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.