Fantasies Are Not Bad

Fantasies are not bad things. In fact, fantasies can be good. Those bits of mental imagery that so fire our hearts, minds, and bodies are capable of enlivening and invigorating our sexual responses. For many of us, living inside of BDSM relationships, fantasy is the stuff that we use to drive our connections forward.


It is, however, important to know where the edges are. The thing about fantasy is that it is not limited by practical or physical reality. We can imagine all sorts of interactions that may seem incredibly hot, and have no relationship to anything that can or should ever happen in the real world.


So, it is not uncommon for women to have vivid rape fantasies -- which do not even remotely resemble the reality of violent rape. Dominance fantasies are among the most common fantasies for women, and in those fantasies, women most frequently are the top partner. Many of us indulge in fantasy role plays: school girl, interrogation, sexy nurse... lots and lots of costume dramas. Commonly, women report fantasies about sex with a stranger -- involving them or involving their partners, and many of us have voyeuristic fantasies. The realm of sexual fantasy is a rich and fertile source of sexual excitement and pleasure.


There's one element that is common to every single sexual fantasy, though, and it is important to understand this -- we are in absolute control of our fantasies. We do the casting, the set design, the scripting. We call the shots, and we decide when and how we will engage and participate in the various scenes that we play out on the internal screens of our minds.


So, I think I absolutely understand the sort of excitement that may be a driving force when someone talks the way kaya did about her fantasy that her Master engage sexually with another woman. There's a great masochistic flavor to her vividly drawn imaginary scene where she is confronted with the potential for Him to connect with another woman who is better...

So here’s something that I had totally dismissed as being worth blogging about:
Master left yesterday for a short business trip. The first thing I asked him was if he’s going to fuck/use another woman.
He shrugged. Said he didn’t know. Said maybe. Said it would depend. I told him he should. In fact, I practically begged him to.
Encouraged it.
He’s never done it. Never. Oh, to play with another, yes. But fucking? Nope.
When he talks about it, he talks too much about my feelings. He wants me involved, he wants me there, he wants me to not feel cheated on. He thinks something like that should be a joint activity.
This frustrates me.
He’ll talk about threesomes, things like that, and I just shake my head. I don’t WANT to have a threesome (well. I mean, I DO. And I would. But that’s a separate thang.) What I want is to be at home while he’s off fucking another woman. Or to be in the room, but not allowed to participate while he fucks/uses another woman in front of me.
I want my face rubbed in it. I want to cry about it. I want to hurt about it. I want to wonder if she was better than me- No. I want him to tell me she was better than me. I want to be compared, and found lacking, even if it isn’t true.
We have these repeated conversations, pretty much every time he takes off on a trip. He keeps saying that he doesn’t want or need another. That he’s content with me, that I take care of his needs, blah blah blah. And I keep saying that it isn’t ABOUT that (and think that maybe I should stop taking such good care of his needs if’n I’m ever gonna get my way. But *smack my hand* them’s bad girl thoughts, dontchaknow.)
Finally he was like, wtf is your deal? Why do you push this all the time?
So. You know why? I’ll tell you why.
It’s not just about emotional masochism, though I’m sure that factors in.
It’s because I want to… I NEED to… have this prideful contentment erased. Scrubbed out. Obliterated.
I want to feel less secure in my slavery. I want to experience jealousy and fear.
I want to be reminded that I don’t own him.
Plus, you know, it’s perverted as all fuck.

Yeah. Fantasy. A number of her commenters said, "Be careful what you ask for," and that is good advice -- because real life relationships are not as easily controlled or scripted or well mannered as our imaginings might make it seem. We tend, in this poly-fascinated world, to believe that there is no real reason for relational jealousy or insecurity, but that is just not the reality. People do get hurt emotionally when there are "extraneous" relationships -- not every time. Not all the time. But it isn't unheard of; not even uncommon.

