Multiverses

If there are multiverses, then somewhere, I am lying in MaxEarnest's arms in my Queen size bed that I bought so we'd be comfortable together.  In that multiverse, we've just had very good sex, but he's probably tired from the jetlag, because in that multiverse he came to see me before we went off to Aruba for a month.

But in this multiverse, I'm quite sick and at my parents' house, having extended my Christmas holiday, because there's no need for me to rush back to my life.  It makes me so very sad, and yet, I'm also at peace.  As painful and as sad, I think it is a grown-up, mature decision.

It feels like I've started to think of the new guy (let's call him Tony) and MaxEarnest as sort of polar opposites.  The new guy is someone I could fairly easily build a life with.  We want similar things and similar amounts of time together.  We do really well supporting each other in our goals.  He lives 2 miles from me, but I'm pretty sure he would be happy to move in by 2014.  I actually expect we'll be engaged by 2014, if I don't break it off from some desire for what I gave up with MaxEarnest.

I had wonderful vacations and wonderful sex with MaxEarnest.  And the new guy doesn't like travel or kink. But I think he'll learn enough, and I'll travel on my own and have fantasies.  And we'll have children together.  And I will fantasize about MaxEarnest for the rest of my life.

If I thought both the gentlemen involved would be up for it, I would propose me running off with MaxEarnest a couple of weeks a year.  Deep down, that is what I would like the most.  But, as MaxEarnest would say, you don't need everything all the time.

I was holding my niece all through Christmas (perhaps why I'm sick) and she was so joyous and loving and alive.  Holding her feels like life.  It is just this deep sense of purpose.  It is right in the marrow of my bones.  My soul sings to her.

I know MaxEarnest thought I wanted kids because I wanted societal approval, which always struck me as funny, as I'm planning on being a single mom if I don't meet the right man, and the U.S. society is SO judgmental of single mothers.  Maybe it is different in Europe, but in the U.S., they are so looked down upon.  When he and I took the train to the airport, there was this beautiful family across the aisle from us, and I started crying, because I knew I had to pick between him and a family.  I hoped something would change, but deep down, I knew I had to pick.  And it broke my heart.

But I still wish I could have everything all the time.  Maybe in another multiverse, MaxEarnest and I will find a nice flat in Berlin, overlooking a canal, and raise children there. And, I suppose, in another, John and I have a child.  And in another, Bobby and I do.  And in another, I never met MaxEarnest because I was still grieving or too scared to take a risk, and still hopelessly along.  I grieve what can never be.  But I also am aware of how lucky I am for what is.

Life

I miss MaxEarnest.  In my head, I know we wouldn't have worked.  We weren't working.  I missed him all the time and my life started being much more about waiting for a vacation than living a life.

The new guy is everything MaxEarnest isn't, and that is both good and bad.  We work together really, really well in everything except sex.  We want very similar life goals. We are supporting each other very well.  I've had a rough time at work and the new guy (also a lawyer) spent a lot of time going over lawyerly stuff with me, that was quite helpful.  He is sweet, loves my cooking (thanks MaxEarnest!) and talks dirty to me about wanting to have babies and has already made it clear that we should get married, probably in late 2013.  And I think he's right.

Sex is boring, though.  He will occasionally talk about how I'm all his, but he is a timid lover.  I got him to spank me once and he spanked me about as hard as you'd pat a dog's head.

And I don't know what the fuck to do!  My head says that this is so right in so many ways, and I can have a rich fantasy life.  But part of me worries that I could have an affair in a decade.  But then I'm like--nah.  Most women have less libido in their 50s.  He would be a good father.  He is a good man.  (MaxEarnest is a good man too, but didn't want kids, or to live in the U.S.)

I'm so grateful to MaxEarnest.  I feel like he has made so much of my life possible.  Crazy that I had a wonderful first love in my 40s.  Maybe not even a first long, but a first good love.

Moving on

MaxEarnest and I parted today.  It was the kindest, most loving moving on I have ever seen.  He is such a lovely, loving man, and I'm so grateful to him.  He is such a foundation of holding, of serene warmth and love.  It made it much harder to say goodbye, but it will make it much easier for us to be friends.  I think I will always love him.  I expect our paths will continue to cross, but I don't know how.  It made me so sad to say goodbye to him.  He is such a wonderful man.

The reason MaxEarnest released me is because I have been going out with someone else.  He is more vanilla, and I don't know that I'd ever share this blog with him.  But I think he would be a great father and a great partner in life and in my intellectual endeavors.  He is kind and warm and we communicate very, very well.  He is open in having kids and thinks I am his soul mate.  We've only gone out 9 times.  We haven't slept together.  I don't know what happens next. But I think if I had tried to spend a couple of months with MaxEarnest at Christmas, there's a great chance it would have torpedoed the new guy and I.

There's another thing I'm saying goodbye to.  At least for now.  And that is this blog.  I will miss it.  I have loved writing it.  But somehow, I don't think I should be blogging if I can't share it with the new guy.  It may be in a few months I can, but I just don't know if or when I can and I feel like to have good communication with him, I don't want to be actively hiding something from him.  

MaxEarnest was everything I wanted in sex, and I realized that sex is not enough.  I want a family.  I want to share a home and a life.  I don't know how I'll do in a more vanilla environment, but this new man wants a vanilla life that is so compatible with mine.  

I had a crisis at work this week and both men were there for me.  And a lot of people at work were there for me too.  The crisis isn't solved.  I don't know if I'll keep my main job, but I really feel like MaxEarnest's unconditional love has changed me.  Maybe people at work would have been there for me the same way if this had happened last year.  Maybe the change is that I can now see it.

4 Years Ago

It has been a crazy couple of weeks, and last night was, well, I'm relieved.

But, of course, election nights stick out.  And election night 2008.   The party I went to last night was rather lame and the party 4 years ago was spectacular.  4 years ago, it was one of the best nights of my entire life.  I was there with the ex.  We kissed, knowing we were going to break up, but still a sweetness and an exhilaration   (We had always bonded over politics.)  And I had started to talk to John again.  John was going to take me out for brunch--I think it was on Sunday, but I'm not sure.

But even though the night 4 years ago was so much more beautiful and memorable than last night, my life is so much lovelier!  Last night, a guy tried to pick me up at the party!  And in a very sweet way.  We talked politics, and then he walked about a mile out of his way because I'd park far away to have a free spot.  I have never had a man pick me up like that.  Engaging, respectful, but also earnest and eager and clear.  

I feel like MaxEarnest has changed me so much that I am no longer who I was.  Before, I was deeply damaged and now I am this lovely person and men meet me and see me as this lovely person.  Somehow, all those years of feeling like damaged goods are gone.  And now, I am... What am I?  I'm not sure.  I'm figuring it out.  But it is good.

Debating

I totally want a binder of woman, but I'm just not masochistic enough to listen to another Mitt Romney debate.  This is so very painful.  In a not good way.

Who would have thought that pure vanilla could be so twisted?

Discipline and Punish

The systemization of consumption may be parsed as the eroticization of the gendered body, thereby enabling Foucaultian paradigms to (re)inscribe the inherent hierarchical taxonomy of the pain-pleasure continuum. 

(Just in case google sends any Foucault po-mo grad students my way.  Maybe I have a touch of sadism after all....)

Now to discipline and punishment.  

I finished Fifty Shade of Grey.  It was a quick read (obviously). 

I'm struck by several things in the book.  First of all, Ana communicates much better via e-mail than in person, which is so very true for me too.

Second, the book does a good job externalizing a central conflict that I have internally, which is he wants all kink and she wants all romance. How do you combine the two for a life?  I was quite surprised at how the first book ended and it will be weeks before I get the next one from the library.  

However, it brought up the unresolved issue that I had over the summer.  In it, she is punished, hard, and hates it.  "He has needs that I cannot fulfill. I realize that now. I don’t want him to hit me like that again, ever. ... I did follow my heart, and I have a sore ass and an anguished, broken spirit to show for it."

And, honestly, that happened to me this summer.  Except MaxEarnest didn't punish me hard. My ass wasn't that sore, but my spirit broke and took some real time to mend. 

Part of me accepts that MaxEarnest has the right to punish me.  But it was horrible for me.  Flashbacks of bullies beating me up.  It was the first time I ever purposefully tried to ignore what was happening to me with him and just sign songs to myself to make it through.  Whenever I was beaten up as a child, I was told I was 'fun to tease.'  Not, "fight back" (that wouldn't be attractive in a girl, duh!) but, essentially, 'don't make it fun for them to hit you.  And I just went right back there.  The girl everyone hated in elementary and middle school. 

