Monday morning, Michael has an early meeting, and I let him think I am still asleep as he kneels on the bed to kiss me goodbye. Even if we had time to talk, I don’t know what I’d say. I have no idea what happened to our determination to establish a D/s relationship, it seems to have drifted off.
I think maybe it would be wise to let it go. I have no interest in fooling ourselves and pretending something is real if it’s not. I feel I need to be honest with myself about whether we are better suited to enjoying power exchange in roleplay fashion, when we are both in the mood for it. Would that be so terrible? Isn’t that pretty much how most people dabble in BDSM stuff? They “play” with it?
But, I think as I roll over to his side of the bed, if we honestly do want to try to live a D/s relationship, then maybe we should educate ourselves on how to better do that dance. Maybe read more BDSM books about how a submissive can learn to let go of control, and how the dominant stays in control.
Then again, that backfired the other night, when Michael tried to follow advice he’d read online about delaying a submissive’s orgasms. Following someone else’s way of dominating me only irritated me, jolted me out of the spell, and sent him into doubt about what he is doing. So what is the solution? I don’t know. I get out of bed with no idea what I really want.
Childishly, I feel that the gift of my submission was found wanting and rejected the other night, and it hurt. Even more childishly, I want to take my ball (body) and go home.
Woozy and Wobbly
The irony is, Michael is my home, I have now experienced him as the Daddy I need/want to go to for comfort and understanding when I am feeling hurt and lost. I want to tell him about the storm in my head and heart, and isn’t that what a submissive is supposed to do, share everything? But at the same time, I feel like if I impose these thoughts on him, that would be a very un-submissive thing to do. It would feel like trying to control the situation instead of letting him take control.
I make coffee, trying to decide whether to share my disquiet with him. I go to my computer and find an email from Michael, which he must have written as soon as he got to his desk to let me know of his own disquiet. He tells me he is feeling “woozy and wobbly,” experiencing some whiplash over the “speed of our recent exploration over all things sexually edgy.” Then he asks me how I am feeling.
Well, after that email, I’m even more uncertain about what I want, what to do. I shut my computer and head outside to walk around the block. I feel foolish for getting so swept away by the game, for taking it too seriously. No, it’s worse than that. Feeling foolish eventually fades without lasting harm. My fear is that we have made a terrible error with our D/s exploration, and now have left ourselves open for lingering disappointment that might never go away. How can we possibly go back to our 50/50 relationship and consider that to be deep enough? We have tasted a way of relating that feels much more profound, we have seen ourselves and each other in a radically different light. We can’t possibly go back. And yet, I do not see an easy path forward either.
I don’t know what to tell him. I feel in over my head. Dominance and submission is clearly a delicate balancing act for which I am too emotionally clumsy. I can’t seem to figure out how to properly navigate the vulnerability of it all.
Finally, a comforting thought comes: I am the submissive, it is not my job to figure it out. My job is simply to have faith in my dominant Daddy, and the way he loves me, and the connection between us. Yes, I think in relief, I just have to trust my husband. Trust that he will recover from his whiplash, and I will recover from my trance-breaking panic, and the dynamic will reassert itself and unfold as it should.
How wonderful this thought, how wonderful to imagine letting go, to not have to figure it out. How sweet to understand I don’t have to worry, because he is in charge, not me, and he will come home and tell me what to do. I get back to my computer and write him my thoughts. I am honest about my fears and reservations of the past few days, and tell him I am ready to turn the problem over to him.
But, I add at the end, “I wonder if we should be thinking through this more carefully, to realistically consider the challenge of what we are doing, rather than impulsively following the throb of cock and pussy?”
I nervously wait for him to get home from work. The moment he comes through the door, he sets his computer bag down, walks straight toward me, then grabs my wrist and pulls me in the living room.
“Pull your pants down,” he says. “I’m going to spank you.”
This is exactly what I wanted. I wait for the trigger to kick in, wait for the urge to obey. But… it doesn’t come. Instead, I feel myself pulling away.
“I can’t,” I say, almost in tears. “I’m not in a submissive space anymore, I lost it.”
“Well if I spank you, it’ll come back.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy,” I say. “I need to feel connected to you first. I need you to talk to me.”
I can see him considering, wondering whether to try to force me over his lap. He is strong, it would be easy.
“Remember what all the web sites say?” I ask. “The submissive first has to offer submission. Only then can the dominant take it.”
He is irritated, tells me I seem to want it both ways. I want him to act dominant, not let me squirm out of being submissive, but I also want it to be on my terms and conditions. I tell him he’s right, and I don’t know how to reconcile that.
We sit down, start a real conversation, going over what happened the night of the rope panic, and my worry that it is impossible for us to do this in real life.
He says, “Well, we have to figure it out. I’m not giving up on this. I don’t want to go back. I don’t think I can go back.”
“I know,” I said. “I don’t either. But I don’t want to keep going the wrong way and screw it up.”
He agrees that he needs to better understand the psychology of taking control of a submissive, and how to keep me in the submissive state. I suggest we wait to try again until he reads more on the subject.
We agree to wait a week. We actually shake on it, making each other laugh. We will try to educate ourselves about the finer points of D/s and then start again.
I make dinner while he reads one of the books I had ordered the week before, The Control Book, by Peter Masters.
Afterward, we watch TV for awhile, and I lay with my head on his lap like I always did as “regular” wife, instead of face down across his lap as a submissive. It feels sweet, but it also feels muted and dull compared to the heated frenzy of the week before. And the whole evening I feel oddly fake. I have my Daddy there in the room with me, but I am pretending I don’t know him, or who he is to me, or what I actually want from him.
I look up at him. “Do you miss it? The submissive wife?”
Yes, he says, as he plays with my hair, he misses it.
Later, when we go to bed, we talk in the dark, marveling that we both feel as we have been driven from the Garden of Eden and all it’s pure and primal uncomplicated lust. We note the irony that it is the so-called “sin” of D/s that makes us feel like we are in paradise, and how politically correct sexual equality pulls us away from paradise, makes everything equal and plain and flat. The difference is stark.
But we once again agree to wait a week to try anything D/s again. He wants to be more prepared to “train” me, and keep me in a submissive state. We are stirred up from our talk, hot for each other, but not yet ready.
In the morning, I miss him grabbing for me, treating me like his object, telling me what to do. We both say we are craving to go back to the “real” us. That we feel this way surprises me. How can dominant and submissive be who we feel ourselves to truly be only a little more than a week into it, unless we have always been that on some level?
Before Michael leaves for work, he kisses me goodbye, drives his tongue deep into my mouth, which makes me groan. Very effective trigger that. And as he goes out the door, I know the D/s is back on. And I know we aren’t going to wait any damn week.