So... In real life, the mystery woman that plays that part in the "hot" fantasy, just might not behave "properly" in the event:

IF your partner decides to take on another relationship, that relationship will have its own life, its own parameters, its own boundaries and values.
That other woman that you create in your imaginings isn't real, but if what you imagine comes to pass, it will be with a real, flesh and blood human person.
SHE will have her own feelings, her own wants and needs, her own ideas, her own agenda -- and you will have no control over any of that.
SHE will not follow your script.
SHE may or may not come to know who you are.
SHE may or may not care about you, and you may or may not like her.
SHE may or may not value or honor your situation, station, or role.
SHE doesn't have to.
SHE will occupy space and SHE will soak up energy and time.
The time will come when SHE likely will be in your home, sitting on your furniture, sleeping on your sheets, using your towels, toiletries, toys.
SHE will not be put away when you are tired of your fantasy.
SHE will be back tomorrow and next week and next month. And if not her, then someone else.
In all liklihood, SHE won't contribute anything much to your world. The chores, the bills, the worries, those will all still be yours.
SHE will come and go on a schedule that has no time for the boring details of real life.
What you work to create and provide, SHE will just take as her right.
SHE will be around for the goodies.

Fantasy and reality are the two halves of our emotional, sexual lives. We who claim the label of masochist are sometimes prone to a sort of bravura that can lead us into damaging and destructive choices. We know that is a risk to those who are new, unattached, and hungry, but what about those who are "into" established dynamics? Is it possible for us to talk ourselves into places that are simply not healthy. There are people who create good and positive poly relationships, but that isn't what this is about. This is about generating extra relational dynamics that are designed to be hurtful and painful. I'd say that's an OK fantasy, but a really bad idea when it comes to real life.

swan

Buy Me Some Peanuts and Cracker Jacks...

I've been craving some spanking. That is the simple truth of being my sort of masochist -- if it doesn't happen for awhile, I start to get edgy and out of sorts. Especially, it seems to me, when I am feeling ill; even more especially if I am feverish, the little, feisty, spanking demi-urges begin to march around in my brain carrying picket signs and claiming unfair treatment on the part of the management.

Now, I do my best not to ever accuse The Management of anything unfair, so that sort of internal mob behavior is very unsettling. But here's the thing... I'd first filled Himself in on how I was feeling about all of this in the middle of last week (while I was still really pretty sick). That "date with fate" did not happen due to a whole pile of circumstances, and I understood. I did. I just hoped that when the weekend came along, we'd catch up with one another. Except that on Saturday morning, I woke up feeling crummy with a miserable headache. I eventually shook the headache but by then, it was college football and grading papers and all the stuff that gets wrapped up into our weekends, and the opportunity just drifted away like a puff of smoke. I turned my anticipation on Sunday -- surely Sunday morning we'll get some time and be able to work a spanking into the schedule! It all seemed promising in the beginning. He woke up and seemed horny -- a good sign. He messed around and humped on me for a good long while, and then He was ready -- to make love. So. OK. That's cool. I jumped on board and did that voodoo that I do, reducing my evil sadist to a silly, grinning, cooing 16-year-old in a flash. And, then He was hungry -- for breakfast.

Imagine the air hissing out of a very big balloon... ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

I got up. Made breakfast. Finished my school work. Surfed the Internet. He went for a walk -- still too cold out for my recently sick self to go with Him. I got a shower. Did some laundry. He came back and turned on the football games. I tried not to fuss; tried to keep the voice quiet that tells me that "if He doesn't want to spank, it must be because He's getting that need taken care of somewhere else." The afternoon wound on into evening. I made dinner. Cleaned up the kitchen. Puttered. He wasn't feeling all that terrific after dinner. It happens nowadays. Food is often "the enemy;" making Him feel queasy and uncomfortable. It was all I could do to keep myself from dissolving into tears. I just wanted to cry from the combination of pent-up wanting, loneliness, and fear of rejection. The world series game came on TV at about 8:15 PM. I'd long since given up hope. I'd started to write a blog post, but He asked me to come snuggle on the couch with Him, so I put the computer away, wrapped up in a blanket, and snuggled in next to Him. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but it was still nice.