I had no idea how badly I would take it.  Actually, that's not true.  I had inklings.  If I look at what I wrote around that time, I knew I didn't think it was fair and didn't want it to happen.  I didn't talk about it, even when I wrote about it.  Why?  I was scared.    I wasn't sure that he was going to punish me, and I thought the transgression was so small that if he did, it would be a very quick punishment, and when I tried to talk about it, it seemed to make it worse. We had talked about my tendency to sort of leave my body early on, and he never pushed me to that place before.  And I wanted to please.  And maybe part of me was rebelling.  I can't articulate it, but I think part of me was.  After it happened, I felt so despondent.  I just cried and cried.  And he held me.  He was SO good to me.  In some weird way, it heeled some of the damage from being beaten up as a kid.  But it took a long while to get over.  Weeks before I was hungry for his touch.  And I can't go through that again.

I know I have to talk to him about this. But it is much easier for me to blog than to talk. I don't like hiding behind the blog, but the fact that I'm writing this will mean we will talk.  (Hello MaxEarnest.)  I wish I could just talk to him.  I feel like hiding behind my blog keeps us a bit apart.  I wouldn't like it if I had to find out how he was feeling from a blog.  I'd say "why can't you just tell me."  But when I've tried to take my blog out of the equation, it hasn't worked as well, and he has never said that to me.  I can be far more articulate here.  

Even if I e-mail him directly, I want to please him.  I can't say the things that are hard to say.  Here, I have to be honest.  That is a requirement of this space.  I can choose what I talk about, but if I talk about something, it has to be honest and complete. It is very easy to hit publish, and even after I hit publish, it is very easy to e-mail it to him. But even e-mailing him directly, I tend to say what I think I should say. The thing he thought I did wrong happened because I was trying to communicate in the moment and be sexy instead of hide behind my blog, and he didn't think it was sexy.

I can't imagine he would do something like that again.  He knows I have this trip wire.  I think if I'd understood how deep it ran and been able to communicate it, he wouldn't have done it the first time.  But I also need to be strong enough to start this conversation and every time I try and start it, I don't.

So here is what I should say to him: I don't want to be punished again.  

I can't handle it.  I know I know you know that on one level and I know you also want the right to punish me on another level.  Maybe I could handle being made to stand in a corner or to write lines, or something like that.  But I can't handle being hurt as part of punishment.  I just want to be your good girl.  I promise you that I will try very hard to be your good girl.  

We've been together for 10 months now, and you've only punished me once.  You know that I try to obey you.  I want to be your good girl without fearing punishment again.  Just obeying you because I want to obey you, not because I feel hysterical that I will have to endure that again.

Spoiler about 50 shades ahead:

This other part of me is wondering if I should even try and be a submissive when I'm not with him.  That seems to be the only way my sense of eros is engaged.  But I don't know if I'm strong enough, and I wonder how important fabulous, mind-blowing sex is, anyway?  I could just have my fantasies and a vanilla sex life?  Don't women lose interest in sex when they get older?  According to 50 Shades I am older.  Of course, exclusively vanilla sex would hasten my  loss of interest in sex quite rapidly. At the end of Fifty Shades of Grey she leaves him.  Decides, after being punished, that it is too fucked up and she wants a vanilla, romantic relationship that is far less complicated.  (Of course, there are 2 more books, so I have a feeling that something else happens--after all they're making a Hollywood movie about it.)  I'm not going to leave MaxEarnest over this, a;though there was a time when I think he was ready to leave me and I couldn't see another way through it.  I love him. I love that he stuck with me when it was hard.  And we have much better communication than the 2 do in the book. But I don't see how our lives will fit together.  And if, at some point, we actually see other people (instead of saying that we can and not doing anything about it) I have to figure out if I want to continue to identify as kinky, or if I want to let that live in my fantasies but not my life.

50 Shades

So, I finally started reading 50 Shades of Grey.  (MaxEarnest specifically told me it was OK.) And my first response was, 'that's it?'  I'm several chapters in, without so much as a kiss.  I remember the first time I read "The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty" I was shocked that she had sex on, maybe, the third page of the book, or something.  Sex, I might add, without consent, or even consciousness. But somehow, the more I entered both the world of that book and the world of kink as it is currently envisioned  the less I saw of romance, and the less I felt entitled to romance.  Who needs romance when there's hot kinky sex?

I think the Beauty books shaped a lot of how I viewed eroticism.  I rebelled against the Story of O.  The version I read had her choose to be killed, which was so fucked up.  In a way, I found the Story of O to be anti-kink. A warning.  You will be used up and discarded and want to die.  But the Beauty books were hot and ended happily.  

But, assuming that 50 Shades gets hot at some point (it has to get hot at some point, right?  so far, he's bought rope and cable ties at the hardware store--I assume this is a harbinger of kink, but if I hadn't read about the book, I really wouldn't have kept up with it--I can't tell you what page I'm on because I borrowed and e-version from the library), maybe it would be good to imagine eroticism that doesn't involve sex on the third page.  

Panic in Stasis

My life has gotten smaller. Since I got back from Europe, I have lived almost entirely at home or work.  I've been OK with that, but lately I've been getting restless. For some reason, tonight, I'm fighting off a panic attack.  Well, truth be told, I've been panicky and restless since the first debate, but tonight it is worse than just election fears, and so I blog.

Maxearnest and I said we could see other people, but I haven't even turned my profile on CM back on.  And, honestly, I don't know if I want to.  I did go on the site.  But once I went on, all I wanted was to see if Maxearnest had turned on his profile, and he hadn't.  And I felt icky there.  A pop-up sex ad came on, which nearly crashed my computer and when I realized why, I was annoyed.  I didn't want to see that, and given that it made all these other things crash on my computer, I was annoyed.

But, honestly, I don't know if I'm actually submissive in the kink way.  I'm absolutely submissive sexually, but Maxearnest punished me once over the summer and it was kind of disastrous.  I just numbed out while it was happening and then cried and cried and cried.  There was a point where, I think, neither of us knew how we'd find our way through it.  Maxearnest stuck with me, even when it seemed really hopeless, and somehow we found our way back.  But it was hard.  I can't imagine giving someone else permission to punish me. I'm not strong enough to be punished and still find kink erotic.  I want to please, to be a good girl, not disappoint. And if I can't accept punishment, maybe I'm not really submissive. And I certainly don't know how I'd negotiate a kinky relationship with someone else.  I know Maxearnest wants the right to punish me, but I don't think he would do it right now.  Or if he did, he'd be very careful. (And, it should be said, I do my best to never give him any reason to.  I'm pretty damn obedient on the sexual realm.)

I would, however, like to read 50 Shades of Grey, and I can now.  But somehow, knowing that MaxEarnest doesn't like me thinking about other people when I get off, even fiction, makes me much less interested in it. I almost went to Barnes and Noble (not the sort of thing you'd want to buy from strangers off the internet), but, somehow, it felt like it would be a wall between MaxEarnest and I. And acknowledgement of the end.

And so, my life has just gotten much smaller.  Part of that is that I haven't been well.  Nothing serious, but minor thing after minor thing.  And, honestly, MaxEarnest came into my life just as Dotty left.  So I haven't figured out what a life without either looks like, even though there's a continent between Dotty and me and an ocean between MaxEarnest and me.  There's a reason that 'Oceans apart' is a metaphor. Part of me thought of joining eharmony, but I don't know how to date in the vanilla world.  I get bored with most people and eharmony seems worse than most.  Part of me imagines what life would be like in Europe, but I don't see how that is a viable option.  I did go out for dinner a couple of weeks ago with some female friends and the bouncer at the door asked to see my ID and my friends said he wasn't carding me, he was flirting with me, and I was shocked!  It was sweet to think that, but it just surprised me. But even if I wanted to have coffee, I don't know how, knowing I'm seeing Maxearnest in December. It makes it all very weird.  I seem to be in this liminal space, and not in a good way.  I'm feeling panicky today, which I haven't for a while.  I can't figure out why I'm panicky, but I think I have to figure out how to enlarge my life a little bit.  And I don't know where to begin.

Somehow, when I'm writing, the panic subsides, but when I go to something else, the panic returns.  It is too late in the day to talk to MaxEarnest and I've allowed my life to be too centered around him.  I can't go to bed at 5:30.  But I have to remind myself of that fact, because I want to.  Maybe I should re-read Pride and Prejudice, wait for Downton Abbey to be uploaded tomorrow afternoon and dream of simpler times with less choices.

Whiskey Sours

Everyone says "make lemonade."  But who actually makes lemonade?  When I'm given Meyer lemons, I make whiskey sours (with Stevia, instead of simple syrup).

The simple fact of the matter is that MaxEarnest and I do not have lives that are compatible with each other. We love each other.  I love him so much.  He is so protective of me.  I feel safe with him and just totally accepted.  I could move to Europe, but he doesn't want kids, and I can't see giving that up.

