless remarkably consistent experiences with marrieds.  If you cannot admit your submissiveness to your wife, if she refuses to sanction it openly, do not go looking for a lifestyle Domme, on this website or anywhere else.  It is a complete waste of everyone’s time and irresponsible to the Dominants you approach. Go hire a pro Domme.  Why?  Because Dominance and submission is an emotional – and when it works, deeply fulfilling -- relationship. A married man whose wife does not actively encourage him and expressly consent/approve cannot commit the time and emotional energy to a Dominant that is necessary for a successful submission dynamic. I have seen many try, and none succeed.  In the absence of giving your emotional investment and personal accountability, the only thing you really have to offer the Dominant is fair payment for services rendered at the going rate.  It’s harsh but true. 

For things to work with a lifestyle Domme, you need at minimum, express wife consent to have a Dominant in your life *plus* express (ideally even written) agreement that there are two women in your life with an active, on-going claim to your energies.  It means your wife has to agree to occasionally be the second banana, and to get less of your time, in exchange for you being happier in the time she does get.  It effectively means to that to be married to one woman and submissive to someone else, you have to wrap your mind around being functionally polyamorous… even if there is no actual sex involved.  Absent your wife’s full consent, you might manage some isolated sessions of bottoming, and that bottoming might happen with a subby/slavey fantasy vibe to it, but at the end of the session, you are going to need to go home and not be held accountable to Me in any way afterward.  Sure, you might lend a hand occasionally when it is convenient for you to do so, in the way that friends help friends, but the core of the matter is this:   if I cannot hold you accountable and communicate with you freely, if I cannot reasonably have any expectation of relying on you, then you are in a fantasy about service instead of living the reality.

The key thing here is the Second Banana problem.

I have met so many married men who are north of their mid-50s.  They’ve been married forever, had kids together, a house, a country club or a church, a community, in-laws.  These are men who usually always knew they wanted to be kinky but didn’t give themselves permission.  They rejected it in themselves, and often they feared the wife would reject them if she knew.  So they built a really complex edifice of a life to keep them busy, keep them distracted. Then the day (often after a funeral or other big loss) came where they decided, hey, I just don’t want to die without being fully myself in this way, this is something I need to do.  So they got to the point of going online to find a Dominant.  But it had to be secret, at minimum a veneer of deniability had to be maintained. 

What I learned was this:  even if these guys had somehow managed to achieve basic self-acceptance, they just didn’t understand what it would take to have a D/s relationship with Me.  I could explain it to them all day long, and they would tell Me all day long that they were ready willing and able.  Over and over I bought the story they told themselves about being ready for Me.  And then the rubber would hit the road in ways like these:

--Unable to schedule a visit anywhere for the foreseeable future, can’t we just play it by ear and whatever day works works? 
--I can’t make it, something really important came up at the office.
--I couldn’t make it because I… [INSERT COMPLETELY VALID SOUNDING REASON HERE]… the beloved family dog needed to go to the vet… my kid came home from college… my special needs adult child had a doctor’s visit… the wife’s car wouldn’t start… my father in managed care broke his ankle… I had to meet the furnace repair man before the pipes froze… my mother in law needed her heart attack prescription filled… I wasn’t going to be able to get back in time for an un-miss-able dinner…

In these cases, they either stood Me up completely, or cancelled on an hour’s notice, long past the point where I had already invested time in getting ready and could not effectively make alternative plans, sometimes leaving Me alone on a major holiday. The thing is, these reasons were not made up falsehoods. I accepted them as legitimate demands on their time.  They were real problems that had to be solved.  When you’re married, you’ve got double the issues because there’s a partner and then several more multiples of issues with each child, each job, each parent, each pet, each car. It’s endless. They always felt that I should understand, I should recognize how impossible it was to make any other choice except the one at My expense.  When a guy has to be secretive, he loses the ability to commit and defend his time. He cannot risk exposure of the plans he has made with his Dominant.  And so the Dominant – who is usually in this in significant part because She likes feeling important – ends up being the LAST THING IN THE WORLD this guy can make a priority.