Somewhere along the line, as the game got rolling -- and yes, Mr. Upstate-New-York is a Yankees fan, He suddenly chuckled and said (mostly to Himself), "I just had a wonderful idea." He was up off the couch, wandering here and there. I was about half asleep, drowsing and feeling sorry for myself. Suddenly, He was back with His New York Yankees ballcap, and a fistful of paddles. "I've figured out the best way to watch this game," He told me. "Now get up and get over my lap." He stuck the ball cap on my head, grinning at my astonished face, as I scrambled up and around to drape myself over His lap.

Of course, by this time, I'd managed to work myself into a pouty place, and dragging back from the pouty place takes a bit of time. He didn't seem all that into it which fueled my doubts. I could hear myself muttering away to myself in my head -- on and on and on.

Oh yeah, and there was the matter of that baseball cap. It is impossible to lay face down in a baseball cap. The bill sticks out! I sputtered and growled, and finally just turned it around so the bill was in the back. That made Him laugh! "You look like a catcher," He told me.

It was an interesting spanking; slow and almost laconic. He just seemed to whomp away on my butt, sometimes with His hand, sometimes with one of the paddles, sometimes just rubbing me or stroking me with a knife blade. There was none of the usual intensity and ferociousness. It confused me -- made me think He was just humoring me. Eventually, He had me stand up and pull my jeans off, and then it was back down for some more spanking on my "pretty panties." It went on and on, slowly and leisurely, and in time He got around to pulling the panties down and smacking away on my bare skin.

It never once seemed to me that it reached the level of feeling very difficult or very intense. It did go on for a good long while as the game droned on in the background. I think He might have had it in mind to spank through the whole game, but He quit much earlier than that because He got too hot with me draped over Him. And so, I ended up curled up back on the couch next to Him, and that was when I began to notice that my rear was really tender. Really. Tender. Apparently, slowly as He went, the cumulative effect was pretty significant. Even today, as I've worked and taught, I notice that I am sitting carefully. Wow. I guess I did finally get what I'd been hungering after. After all.

swan

Good or Not-Good?

There is a fair amount of self-congratulatory, smug and righteous back slapping going on around our corner of the blogosphere these last couple of weeks. It isn't everyone, thank goodness, but there are folks that seem to feel that it is needful just now to tell each and all how good and right they are, and then share the accolades from blog to blog.


It has me thinking, when I'm not muttering about how pissed off the whole game makes me, about what exactly it is that makes us "good" or "bad," and how a person can be certain which category they fall into? I think I'm a pretty good person -- not nearly perfect, but pretty decent most of the time. But, I imagine, based on the sorts of things that the "we're just awfully good" crowd are pointing to, I'd be way out on the "not so good" end of the scale. Part of me wants to growl the question: "and just who in bloody hell do you think you are deciding who is and is not good," but part of me is intrigued with the question.


So... simple stuff first: humans, throughout history and across cultures have a pretty straightforward view of what is and isn't good. In nearly every human society, good people avoid harming others; they respect the property of other people; they contribute, according to their capacities, to the general well-being of the community. Those general social precepts form the basis historically for the creation of systems of law. As complicated as we can make it, the fact is that social laws and rules are based on our shared understandings of what is important for us each to protect -- the things we most value. So it is, that "civilized" people tend to agree, with very little discussion, that murder is wrong, theft is wrong, damaging children is wrong, abusing animals is wrong, lying is wrong, ... There is really not much incremental difference between us on most of that. We may argue passionately about the ethical edges; hence the endless and usually fruitless debates about abortion, the death penalty, justifications for war, and end of life decisions -- but the reasonable ones among us mostly don't square off and determine that the other side is "bad" simply because they disagree with our views.