He could be a life partner, but our lives are not compatible. I'm a city girl and I live a fairly fast-paced life, and, honestly, I love blue-state America.  He is much happier sitting on his balcony overlooking the countryside, nursing a drink as the sunsets 9 hours before me.  I live between the present and the future, and he enjoys the present. There is that little body of water, the Atlantic.  But the family issue is the one that can't be worked through.

So MaxEarnest and I will be lovers rather than partners.

I've never seen myself having an open relationship.  I have no idea what will happen.  I haven't gone on any dating web sites.  I love him.  I want it to work with him.  But I know that we both want the other to be happy.  We're getting together at Christmas for a couple of weeks, and then, who knows what will happen after that?  I can get some blocks of time off work and we'll see.  I'm sure that we will stay in each other's lives, one way or another.  Maybe it will just be loving letters in 5 years when we both have other partners.  Maybe we'll see each other for 3 or 4 months total for the rest of our lives.  I really don't know.  This is new ground for me.

Part of me feels like it is unfair, but part of me feels like how lucky that we found each other, even if we can't have a more traditional happy ending.  

But I'm definitely doing what my head says is right here.  My heart wants to hold on, as hard as I can.

Today in Amsterdam ...

Today I don't feel as ugly as I did. ... In high school gym showers I crouched in shame like Adam in the garden, but this morning in Amsterdam I was ten foot tall on a movie screen staring down at myself in the back row. ... Today in Amsterdam they taught me how to wear my body. Today in Amsterdam I learned that even if it's ugly, man, you gotta wear it like a gown.  (Passing Strange)

Today with MaxEarnest I went swimming in a river without shame. I saw women my size (and larger) in bikinis enjoying themselves and MaxEarnest kissed me and I felt such joy.  We kissed and kissed and kissed in the water, as he held me and I floated weightless.

Today with MaxEarnest I biked, in my swimsuit because I wasn't ashamed.  Later,  he asked if I wanted ice-cream, I said yes, and enjoyed it so much more, without shame.

What is it about MaxEarnest and Europe that has released me from so much shame?  I feel whole. Lovable. Complete.  Today with MaxEarnest.

Helpless Women are Twice as Beautiful

I met a couple with whom MaxEarnest is friends, and they are truly lovely.  Happy, joyous people with twinkles in their eyes who, blessedly, spoke a bit of English.  I don't speak German.  I can say a few miscellaneous food things, hello, good-bye, please, thank you, excuse me and count to 12 (because MaxEarnest has been teaching me to count and spanking me, so I know my numbers).  I feel like the rude-entitled-American stereotype. Generally, I've tried to learn a bit of a language before I visit a country--I speak more Turkish and Indonesian than German.

In addition to not speaking the language, and often not knowing where I am, MaxEarnest often has my passport, so I am completely dependent.  When I spoke about being lost, the lovely man with the twinkle in his eyes said "Helpless women are twice as beautiful."  So MaxEarnest took me home and made me truly helpless.

Remember in The Great Gatsby when Daisy says girls should be beautiful and stupid?  I think that our sexist society makes it easier for women who are beautiful and stupid and that is deeply problematic (although, truth be told, I played dumb when I was dating for most of my twenties).  But maybe there is room for helpless in my feminist view of the romance.

The more MaxEarnest trains me, the more submissive I become (and training, cuddling and sex are taking up the majority of our waking hours right now).  Probably not surprising--after all I'm just saying submitting makes me submissive.  It makes me much more traditionally feminine, a little slower, less ironic, quieter and more open. And it also, interestingly, lets me get rid of much of my favorite German word, angst.

There's another aspect too--when I'm helpless, and taken care of, I do feel cherished.  I sometimes thinks models look so bitchy because it is 'proof' that they are beautiful--no one would want to hang out with them if they were average, so being really mean proves how attractive they are.  Needing to be taken care of makes me feel prettier.  But I do worry that I may lose my 'feminist' credential (if I have any left) for that confession.

I'm sure that if MaxEarnest and I traveled to, say Paris, I'd probably do just fine.  I think I speak French as well as he does, and I probably am more comfortable in cities.  I don't think I'm losing any competence, but I don't think that competent side of me has twinkling eyes.  More peaceful than bright with a bit of mischief.   I'm sure I'll get that back when I want it, but I'm certainly lounging in the helpless side of the spectrum right now.

Responsibility and Reluctance

We had a rocky start to my visit, but I think we're doing really well now.

I like having reluctance overcome.  I don't necessarily want to take responsibility for my own desires.  Or maybe I do in my mind, but  I am hungrier and kinkier than I would care to admit.  I want, no, I need, to be used hard, but I don't want to admit that.

When I got to Europe, I was tired. This is absolutely true.  I had a bad (but cheap) and very long flight, and I'd been really busy before so I was a little worn out before I left.

MaxEarnest took very gentle care of me.  He made sure I met his needs, but he didn't use me hard, and I got more and more tired and less and less engaged.  We fought over little things.  The less engaged I got, the more careful he got with me.

Needless to say, it was a nasty cycle.  I tried a little to provoke things, calling him teacher and mispronouncing numbers in another language.  (I don't actually disobey on real stuff), but he was careful with me.

Finally, I got a little tipsy and a little obnoxious, and said, perhaps in an inelegant way, what I needed, and he really, really heard me.

The truth is, when sex is going well with MaxEarnest, it is amazing.  And all our myriad differences seem scale-able.  

The other truth is that I'm more of a masochist than I've ever admitted, mostly because I've never trusted anyone else as much, but also because MaxEarnest uses that information by degrees.  He doesn't haul out a single tail and wail away.  He prods and smacks and clamps more and more, but he doesn't make me numb out.

And I'm pretty insatiable.  I may not see much of Europe.  But it is good.

Defining my Identity

I’m on my way to MaxEarnest’s with a 4-hour layover in Berlin, and I feel rather discombobulated.  I had to pay and extra 50 euros (on a flight that cost 55 euros) because my carry-on weighted more than 8 kilos, and I felt so helpless and ripped off that I tripped on an escalator and bruised my shin.  And then Starbucks doesn’t have free wi-fi!  It costs as much as Starbucks in America (actually, quite a bit more), and they charge 8.50 euros an hour for wi-fi!  So I’m so tired, and feeling broke (even if I can afford the 50 euros--it just makes me feel really insecure, like I don’t know what I’m in for) and isolated.   

I got on my computer to unsubscribe from many of my podcasts.  Terry Gross.  Bill Moyers.  Bill Mahrer.  Dan Savage.  A variety of NPR podcasts.  Rachel Maddow.  It is all scary, but giving up Rachel Maddow feels like a huge loss.

I spend a lot of my energy and wits on keeping informed about politics in the United States.  Part of me knows that it is pointless.  Does it really matter if I know about the Obama’s administration’s continuation of Bush’s abuse of executive power?  During the Bush administration, it felt really important.  I shouldn’t say this, but I feel saddened by Obama and like I’ve lost my ability to believe that anything I do can make a difference.  Part of me believes that the power of witness is important.  That small percentage of us who stay engaged and focused on the news, who know what is going on and write letters and talk to each other and care--do we make any difference at all?  Is it just political masturbation, only not as fun?

I know that in Europe this summer, I won’t have the sort of time I had in the U.S.  I do have time planned here, but I will have to be focused and really do work during that time.  I think MaxEarnest will want as much of my time as I can possibly have, and so I have to unsubscribe.  Part of me wants to define myself more as sex-kitten than liberal Democrat. I’m keeping RadioLab and This American Life, because I couldn’t not have those, but I’m unsubscribing from almost everything else.  But that feels like I’m losing a big part of how I see myself. I missed 7 weeks of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report while MaxEarnest was in the U.S. and when I went back to watch it after he left, I felt a little out of sync.

I know that in some ways, it will be good. I used to actually listen to significantly more podcasts and every New Year's Day I unsubscribe from a few.  Some of my podcasts are just great for my commute, but there have always been more than my commute lasts, and I sometimes end up playing stupid video games while I listen.  Maybe I need to let go of that part of my identity.  I know that it uses a lot of resources in terms of time, but also money--I give an awful lot of $20 donations to politicians around the country.  It is also a foundation of a lot of my friendships--I’m sure the good ones won’t go away.  And, in all honesty, I can easily re-subscribe in September.  I'm sure I will to many.  But what will have changed?  