And few things will piss off a Dominant faster than feeling ignored.

I came to think of it as a walled garden that people build throughout their lives, thousands of bricks in the walls they make that define the perimeter of how they live, what they will allow into their lives.  One day they realize they have walled themselves in, into a life that is missing this very important shared experience of submission. So they screw up all their courage and bust out a couple of bricks, just enough to be able to conduct a conversation with the outside world.  But it’s only enough to talk.  In order to actually live it, they need to bust out a nice wide doorway.  And *that* they are unable to do without the wife’s active knowledge and support. It requires admitting to the wife that there is something big going on under the surface, something she probably doesn’t know about, something she is really not going to like, something that’s going to possibly cause her to question the entire relationship.  Something that might make her inclined to leave.  It requires re-negotiating the marriage contract.  And OBTW it requires a guy who hasn’t tried to date in 20+ years to brush up some courtly social skills, and learn a bunch of other ones for a changed world, *plus* learn how to be a subby.

It’s partly an intractable timing problem. He’s not likely to take those big risks until he’s sure it’s worth it.  But he can’t figure out whether it’s worth it until he actually has shown up for a while and walked the walk. But having that secret relationship makes re-negotiating even harder because now there’s a big deception on top of everything else. He concludes he just can’t get there from here.

One really interesting thing to Me has been that as I watch these men struggle in a not-fun way, it becomes clear that they usually are already in an unacknowledged submissive relationship with the wife.  That’s how they got to this point.  The wife holds the power – the very real power, not the fun kind at all -- to define the marriage and to enforce the definition of what it is supposed to be, both because that’s the original deal they struck and because she has Society’s definition of marriage on her side.  And by time I meet the guy, it’s no longer fully consensual, this power she has in the marriage. But there is no safeword available to him.  He is in a very serious pickle.

I never know what happens to these men, because one day they just disappear.  They almost never provide Me the slightest explanation, much less an apology for wasting My time, for not being able to carry through on all they said they were prepared to do.  They just…go… *poof*.  It’s like they were never there at all. It used to really hurt Me, every time, because I invested emotionally in helping them through it. I liked them, I wanted us to figure it out, and I even got smarter after a while, and told them that going poof would hurt Me, and made them promise not to do it.  The swore up and down, then did it anyway. I assume they cave, and shove their subby desires back into the box they used to live in, they stuff Me in with it, tape the lid on tight, stick it in the back of the garage, and they give up.  It has made Me very sad many times, because I think their wives would actually like to see them happy, see the light in their eyes when this deep, ignored need begins to be met.  These guys just light up, and then I see the deadness, the quiet despair return as they contemplate their situation.  And no one ever takes Me up on the offer to help the wife explore her own potential dominance.  That’s always a non-starter.

There’s a poem about how I was walking down the street, I fell in a big hole, and it took forever to get out.  The poem repeats several times, each time with the hole getting smaller and easier, until finally it ends with, “The next day, I walked down a different street”.  I had to learn to walk down a different street, and that meant swearing off these long-denied subby guys.  Each one is going through it for the first time, but I’ve been through it many times and I know the patterns.  I had to learn to trust Myself in a new way and I had to learn that people who are deceiving themselves really believe their own stories.  It took a long time.

Now the only marrieds who make the cut -- even for fairly limited purposes -- are the poly ones, ideally poly as a foundational agreement of the marriage when it began... poly to the point that I meet the wife, like her, and hear from her directly that she is poly and she is fine with being Second Banana sometimes.  If she has a concern, we need to be able to talk directly, and keep the boy out of the middle of it as much as possible.  It isn’t easy, but in some very special cases -- I have two -- you hit all the lights and it can work.  A guy who is already taken will never be everything I want us to be together, but sometimes they scratch a particular itch and help Me learn about Myself and I like them so much as a person that it's worth accepting the limitations.  The good outweighs the bad, and they take shared responsibility for the fact there are sharp corners for everyone in the situation. These men are grown ups and it takes a grown up to make the poly work.