None of that is IT when we are working at convincing ourselves that we are "good" and someone else is "bad." Nope. It's sex. Even in our circle; even with our shared interest in spanking and assorted kinks, there are cliques and clubs and in-groups and out-groups. There are some pretty convoluted measures of "good" and "bad," but I suspect that a very great deal of that judgement is firmly anchored in Puritanical notions of "proper" displays of sexual attraction and interest between men and women. However carefully we choose our words; however we work to attend to the politically correct views of our community; however we congratulate ourselves on our open mindedness, when the less than truly open minded are in the company of their peers, it seems there is a tendency to revert to very norm-driven conventions. So it is that we find our back slappers declaring that monogamy and long-running marriage are marks of "goodness" while relating outside of those institutions points to something "less than." Old cultural habits die hard. Never a single moment's thought that there is more of luck and skill to forming a long-lasting loving relationship; that it is not so much virtue as a sort of win in the great lottery of love and life. What amazing personal arrogance and hubris!



Whatever. I judge no one's relationship but my own, and that is very good indeed. I am exceptionally lucky. It wasn't always my luck to be partnered with a qualified and well-matched love, but the stars brought me to the right moment and the right people, and I am in exactly the right place -- not socially sanctioned but way better than my youthful and ill-advised "good" marriage that was so entirely horrible and dismal. I suspect that the smugness that is pouring forth at the moment is perhaps unconscious and not intended to come across the way it does to my ears. It is simply the way our society tends to look at this part of adult relating. Shrug. I believe that in time, we will stop valuing love based on who the partners are -- the longevity, the conventionality, the gender, or the numbers -- and come to see that love is a very great gift that ought to be celebrated wherever and whenever we manage to conjure it up.



swan

Modesty

As melissa so perceptively noted, I engage in the occasional contradiction. I think all kinds of things, about all manner of subjects, and much of the time I express opinions on topics about which I have little or no expertise. My opinions are not always tidy and they don't all fit neatly together in a coherent whole. I have a curious and restless mind, and it leads me to ponder across a wide range of ideas. I've been writing here for nearly five years, and I imagine if someone wanted to go on a hunt there are probably dozens and dozens of contradictions and reversals and plain old inconsistencies in my thinking. That is the fact. Mostly, being inconsistent and contradictory doesn't bother me in the least.

Today (without apology to melissa or anyone else), I am interested in trying to think my way through my own conflicted and inconsistent thinking on the subject of personal modesty. I may flatter myself that I am, in this regard, like many others in our society in that I have views and reactions around this idea that are all over the place.

So, what you might ask, and SOME surely will (in their very best snarky voices), does a woman who lives as "the other woman" in a polyamorous relationship, who on some sort of regular basis strips bare in public venues and engages in sadomasochistic "play," who frequently posts photos of her naked ass online -- what does a woman like that have to say about the concept of modesty? (and my good friends, who know better, are probably holding their heads and thinking -- "OMG! She probably has PLENTY to say; don't encourage her!")


I have a whole lot of "trained" into me notions and feelings about this subject -- many of them acquired long before I had the skills or sophistication to examine what was being taught to me.

I never saw either of my parents less than fully clothed. Even if I called out in the middle of the night, sick or frightened, the adult who would appear at my beside was always clad from head to toe in pajamas and a bathrobe. While I often helped to care for the baby brothers as they came along, and so came to know the realities of naked boy babies, once they reached toddlerhood and were no longer in diapers, they too vanished behind the veils of their clothes.

I was educated in Catholic schools in the 1960's. In those days, the teaching was that girls were "the near occasion of sin." It meant, simply, that my just being alive and female was enough to cause me to put some poor boy at risk for his immortal soul. We wore our heavy, scratchy, woolen school uniforms long enough to hit the floor when we knelt. Our blouses were, likewise, heavy, solid, respectable. No patent leather shoes -- they reflect up, after all. There was not one shred of that "sexy schoolgirl uniform" thing that fires the imaginations of some with a particular sort of fetish. By the time I was in 6th grade, we were taught to keep a section of the newspaper in our desks -- so that we could drape it over our laps when we sat, and thus further protect the poor, innocent, young men with whom we shared our classes.