Predictions for September:  The election will be close; the economy will be bad; Mitt Romney will have said something a little wooden (am I only one that thinks he has high-functioning Aspergers?); Obama will have disappointed me in at least 5 ways; Claire McCaskill, Tim Kaine, Jon Tester, Maria Cantwell, Elizabeth Warren and Amy Klobuchar will all be in races that are within the margin of error--maybe I should send them each $20 today.  Faux News will have ginned up a fake controversy that is linked to Obama’s scary otherness and Nevada will be close enough I’ll be tempted to go there to volunteer for a week, but ultimately I’ll probably decide it isn’t winnable this election and Washington and Oregon will be safe enough that I’ll feel like volunteering isn’t worthwhile.   What does it really matter if I don’t get all the nuances on the SCOTUS decision overturning much of Obama’s health care bill on Thursday at 7am Pacific time?  Does it really matter if I only get the headline a little later?  But it is a little terrifying to me.  It is a huge part of how I justify my existence.  I feel like it matters, even if I don’t really think it does.

Hospitable kindness

I had an enormous dinner with a number of people that do what I do at different centers all over the country to finish up a continuing education week.  The guy who was organizing it asked us each to pitch in $100, which shocked me.  I paid it, but I was really, really upset and felt coerced.

Here's the thing though--it might have been worth it.  It changed how I viewed the last week, made me enjoy the people, may have cemented a few friendships and was just so much fun.  I ate raw salmon, tongue, salmon tartar, duck salad, daikon salad, pickled mushrooms, pickled tomatoes (who knew?), caviar, mushrooms five different ways, veal (which I've never had before, and probably never will again) and everything else they put in front of me (except the foie gras--honestly, I wouldn't have had the veal if I'd known what it was, but I found out after the fact).  I drank much, much too much. The guy I was frustrated with for spending too much money didn't even eat.  He was watching all of us the entire time.  The moment my glass was full, he had another one for me.  (And this was a restaurant--he just didn't think the staff was quite attentive enough.) At one point, when I had discreetly (or not so discreetly) poured some vodka into some fruit juice, he joked "I think your vodka got spilled--let me get pour you some" so that even though he was pouring me more than others, no one except he and me knew it.  

I'm clearly much more of a teetotaler for the reasons of costs and taste than calories and morality.  Give me free girlie drinks all night long and I will keep up with the best.

But I was really surprised at what a lovely, lovely, lovely evening it was.  I went in feeling a little entitled because it was so expensive.  And I'd never spend that kind of money myself.  But I felt very taken care of and sort of held.  And several people and I sang songs, and others joined in and it made me smile.

Usually in those situations, I feel more comfortable trying to take care of other people.  I'm not used to feeling like I can just relax.  I think the fact that it was so expensive took any obligation off of me to prove myself or take care of other people.  I just sat back, drank and ate what they put in front of me.  It was a lovely change.

Godot

I have this work event almost an hour from home this week, and due to a SNAFU, I have a hotel room.  I told them I’d go home, but they’d already booked it and couldn’t cancel it, so I have it.  The first two nights, I drove home, but tonight the work stuff went till almost 10 and I didn’t feel like driving home for an hour, only to leave 8 hours later for another drive back, so I stayed at the hotel.

For the first time, I think ever, I saw no romance.  There was no thrill of a life that could be different.  No siren call of possibilities.  No projection onto the generic luxuries that a hotel room holds.  I have a nice view from my bed, a very good view in fact.  But I’d rather have my sheets and my home and my life.   I have a TV with cable, but with no new episodes of Mad Men or Downton Abbey, why would I bother?  I’d prefer my home to the hotel and my life to a generic cipher.

I think that is important,  Part of it is, I’m sure, because when Maxearnest was coming, I did all the things I’ve meant to do for years.  Honestly, I was in the process of moving when John died, and while I’d put aside a month to get my new house in order, all I ended up doing during that time was the bare minimum necessary to get my stuff out of the old house, and cry.  Slowly, I’d gotten some things put ways, but I’d been living out of a few cardboard boxes for two and a half years!  I got all the simple repairs done in anticipation of his visit.  Maxearnest helped me put up curtains.  My home feels lovely.

But something else has shifted also.  Intellectually, I know that the future with Maxearnest is uncertain,  but I feel more capable of facing that future, even if I end up alone.  I don’t feel defined by a void, the way I have in the past.  I hope I won’t end up alone, but if I do, I don’t feel like it will be all-defining.  I hope Maxearnest and I find some way to bridge the pond.  But I will do my best to let the future take care of itself.  Meanwhile, I am content.

Communication

Maxearnest has been gone for a couple of weeks, and I had a huge work event I do each year, and then relatives missing.  One more week for work and then I'm off to see him, to which I'm really looking forward.

It's funny.  I miss blogging, but I haven't really had much to blog about, and I even forgot where I log-in to write!  (I also have been so busy.  That old axiom "Time flies when you're having fun" seems to hold far more true with Maxearnest than I've ever felt with anyone.  I feel like I have less time with him than I've ever had, and it is a very new feeling for me.  I've never been with someone that wants to spend so much time with me, and it is lovely much of the time, but sometimes it was hard.  I miss time feeling slower, but, for me, that involves more free time.  Maybe I will try meditating and see if it can slow time down again. )

When things are good with MaxEarnest, they're just fabulous.  And when things are rough, I don't always know how to write about it well.  I think I really hurt his feelings with the last blog entry and it is making me feel like words are such blunt instruments. I used to think I had good communication, but lately I'm feeling less and less confident about my ability to communicate anything.

There was an interesting piece in Salon.com this weekend about kink and Fifty Shades of Grey (which, being a good girl, I haven't read because Maxearnest doesn't want me reading erotica, and that's a limit I'm fine with).  

The wide-eyed virgin Anastasia didn’t seek out a shadowy subculture to test the limits of her own desire; she stumbled into it, and she just happened to hook up with a hot and mysterious millionaire who knew exactly how to turn her on. The book seems to confirm the infuriating failure of modern women to find sexual pleasure on their own, and its wild popularity has also thrust an underground world of kink into the mainstream.

I'm certainly not a wide-eyed virgin, and, in fact, I have sought out the shadowy subculture, but I too have an infuriating failure at communicating my desires.  Or, honestly, even knowing them.  Even if I were to make Freud's question more specific, and try to answer only "What does Connie want?"  I don't know.  Surrender.  What does 'surrender' mean, exactly? Even spanking, which I usually love, and frankly crave and need, only works when it works.  I need all the stuff that goes with it.  I need to feel that this is the same man that, at moment when I woke up from a nap in his arms, was just looking at me with delight.  I need tone, narrative and adoration.

How can I communicate "tone?"  Right now, I"m into what Maxearnest likes.  When I play with myself, I think about what he likes--corsets and high heels and bondage and all electricity and suction.  I don't even know what electricity will be like (although I expect I'll find out in the next few weeks), and I expect I will learn to engage with it. But John was into floggers and ships and I eroticized them when I was with him. I've never understood those checklists of endless activities.  "How" and "Who" is so much more important than what.

I'm also bad at communicating almost-limits.  I've had a hard time with corsets in real life (as opposed to fantasy, where they are just sexy).  I start to get nauseous, and I sweat and my hands and feet get all tingly.  And when it gets to that point, I just tell him I can't do it.  We've talked some about how I think I can handle it more (mostly not tying it so tight to start with and helping me slow my breathing--it is counter-intuitive, but I think I'm hyperventilating because intellectually, I feel like I can't breathe, so I think I'm breathing too quickly to make up for it), but I can't do that when I'm in a submissive state.  When I'm submissive, I can communicate "I tried and I failed" but that's about it.  Other than that, I'm lousy at saying anything other than "yes."

Narrative is the opposite, though.  I need narrative.  I crave narrative.  Sometimes, when something is happening to me, I can't process it.  It more hot after the fact than during.  But Maxearnest talks to me; he tells me the things he will do to me and what I am and who I belong to.  And words are so fabulous there!

And part of what is so wonderful about being Maxearnest's girl is that he doesn't ask me to use words.  He can tell by looking at me if I'm doing well or not.  He can tell the difference between "I will do this only because it pleases you" and "oh yes yummy" from what?  The tension in my shoulders?  The arch of my back?  I don't know.  But it is like a kind of magic.

Letting Go Your Illusions and Don't Confuse it With Dreams

Sad.

It isn't him.  It isn't me.  We're just too different.  And he really feels alienated being in my city in America.  A City.  Any city. And America.  He doesn't care for either.

I'm still spending the summer with him.  And it will be a wonderful time.  But I think it is now a moment, not a life.  And that makes me awfully, awfully sad.  

I knew it deep down.  It was obvious he wasn't happy here and wasn't happy with what I could give.  I have a full-time job.  It is really cushy by American standards, but I have to work 4 days a week most weeks, and usually 5-7 hours a day.  For the last couple of weeks, I had 6 days off work, then 4 on, than 4 off, then 3 on, and I haven't done anything else.  I've quit my hobbies.  I haven't seen a single friend in the last 2 months and haven't even really had any long phone conversations with anyone but he still feels neglected.  But he doesn't have anything here except me.  Nothing excites him.  He misses home and little tempts him to explore and find hobbies or other people he might like.  I think he feels like I did visiting Dotty in the rural village in April.  

And I feel like I don't live up to his standards.  I multi-task, which he hates.  And I'm more independent than him. I'm craving time to myself to think.  To me, I think having 30 good hours a week with a partner is a lot, but he thinks that isn't anywhere near enough.  I feel like he wants all my time.  To me, being with a partner is roots, so you both have a ballast that lets you grow taller and stronger in the world, but I think he feels like it should be more.  But even aside from being in the world, I need time to think and feel just myself.  I've been meaning to write this for 10 days now, but 4 in the morning when I can't sleep is the only time I have to myself.  I have a letter from my dad that came a week ago that I haven't had time to open and read and think and feel about.

We'll see if I feel the same way when I'm in Europe; but I expect I will: this is a difficulty my parents are still trying to resolve with my mom constantly wanting time to herself and my dad wanting more from her.  In fact, MaxEarnest and I are actually replaying several of the dynamics that I see with my parents, although, oddly, we seem to jump back and forth on who plays the part of my dad and who plays my mom in different dynamics.

We are each hardy and frail in different things.  Yesterday I fell when I was biking and it freaked the hell out of me.  I switched over to biking cleats about a month ago and he went through an intersection when a car was coming and I was stupidly following him without watching. By the time I saw the car, I couldn't get my foot out of the pedals. It is the first time I've fallen in years, and it wasn't a huge deal (although my wrist and knee still hurt), but I just wanted to go home.  I didn't have any resilience left to enjoy our adventure.  He really pushed me to not give up.  He held me for a good 15 minute or so, but then wanted to keep biking, and I did what he wanted, but it was really hard for me.  But a couple of nights ago, he got in a cold breeze for maybe 3 seconds, and his shoulder really hurt.  I don't think either of us can quite predict what the other one will need because we're so different.

It isn't that we have different philosophies on life--we're even more different than that.  We don't even look at life the same enough to have competing philosophies.  It isn't enough to say that he loves Two and a Half Men and Californication and I love Six Feet Under and Downton Abbey.  I was working on a grant proposal for at-risk teens and talking about what the program does.  One of the steps involved kids sharing and the grant mentioned the importance of teens seeing that other people have experienced some of the same difficulties they had.  It is sort of like "It Gets Better" except it is just teens from different schools sharing with each other in person, over time.  This, to me, is one of the most valuable things my work does, and Maxearnest couldn't understand why this was important.  We talked about it a lot, and it was like I said we all needed to breathe Jello-o or something.  He couldn't relate at all to a sense of affirmation that other people had gone through these difficulties and you, (I) wasn't a freak after all.

I don't care that he doesn't have a job on most levels, although I'm the kind of person that wants to take difficulties now to avoid them later.  But the fact that he doesn't work means he wants much, more more from me than if he had to work for 30 or 40 hours a week as well.  The incongruity of our outside demands unbalances the relationship.

And, truth be told, we're lousy roommates.  The ex and I were lousy lovers, but great roommates.  We shared a 350 square foot apartment, for almost a year.  Maxearnest and I have really different expectations and likes and dislikes.  We operate at different speeds.  We value different things.

I'm in my little bedroom right now, because he doesn't tolerate fans or air conditioners, (but he also is unhappy when it is too hot --he's usually more sensitive to that than I). And I miss him.  I was lying on my side, with my cat in my arms and my back felt so alone, so empty.  I crave his touch.  I ache for him, because I feel this will end and I'll be back to sleeping with my cat, my blood turning to dust.

It seems I have to pick between a lover and a partner.  Maxearnest is the only lover I've ever had that I could imagine being with for the rest of my life.  Joyously and excitedly.  And I love him. It makes me cry, racking sobs that he can't hear under the air conditioner, that this is probably it.  Part of me wants to scream: "don't go!  I love you!  I'll give up the idea of having a partner to have you as an occasional lover."  But we'd be talking about him visiting me a couple of times a year and the two of us going away whenever I could sneak off from work.  But when I had to work, he'd come occasionally, maybe twice a year for two weeks at a time.  We'll see.  Maybe I will find a way to have a holiday-lover be enough.  I'm sure we'd keep skyping. But, long-term, I think I crave a partner.  Someone to support and be supported by.  Someone to make a life with, rather than escape for a few magical moments.  But magical moments are, well magical.  What's the dream that can't be compromised?  What's the illusion that must be let go?  

I can see the sun is starting to rise.  But I can't bring myself to post this because if I do, I have to e-mail him a copy, and there feels like a finality in that.  I do love him.  I can't bear a finality in that as well.

My Father's Daughter. But MaxEarnest's Girl

I'm sort of amazed to look at where I've come in the last year.  A funny turning point is that I did a summer-camp-for-grown-ups last summer that was all about 'inner-child' stuff, and the staff member I was paired with kind of blew me off.  She didn't meet with me and didn't meet and finally made an appointment and didn't show.  (She also wasn't reading the stuff I was writing, as she was supposed to--in a list of my mother's flaws, I mentioned that my mom had had bulimia and this person responded to the list"did you mother have issues with food?")  I thought about leaving and then refused to let her treat me like that any more.  I made the summer-camp people change plans to accommodate my needs.  When they said they wouldn't I said they needed to because they'd fucked up.  When they said I was having trust issues, I said "OK, I have trust issues, so act in a trustworthy way."  In retrospect, it was probably as valuable a lesson as I could have gotten.  When I set those limits, two other staff members really stepped up for me and I got a lot of what I wanted.  I think that is the moment that I really did begin to say "you can't treat me like that" and mean it.  And I had to mean it for it to mean anything.

My dad never hit me or abused me in a physical way, but he would get critical in ways that were devastating, and so I monitored my own behaviour so much, and also everything in the general environment.  My dad once told me I had "betrayed" him because he really hated a movie I recommended.  And in this year, I've started to see my dad as really damaged.  And started to let go of having a close relationship with him.  Maybe in a few years I can have a little more, but at the moment, I don't want to be around him if he is going to be so self-centered that he refuses to try to not hurt me.

And then I left my father's house to come to my home and see Maxearnest.  My identity is shifting.  I'm not Daddy's Girl anymore.  I'm sure issues will come up at some point, but they are not as salient.  I'm Maxearnest's beloved young slave girl.  There is a freedom and a joy there.  He makes me happy.  This feels like home. 

I trust him enough that I could just relax with him and literally fall when he shifted me and let him catch me. I didn't even tense up.  I'm sure there's a metaphor there as well.

We were having a very intimate conversation about my dad and kink and that my dad's criticism is probably what led me towards kink.  And all that is probably true.  And 10 years ago, I tried to analyze the criticism away and avoid the kink.  But now, I sort of feel like the kink was the silver lining.  Yeah, it sucked.  But look at this gift I got out of it?

I wouldn't change anything in my life, or at least nothing big--I'd still change the 2000 election--because it led me here.  And I'm so very happy.

Of course, I read the Newsweek article, and it is interesting.  But a huge difference with my experience because with Maxearnest, I'm taking responsibility for my desire.  I kneel at his feet or for him often.  He almost never orders me to kneel, but I sense that he likes it when I do.  And there's something very calming about it.  And then he usually pets and cherishes me and I look up at his strong hands and handsome face and I feel so very safe and adored and all is right in the world.  There is something about kneeling for him that is so very freeing.

Today he asked me if I needed to be used harder and I said yes, even though it scares me.  But I do.  He has been so very tender and gentle with me, and I love it.  I feel like an aquifer, just absorbing his love and his cherishing.  But then, there is that wild animal that needs to be pushed, controlled, taken.  I need to suffer for Maxearnest, to make the power about something more than rhetoric.  It calms that shrew beating in my breast.  And it makes me wet.

Life has always seemed about trade-offs.  How lucky that I don't have to pick one or the other.  I am getting it all.

Borrowing Trouble

I have a few quotidian concerns about MaxEarnest and me.  Will he like Seattle?  Will we work together in everyday time?  

But my biggest concern is more existential.  My young-girl is about 12.  Very sexual, almost insatiable.  That side of me wants to be adored and used and to please.  I'm also very naive and very trusting.  And Maxearnest and I just fit together so beautiful.  He delights in that side of me and cherishes that side and takes such wonderful, wonderful care of me.