There was little in the way of sex education for us in those days. We all understood that sex was "to be saved for marriage," and if we did not entirely understand what it was that we were saving for marriage, it seemed that suited the adults around us just fine. I proceeded into high school and on to college with only enough working knowledge of my own sexuality to allow me to manage the monthly menses with which I was "cursed." I knew I wasn't supposed to have sex before I was married, but with hardly any information and not a single viable argument or strategy, it was no surprise that I found myself pregnant at the age of 19, and married just a month before my 20th birthday... "Bless me father, for I have sinned?"

Well, the sex genie came roaring out of the bottle for me, and there was no stuffing the brazen fellow back in. What no one bothered to tell my poor little Catholic school self was that sex was fun, delicious, wondrous, intoxicating, and completely irresistable. I woke up sexually inside of a marriage that was really not ideal, but for a very, very long time, I managed to make it suffice. I was a faithful wife. Until I wasn't. But that's another conversation.

Along the way, I had other experiences that caused me to consider what I'd been taught about being "modest" as a child.

Very early on, following the births of my own children, I trained as a Lamaze childbirth educator and labor coach. I was privileged to guide hundreds of couples through the very sexually charged and very intimate process of preparing to give birth, and for dozens of them, I was called in to help coach through labor and delivery. I never lost my sense of complete wonderment at the awesome act of being born into this world. I've never ever had the slightest inclination toward lesbianism or bi-sexuality, but in those amazing hours spent with mothers giving birth, I loved the female form for all its beauty and all its strength. Most women, having given birth, especially in those pre-birthing-room days, would tell you that the process ripped every shred of modesty from them, but I wondered...

Later, when I was in my early 30's I discovered two other sources of great physical pleasure for me. A friend introduced me to Valley View Hot Springs in the southwest corner of Colorado. Valley View is a very rustic, clothing optional resort, and I spent many a blissful time there, basking in the warm waters under clear, blue skies and star-dazzled nights. There, I hiked and swam and pondered the natural world, wearing nothing but my shoes. Days spent naked and pure would send me back to my busy life refreshed, renewed, calm and centered. There, I never felt like "the near occasion of sin." In the high mountain air, I felt completely whole and good. Too, in those years, I would go every couple of months with a group of women friends to a local bath house. Built years before for the use of the local Orthodox Jewish community so that the women could go and perform their ritual cleansing after their monthy menstrual cycles, the bath house became a sanctuary of luxuriant warmth, relaxation and good company. The group of us, tall, skinny, voluptuous, saggy, would lounge together in the heat and the steam and chat and gossip without a single thought for the variances in our physical appearances. We simply rejoiced in being women together.

Years and years into my marriage, I finally found my way to the exploration of BDSM that has charted my course these last ten years or so. There was so very much that was new and unfamiliar in the beginning. I was often shocked, and taken aback by what I saw and what I read. I learned to observe carefully -- both the activity before my eyes, but also my own internal reactions and responses. I remember my first time playing outside my own home. I remember the first time I was spanked by anyone not my husband. I remember that very first trip to a public dungeon. I have very clear images of all the many times since that I have played in public places, and played in my own home with friends and guests. The sense I have of all of that is of power and truth and beauty and passion and triumph and great soaring joy. For all that there are those, even in this circle, who would paint that as somehow sordid and "immodest," it has none of that scintilla for me -- and I was there.

So. My views of modesty are shaded by my experiences; as are everyone's.

Each year, as part of my social studies curriculum, I teach my students (11 and 12 years old) about various cultures and countries around the world. As part of that, we annually encounter the practices of Judaism and Islam. In both cases, there is occsion to discuss the very different values in those cultures related to personal dress, and the connetion that those customs have to beliefs about personal modesty. For children raised in our American society, the notion that there might be some reason to choose to be less revealing and less provacative in one's dress is pretty foreign. Even our Catholic school kids have trouble wrapping their minds around that. It is a very long way from my youth spent with a newspaper draped over my knees...