I have this fear though, which is unknowable and probably irrational.  I feel like that side of me is being seen and recognized and is living in a way I've never really lived.  What if that side of me starts to grow up?  If my young girl went from 12 to 13, Maxearnest and I would probably fall apart.  I'm not at all rebellious.  I'm trusting and delight in having someone to care for me.  I have little lapses of discipline, like where I let go of a wrist when I'm scared and I don't maintain control, but I want to please Maxearnest and they are things I'm learning to be better on.  I also have moments where I don't necessarily want to obey because something hurts, it's hard and I'll think "why do I have to do that; I wish I didn't have to."  But I do obey.

But what if in nurturing that side of me, that side starts to grow up and become more like a teenager?  Maxearnest told me that he wants my erotic life to be focused around him, so I haven't opened a naughty novella since we were together in Iceland, and I am fine with that.  But then I read a review of a new naughty novel and part of me wanted to read it.  And I can't.  I'm not allowed to.  I'm actually fine with that.  I would so much rather live the life I'm living, worthy of being turned into its own naughty novel, than read about someone else's fantasies, but what if I read about another book in a few years and really want to read it?  I'm sure if it were really important to me, I mean really, Maxearnest would find a way to make it work.  But what if I become rebellious?  What if something hurts, really hurts, and I think "I wish I didn't have to do that" and then part of me says "you don't have to."

I have this deep feeling that if I ever lied to Maxearnest about anything important (I could dissemble about a present for him, or something like that), it would really hurt our relationship.  Even if he never found out, it would really hurt us. One of the things that is so magical between us is how well he can read my emotions, and how he uses that to make me happier than I'd ever imagined I could be.  Why can I even fear that someday I'd risk that for a little rebellious independence?  But I've read so much about so many women being unhappy in relationships in the 50s and 60s and earlier, and even now.  I don't understand how if they were being loved and cherished, they wouldn't obey.  But an awful lot of women found that to be an untenable situation.  I know is some ways this is different, but in some ways it isn't.  I guess I just want this moment to never end and I'm scared it could.

There's no way of stopping time.  There's no use borrowing trouble and worrying about the future.  But it is sad to think that I might grow in a way that would wreck the best thing that has happened to me.

A Traditional Housewife: Part 2

I’ve staying with Dotty this week, and it has been really, really hard!  She works 12-16 hour days, so I stay home, just like a traditional housewife, and I get some work done and it is OK, but, wow, would it have sucked to have this as a life.  I had quite a bit of work to do, but since I was on vacation, that meant 4 hours a day.  And then I’d shop for her, cook for her, clean the house for her.  She invited friends over and at one point wasn’t there to great them and I had to play hostess to her friends when I didn’t know where she was.  One night, she didn’t get home until midnight, when she said she’d be home “in a couple of hours” at 6.  I had a plate of food waiting in the fridge but she’d snacked at work. 

I felt a lot of the resentments that I read from women in the early 1960s.  When I took care of my dad when he was ill, I felt really fulfilled.  I made a difference for him and I loved taking care of him.  But with Dotty, I felt lonely and neglected and taken for granted because I have no social life here (my cell phone doesn't work where she lives--only Verizon works) and at the end of the day, I want her to notice what I did to make her house nicer and ask about my day and she is too tired.

And here’s the thing: Dotty is one of the most lovely, thoughtful people I know.  But work is eating her alive.  She is ‘only’ scheduled to work 9 hours a day, but that’s my equivalent of billable hours.  And, of course, I make a third of what I could so that I don't have that stress. It seems possible that in 6 months, she’ll be down to working maybe 60 hours a week, but right now, I’d say she’s working closer to 100.  She needs a ‘housewife,’ but it would be a pretty grim, isolated and lonely existence for anyone depending on her for a partnership. 

Dotty is stretched to the breaking point.  I can feel the stress.  She feels 10 years older than when I saw her in January.   I’m scared for her--I don’t know how she can keep up the life she is living. But she only gets 10 vacation days this year, and they have already been scheduled for a cousin’s wedding and to visit her parents.  (I cannot even imagine a life where I only got 10 vacation days a year.) But it made me realize that much of the traditional male/female issues can be accredited to the shitty working conditions in this country.  There are no gender issues with Dotty and myself.  There’s just the fact that she is horribly overworked and I’m staying in a community I don’t know, in a home where I’m a guest, trying to take a little of the stress off her shoulders.

But clearly, we need better conditions for the people who work full time as well.

Taxonomy and Reality

Maxearnest sent me a sweet e-mail today:  "My sweet slave girl.  This is worth reading."

It touched me deeply he sent this because this was very close to some things I've told him.  He affirmed for me that we are 'real' (even if, deep down, I feel like we're real for us, but not for most of the kink world out there.  But I don't care.  Some to define "Us" with is all I've ever wanted.)

It also highlighted how important taxonomy is.  As we name things, we define them.  The nomenclature of kink shapes desire and power.  Maxearnest is very clear on the difference between submissive and slave. And he clearly thinks I'm a slave, and that clearly delighted and surprised him.  I think he feels a slave is more valuable than a submissive.  And I'm happy to be his slave.  But I'm hesitant to use that language here because I feel like most readers would say I'm not a 'real' slave.  (And, in all honesty, Maxearnest and I only spent a week together.  We probably average 2 hours a day on Skype, but Skype is not real life and we both know it.  It will be another month before Maxearnest and I start to see how we are in quotidian life.)

In terms of taxonomy, all that matters to me, of course, is that Maxearnest and I are on the same page.  We're not a 'property' relationship.  Part of me belongs to Maxearnest, but he is also very aware (and very supportive of) the part of me that is not submissive. Although maybe that side is a little more submissive than I thought--I certainly appreciate nudging and am willing to defer to wisdom.  Over time, I could see myself depending on him more and more.

Last week I had a really cool week at work.  I got to present to about 1000 people over the course of two days and it went so very well. I was glowing, and Maxearnest could see how happy it made me and he said something like "I'm not the only thing that makes you happy."  And that is true, although I think the good things at work make me much happier than they would have before Maxearnest was in my life.  Before, I felt this underlying emptiness.  There was a John-shaped hole in my life, but it wasn't necessarily John--it was having a partner to share with.  Now I just thank my lucky stars instead of wishing on them.

What amazes me is that my relationship with Maxearnest, where I am freely accepting becoming his slave, as defined by him, is that it is all about receiving more gifts; it doesn't feel like I'm giving anything up.  He pushes me some, but rarely to the point where I go numb or just hate it.  It is almost always sexy.  He likes to see me aching with hunger, not quaking with dread.  And, honestly, I am a little harder core than I've admitted.  I've always said I wasn't a masochist, but I don't think that is actually true.  I think I kind of knew it, but really didn't feel like the men I was seeing were safe for me.

And where I think Maxearnest differs from almost all other Masters is that he is very happy for me to have a part of my life that isn't as his slave.  Work is mine.  I have friends.  If, for some reason, I ever had to give up my work, that would be a decision we made together.  Even little things, like drug--I told him that I wanted equal say in any drugs we did, and that was no problem.  He didn't insist on his right as a master to get me high.  I don't think most 'real' 'slaves' would say "I won't give up my work and we have to talk about drugs before we do them."  But I'm real to Maxearnest.  Just like the velveteen bunny. He wants me to do the things that make me happy.  Maxearnest knows I'm greedy for life.  I want more sex, more kink, yes.  But I also want more experiences from wind in my hair to kudos at work.  Making music, being heard and laughing together. And then crawling to his feet and waiting for his command.

Empathy

Maxearnest just continually surprises me in these amazing, giving ways.

I went in to work today early for a meeting, which cut our time short this morning.  When I get to work, it turns out the guy I was supposed to meet was cancelling, but he e-mailed the secretary at 11pm last night (instead of calling me to let me know) and the secretary didn't get in until after our meeting was supposed to happen.  So I told Maxearnest I was frustrated.  And he just said he was sorry for my frustration and that the guy who cancelled shouldn't have.  But that was such a gift to me.  It felt like he cared.  This is the professional side of me, not at my best--in a bit of a self-righteous snit.  And he still cares.

All my life, my dad has lectured me that I shouldn't get annoyed when people do things like that, or far worse--malicious things--I'm always the one that was 'fun to tease' and so it was like I asked for it--even when I came home with a broken arm from getting beaten up by bigger kids, it was always my fault.  

I do think empathy is where my dad just fails.  In many ways, he's a good man.  He tries to do what is right, but he is defining what is right by this 1960s-EST-Me self-centeredness.  He just doesn't think about other people. At all.  Eventually, I learned to try and stop getting empathy from my dad.  Except when I'd need it most.  Then I'd slip and try and get it.  But it was futile and I mostly learned better.

But I still missed it.

And here is Maxearnest just empathizing with me.  Over something little, something silly, something I probably would be a better person if I didn't let it annoy me.  And the fact that he can give me that gift is just so embracing.