Oddly, I find it intrigues my students to consider that they have the right and the ability to choose their "presentation" to the world. I insist to them that they are perfect and wonderful just the way they are, and that they do not need to buy into the constant drumbeat that tells them they must have the right jeans, or the right deodorant, or the right makeup, or the right logos on their clothes. Somehow, it seems to me that we have lost our way in thinking about "modesty," and when I am with my children it seems so entirely clear. To be modest is to value who and what you are. To be modest is to be willing to celebrate the beauty and strength of your personhood, to care for it, to protect it, to share it with generosity and integrity, and to come away at the end of each encounter with other humans feeling enriched and knowing that you have been a great gift to them as well.

We have allowed the conversation about modesty to be co-opted by religion, and in doing that, we've lost the ability to talk sensibly about it. We drown in media messages full of sex for sale and general vulgarity and bad taste, and unless we are willing to side with those who would impose the burqha or the veil, we find ourselves with nothing at all to say. That is a very great sadness for each of us, for our children, and for our world. How much better it would be if we could see the human form as entirely "proper" and "good." How much better if we could universally teach our children what they need to know to grow into full possession of themselves and the bodies they inhabit -- giving them the power, all of their lives, to choose wisely for themselves.

swan

Autumn is My Favorite Season

The trees off my patio are in their full autumn glory. This is a phenomenon that was barely a blip in my Colorado days. To see "fall" color in the Rocky Mountains, one had to travel up into the high country to see the displays created by the changing of the aspen against the pines and spruce. So, each year, when this magical splendor splashes itself across the landscape, I find myself fascinated and filled with something joyful and childlike. This morning, as the sun caught in the leaves, I couldn't resist the urge to take some photos. My poor skills don't do it any kind of justice, but I hope somewhere each of you have a tree that is purely magical as this one...

swan

Wanting Spanking

I am still sick. Better but definitely still sick -- weak and achy and coughing my lungs out.

One of the odd things about me is that when I am feeling ill; when I am feverish and everything hurts -- I seem to want His touch more than ever. It grows into a hunger that fills my mind waking and sleeping.

Of course, since we suspect that what I have is H1N1, we've been trying to follow the advice of professionals that those who are well should stay away from those who are ill. It's a little silly -- we live in the same house and sleep in the same bed, after all, but we've worked to minimize the physical proximity -- no kisses, no hugging, no snuggling, no hand holding. It has been a week of Him on His side and me on mine.

For days now, all I've wanted is to lie across His lap on the sofa. Just that. Since we embarked on our current exploration of OTK spanking following the acquisition of the leather sofa last spring, I have come to associate being there over His lap with safety and security. In these days of feeling ill, it is all I've wanted.

So, last night, around 5PM, I went to Him, and in my very weak, very tiny, very needy littlest voice, I asked if He might have some time during the evening when I could just lie down across His lap. I assured Him that He didn't have to do anything at all, and I promised I wouldn't breathe on Him ... just please?

He laughed and assured me that He was happy to oblige and that I could get spanked too. He even went and collected some paddles to use in the event.

There was just one hitch. Callie the housecat OWNS the middle of the couch -- the cushion in between "His" end and mine. He was reluctant to move the cat out of her spot, and so we sat and watched the TV and petted the cat.

And then it was time for T to come home; time for dinner.

After dinner, T told Him that she wanted some of His time -- wanted to snuggle. She went off to read her e-mail, and then came back, ready for Him. They headed off to the bedroom, and I headed to the kitchen to clean up from dinner. I sat and surfed the web for awhile -- reading here and there.

And then it was bedtime, and He was very sleepy, and wrapped up in the baseball game.

Today, I'm still sick, still home from school. He's got a ridiculous schedule and an evening board meeting. He'll be home late tonight and out early tomorrow and again on Saturday. Sometimes, even when everyone wants a thing -- life conspires.

swan

Online BDSM?