Gifts

Let's be honest; being happy is boring to write about, as Tolstoy so tersely explained. And I am happy.  My angst is even getting smaller and less interesting.  I could write a salacious blog about sex as Maxearnest is really so creative, but that just isn't my style. I'm sure I'd gain a wider audience, but I feel like it would make what we do less intimate, less joyful.

I have noticed an interesting change in my thinking.  Until Maxearnest, I have always felt like submission was a gift, and I felt that way because I was doing a lot of things that weren't good for me.  Some of it was linked to kink; some of it was just linked to being taken for granted.  I remember, I was with the ex when I read "What Shamu Taught Me About A Happy Marriage" and I took it to heart; I started thanking him when he (occasionally) did something to help around the house.  One day he said "I'm glad you're thanking me for helping with the dishes because it means you realize the housework is all your responsibility."  I would like to say I broke up with him that day, but I didn't.  (Do I need to mention that I covered half the finances but ended up handling all the bills, shopping, cooking, cleaning and laundry.  The only thing he ever did was take out the trash.)  I was willing to try and make that work (and we had sex that was similarly skewed towards being all about his needs with no concern for mine) because I viewed being submissive as a gift.  I viewed it, frankly, as drawing the very short end of the stick in the relationship department, but I didn't want to lie about who I was.  

With Maxearnest, this has changed.  I feel like his dominance is a huge gift to me.  Just enormous.  He is constantly taking how I feel into account.  More than that.  I get the sense that if I'm hungry to submit, and he's not, he's just happy to talk or be gentle, he'll find a way to satisfy my hunger--let me feel submissive, even if he's not necessarily in a sexual mood.  He is making sure both our needs are met, and my needs are half of that.  Fortunately, our needs are very compatible.  But sometimes only one of us is feeling it.  And if I'm very, very tired, or feeling a little off, he'll be gentle with me, even if he might prefer something rougher, stronger, more visceral.  He cares more about me than about what kinky thing we'll do that day, and he wants me to be happier for being with him than without him.  Dominance doesn't just mean he gets whatever he wants when he wants it.  It is a responsibility he has to be wise and not just selfish.

I feel kind of silly saying this, but I never really thought that would happen. 

Interestingly, Maxearnest feel like my submission is a gift to him.  He cherishes it.  

So we have a relationship where both of us feels like we're both receiving a wonderful gift from the other.  That is a beautiful thing to me.

I'm so very happy.  Boring (to write a blog) but happy!

Numbing pain, obedience and love

Of all the things that Maxearnest likes to do with me, there is one I just hate.  Hate.  Hate, hate, hate hate.  They are these little black silicon pads with sharp points he has me put in my shoes, then stand and walk.  I hate them.  They make me feet not quite fit in my shoe, so there is pain all over, especially in my pinky toes, which end up feeling a little crushed and on an angle.  The top of my feet feel pushed.  And of course they push the bottom where I'm standing.

They numb me out.  They make me hate being submissive.  They make me wish I were normal, so I didn't have to endure this thing that just feels like it crushes my spirit, for what--why does he want me to be that unhappy?  They make me feel like I have to earn love for what I do, with my pain, instead of just being loved regardless.  They make me question why I've accepted the entire D/s realm.  They remind me of the ex and all the things I've endured.  I hate them. There is no aspect of them that I like nor do I see any advantage.  But I have obeyed and rebelled only with my eyes and Maxearnest is certainly aware when I'm not happy.

I don't like being humbled.  But I accept it.  And it makes me wet.  (Maxearnest would never humiliate me.  Even if I did something wrong, and he punished me for it, he'd tell me I disappointed him, but he would never call me stupid, or worthless or ugly anything like that.  He'd say that I needed discipline and accepting my punishment would make me his good girl again.)  But he does humble me.  And it is hard for me.  But it doesn't make me hate being a submissive.  It doesn't make me question my decision to embrace submission.
Intellectually, I wish I didn't like to be objectified.  But truth be told, I want to be objectified.  And then cherished and petted and loved.

There are days my nipples hurt for hours afterwards.  I can feel them, not just being tender, but hurting.  Sometimes it is distracting at work to feel my nipples against my bra.  A little reminder all day of what we did that morning.  I can't run for a stoplight, because they hurt.  But it is also a little hot.

When I'm being spanked, there are times I don't know how I can handle any more.  But it still makes me wet.  And when it is done, I'm so glad.  But I also think I could have handled a little more and wonder if I was too much of a wuss.

There's pain that pinches, pain that stings, pain that thuds, and pain that constricts.  There's pain that challenges, pain that seduces, pain that opens me up and makes me more vulnerable and pain that shuts me down and makes me clench, just waiting for it to be over.  Those little black pads are pain that makes me clench, feel worthless and, truth be told, a little hopeless.  I have accepted my lot.  But those black pads make me sad at what my lot is.

He has only done it thrice, because he knows how much I hate them.

But today, we were talking afterwards.  And he could see it in my face, how much I hated those little devious things.  But we talked and I told him how they made me feel.  At first, he wanted me to accept that it is his right.  And I told him it was, and I would do my best to endure.  But as we talked I became a little more articulate about how I felt, and I think it made him sad; he doesn't want me to feel that way, ever.  He said we wouldn't use them on Skype any more.  And I started to tear up.  Part of me didn't want to accept his gift--it felt so lovely, so loving, so kind and generous that he would give up something he enjoys just because I hate it.  He has imposed a hard limit on us, which is that I should never feel like I'm unloved, ever.   I have accepted that I will do things that are hard; we both know that.  But he doesn't want me to feel like I have to earn love.  And if I do feel like I have to earn love, then he will stop.  At least for now.  Maybe when he is here, we'll experiment some more.  But for the time being, I am so very touched.

Tropes of Rope

I used to feel oppressed by the way that narratives of bdsm took over my private fantasies.  I felt victimized by a patriarchal culture that, by middle school, flooded so much media with fairly misogynistic fantasies of a male-centered dream world where women were objects there to please the man.  I wondered where my erotic fantasies would have ended up if not given such a steady diet of kink, and lets be honest, the MTV of the 80s had a huge amount of kink subtones (and sometimes some very dominant tones).

And, truth be told, I think that is a valid analysis on one level.

But I feel differently now--the memes of screams make really hot sex, and they also provide a foundation for the sense of connection and empathy.

If we think of Maxearnest and my erotic fantasies as illustrated by a Venn Diagram, the memes make a much greater overlap possible.  If I'd developed my own erotic life, free of any coercion by a patriarchal culture, maybe I'd get off on clouds and unicorns and rose petals.  The things I liked when I was 9 might have come into greater focus and become objects of my erotic desire.  And how in the world would I find someone to share that erotic life with me?  To understand how I felt about things?  To be able to empathize with what I'm feeling and thus both push and protect me?  By focusing my erotic imaginings on some things, and even limiting some choice, the schemes come into greater focus, the dreams have a shared foundation, and, if you'll pardon my saying it, it seems that we are on the same teams.

Discipline, Reluctance and Obedience.

I'm tired.  It's been a long day, and I have a couple of standing things that I need to do for Maxearnest every night when I get home.  The first thing is not necessarily something that I enjoy.  But it pleases him.  But I'm tired and he's asleep for sure, and why can't I just veg out and relax?  And these little thoughts of rebellion appear often.  Yesterday, he told me to do something, and this voice in my head said "why do I have to do that?"  Last night I went to the gym.  I told him I needed to be going more often, so he told me to schedule a couple of times a week (which is definitely a minimum for what I want to do) and then said I needed to stick to it.  And I told him I would.  But, honestly, it wasn't this magic elixir that made it any easier.  It made it possible, but it didn't make it fun or easy.  I was so exhausted--it was the last thing I wanted to do.  I hope that over time, I will get the habit more regularly and it will be easier.  But it was really hard to obey.  All these little rebellions.

Or maybe they aren't rebellions, because I do always obey.  Maxearnest doesn't mind.  He can sometimes see my reluctance in my eyes, but I'm eager enough most of the time that he thinks a little occasional reluctance is natural.  But I know it would be easier to obey if that part of me didn't rebel.  

It is funny, because sometimes he wants me to say "Yes Sir" (instead of "Yes Master" or "Yes Maxearnest") if something really hurts, and that is hard for me because then I have to feel something and also measure how much I'm feeling, evaluate whether or not I can handle it, estimate how much longer--it is so much more brain functioning, and it is hard for me.  (Sometimes it just comes out easily, but that feels to come out easily more in person than on Skype.)   It is easier to obey him and endure because I've given up my choice.  I chose him--and that was my choice.  Now, I don't have to think that way.  Unless he tells me to.

But the little rebellious thoughts make things harder than they would be.  I would be happier without them.  Happier, I suppose, if I were more of a slave.  I walked about a mile to the gym last night, and for that mile, I was pretty miserable; my feet were dragging and my head was just saying "But I don't want to go!  I'm TIRED!!!!"  It didn't matter how many times I said "I am Maxearnest's eager and obedient girl."  I was too tired to get turned on by that.  The last quarter of a mile I promised myself "Just go--you can leave after 20 minutes if you're still this exhausted.  Just go."  And I did, and I worked out 45 minutes (for some reason, Rachel Maddow had a new show on at 9pm west coast time last night, so I stayed until the end).  And when I got home tonight, I did my exercise; even though it hurt and I was tired and didn't feel like it. But when I was done, I felt a little calmer, I suppose.  And if he asks me to do something humbling or painful tomorrow, there will probably still be reluctance in my eyes, and a voice that says "but I don't want to."  But I'll obey.  Hopefully eagerly.  

I'm so much happier obeying Maxearnest than I've ever been with all the freedom in the world.  My friends comment on it often.  Work is easier.  I'm just happier.  And hopefully, with time, even those little rebellions will occur less.

Greedy

I am rather hungry for all that Maxearnest has for me.  Truth is, when I'm with him, I just want more.  If I have an orgasm, in 20 minutes, I want another one.  Hypothetical, he didn't approve of me being greedy, but he seems happy with the way that I express my hunger and neediness, and when it borders on greediness, he is indulgent.  (I don't ever tell him what to do, but I do sometimes tell him what I'd like, if it were up to me, and I give him lots of looks that probably tell him what I want in no uncertain terms.  But he, unlike the ex, lets me look at him any way I want--in fact, he encourages it.)

Here's the thing, though.  I was headed from job to the gym thinking "I'm Maxearnest's slave" and I realized, yes, but with him, I still get to be Constance.  He isn't greedy.  As long as Connie is his obedient girl, Constance gets to run free.  I feel very lucky.  

Now, if we could only work on shrinking the Atlantic.

My mother's daughter

I told my mom about Maxearnest tonight.  I sort of had to.  I had a bit of a money scare and then my mom was sort of hinting that maybe this wasn't the time to go to Europe this summer--wouldn't that be more expensive than staying home, and so I told her.

She asked what he was like and I said kind and empathetic.  And she almost started to cry.  I could hear the tears in her voice.  She was so happy for me.  But I also realized what a great toll being with my dad all those years has taken.  I just wanted to take her in my arms and hold her.  

My mom threatened to divorce my dad this year, and he started to make some of the changes with her that he refuses to make with me.  But they seem very small in comparison to the damage I think he causes her.  

My parents will celebrate their 50th anniversary soon.  There are times I'm absolutely shocked at the generational differences.  My mom refused to consider buying a Push-Up bra for my dad, even though it was painfully clear that my dad would have loved to see her in one.  From what I can tell, they have a good, but boring sex life and I would guess they are having sex about once a week, which, I think, is more from a sense of obligation on my mother's part than lust.  My mom never worked full time, and my dad always resented that.

But I have to say, I wonder if my mom could have been much happier on her own than married.  I can't imagine  the constant callousness. In a weird twist, Maxearnest is from the country that my family sort of blames for my dad's rigidness and judgmental nature (he has ancestors from there as well), but Maxearnest has none of that.  The tone in her voice when I said Maxearnest was kind and empathetic made me so sad for her.

Eagerness

Maxearnest thought I should clarify my last post.  

I am really quite eager to please him.  I try to anticipate things that will please him and embrace what he wants, even when it isn't something that I would necessarily pick for myself.   He wanted me to state that I am such a good, eager slave girl.  He really, really appreciates my attitude, and it is my eagerness 99% of the time that makes the 1% OK.

Yesterday, he had me do several things to myself that hurt.  Some of them hurt quite a bit.  At one point it was hard enough to obey that I said "OK, I can do this.  1. 2. 3." And I did it on 3.  But it was hard!  He thought I was probably doing things a little bit harder than he would.  He never felt like I was only going through the motions or trying to avoid pleasing him.

What I pulled away on was this:  I had a collar around my neck and it wasn't as loose as either of us thought.  When I was standing or sitting straight up, I could breathe fine.  But when I was bending over, it really constricted my air flow.  Because I don't have a wireless headset, he couldn't hear me breathing hard.  So he really had no way of noticing I was having trouble breathing.  This was also at a moment when Skype was not so great, so I was quite pixalated.  So it isn't like I just, randomly, say "oh, I'll panic if I do that."  He knows that constricting my breathing when he isn't there freaks me out, and we both agree that that is just a little too dangerous to fool around with.  And even though I've never passed out, it is enough of a danger that we just aren't doing that on Skype.  So when I couldn't breathe well, I stopped what was going on and told him.  I had to break position to come over so he could hear me well.

But overall, our deal looks like this.

He reads me so well that I really can let him take my doubts and worries.  It is a very new feeling for me.  A gift.   He truly does make me happy!

Trust

I'm really growing to love Maxearnest.  Two months ago there were a cacophony of men's names in my head--many of the men I've blogged about here, and their real names.  And of course, my dad.  Me wanting aspects of things from each relationship and sometimes I couldn't tell if I missed "John" or John, "Bobby" or Bobby, my ex (yes, there were a few good things in that relationship, although I never mix him up with his blog name), my dad, Nate, and this constant wish for someone who would like me for what I like me for.

And along came Maxearnest.  He not only loves the parts of me that I love, he loves parts of me that I criticize.  He actually really loves my bifurcation!  The thing that I thought was the most fucked up--he loves that!  He embraces that!  He protects the Power Woman from being more submissive than is good for her (although she clearly trusts him enough that she values his suggestions), and then enslaves the young girl side of me, and tells me that is exactly what he wants.

He trusts me as much as I trust him.  Trust me enough that he doesn't have to own my professional side.  Trusts me enough that I can tell him things and he'll believe me.  I don't have to shown him all the time.

Maxearnest and I were doing naughty things on Skype and he had me doing something that was too hard for me.  It didn't seem like a big deal, but I was starting to panic and he couldn't tell (Skype has real limitations), so I stopped and told him I couldn't do it.  He was totally fine with that and had me make the adjustment.  And, shockingly, I was totally fine with it.  I didn't feel like I let him down.  I didn't feel like I should push myself harder.  I didn't feel like he wouldn't love me if I couldn't do everything the way he wanted.  I felt like he would want me to take care of his prized possession.

I don't have anything to prove to Maxearnest.  He accepts me as I am.  He loves me as I am.  He wants to protect me, and if, occasionally, I have a piece of information that he needs, he wants me to tell him that.  He didn't even want to talk about what happened because he thought I handled it exactly right and wants me to do that in the future.  But I wanted to talk about it because it was a kind of amazing moment for me.  He trusts me just as I trust him.  And if I tell him I can't keep doing something, I don't have to push myself to the point where I panic and freak out rather than not be able to do something.  If I'm going to panic, that's enough for him.  He never wants me to hurt myself, physically or mentally, to please him.  He knows I want to please him.  He trusts that.  I don't have to prove it.

This is a gift and a revelation.  But it also highlights how fucked up some of the relationships I've been involved in were.  Maxearnest sort of approaches kink the way I always thought it should be.  The way that, over time, I began to think I was naive to hope for.  A way I gave up on finding.  We are collaborators in this, and we are equal collaborators.  He leads and I follow, but, just like ballroom dancing, if there was a problem with my shoe, I wouldn't just keep dancing and not tell him.  That doesn't make me less of a dancer.  

It is so lovely that kink is just joyous.  Sure, there are hard things.  Sure, there are things I'd never do just for fun.  But somehow, I no longer think about whether I want to do something; I gave up that choice and it is one less thing to worry about.  And I am receiving so much in return. Love, and more.  I'm receiving a feeling of becoming who I always wanted to be.  Maxearnest is breaking down my old ways of defining dignity and replacing them with a sense of purpose and confidence that doesn't include perfection as a requirement for self-worth.  I've never felt like someone loved and trusted me, just as I am.  With nothing to prove.  Just fun things to experience.

Pretty...

Maxearnest had me wear my tutu for him today.  I was mortified to do that.  But then he told me how pretty I was.  It was very sweet

This wasn't my hungry young girl--this was even younger--the 8-year-old or 10-year-old that wanted to be a ballerina.  I didn't even really realize that a little part of me still wanted to be a pretty ballerina.  But if you look at my bedroom, you'd think it was the room of a young girl (as long as you didn't open the night stand and find the erotica and kink stuff...).  But there is a lot of floral stuff, a canopy bed, and let's not forget the stuffed animals. 

Maxearnest wants me to trust him in everything, and that seems to mean I'm supposed to stop questioning myself.  He's the one to tell me if I've done something wrong.  I'm supposed to stop monitoring.  Crazy.  But lovely.