I don't usually think much about the keyword search terms that our stat counter captures, but this one is just so far out of line with what we are and how we do this that it merits a conversation:

online bdsm lifestyle rules and discipline

That search brought someone to us because of posts that discussed similarities and differences between BDSM and Domestic Discipline. Looking for rules and discipline protocols for online BDSM relationships, they would have been disappointed reading here. There is not one, single, shred of anything here that addresses online BDSM relating -- because we really do not do that.



Before I go on with this, let me be clear -- I don't discount the reality that people do meet online and create relationships from those online meetings. We met in exactly that way -- online with no previous connection except a shared interest in spanking and Domestic Discipline. Our first contacts were as correspondents through an Internet listserv, and in the beginning, we were not clearly aware of, or focused on, one another. When we did notice one another, we circled with some wariness and caution. That said, once we began to relate with each other, it took only a short bit of time before we made contact with each other by phone, and IM, and fairly quickly, face to face. Ours evolved, fairly quickly, from an online acquaintance to a long distance relationship -- and those two things are not the same.



I will admit that I am not any kind of expert when it comes to online BDSM. I've hung around the edges of that realm now and then; watching; shaking my head with bemusement. I have never participated beyond the occasional "hello," because it just seems silly and juvenile when I encounter it. The fact is that I can be cordial and polite when conversing in an online forum, but I cannot sit on your lap, serve you a drink, or feel you spank me. The "kneel before me slut" online wannabe dominant is not just a lifestyle cliche. Those critters really do exist, even as most of us joke about it. I try to be pretty non-judgemental, and I am always reluctant to get into discussions of "real" and "not real," but online BDSM is not real. All of that chat room and second life driven stuff is a pure fantasy. It is not real -- no matter how intensely people (or their avatars) get wrapped up in it.



BDSM is about a power exchange between partners. Aside from the specific details of the particular relationship regarding sex and SM play and service orientation and all the rest of it, the core remains the power exchange. In that context, one person takes some of their personal power and autonomy, and offers that to the partner -- who may choose to accept it. At that juncture, the locus of control within the relationship shifts to the "Dominant" partner. There are a variety of mechanisms for making that exchange, but the endpoint is the same. Simply, in a BDSM relationship, one person gives up the control and the other assumes it. That does not and cannot happen when the relationship is entirely and completely online; webcams and the like not withstanding.



Long distance relationships can, in my view, certainly include BDSM dynamics. I know several pairs who make that work -- and it is wickedly difficult. Master and I, in the beginning, related long distance. It was the fact of where we were when we first met. Those 1200 miles were very, very real, and it took us some time to arrive at a plan to bridge the geographic gap between us. But long distance partners, do on occasion, see each other. They lay eyes on one another. They touch one another. They share, face to face and in realtime, the simple truth of their beings with each other.



So there is not any information here for conducting an online BDSM relationship. No rules or protocols to follow in the myriad chat fora that cater to the pretenders and the wannabes of that ilk. Making rules for someone you cannot see; cannot touch; cannot ever be with (and maybe don't actually plan for any of that to ever happen) is just silly. "Of course, I am following the rules; doing exactly as you say, Sir..." Or, perhaps, not depending on how I feel about things -- maybe it suits me better to report failure to comply and have you (Oh Dominant One) discipline me for the infraction. All online of course. All in our imaginings with one another. Not one ounce of control ever moves from either end of the spectrum. It is all just an elaborate online game -- more sophisticated, perhaps than Bejeweled or Bookworm, but no less a game.



I understand that those views will not win me any popularity points in the online BDSM crowd, although I'd be surprised if there were too many onliners reading here. I don't mean to cause hard feelings or dash anyone's dreams. Never that. But in fact, the only way to have an actual BDSM relationship is to take the risk to build something truthful and intimate and physical and emotional and demanding with another human. That requires that we bring our skins and the selves inside those skins to the place where we meet. This I believe.



swan