"Car Talk"

Car Talk is a radio talk show broadcast weekly on NPR stations throughout the United States and elsewhere. Its subjects are automobiles and repair, and it often takes humorous turns. The hosts of Car Talk are brothers Tom and Ray Magliozzi, known on the air as Click and Clack, the Tappet Brothers. 

I have never been a fan of the radio show, "Car Talk."  I find it jarring and jangling.  The hyena laughter annoys the crap out of me, and I tend to feel like the callers are hand picked for their willingness to appear stupid/foolish on the air.  It is, to my way of thinking, a clear sign that the force that drives the universe is perverse and mean-spirited, that I keep ending up in relationships with people who just love the show -- who would rather do almost anything except miss a "Car Talk" broadcast.  Mostly, I just grin and bear it.  One of those "submission" things they don't tell you about when they are trying to convince you that it is all hot and sexy all the time.

So, anyway...  Did I mention that we "played" on Saturday morning?  It is a time of renewal and "reinvestment" for the two of us.  We are spanking more and enjoying it more -- and that means that I am waking up to the sexual part of myself and the sexual part of who we are together.  Spanking, when it is good for me, is multi-layered.  It means a lot of different things at different times.  Spanking hurts.  That is a constant.  Always, there is the battle to get through it, into it, on top of it.  Spanking is connective for me.  The pain and the patterns and the rhythms, help me to feel Him and know Him more deeply and more intensely than otherwise.  I don't really understand it, I only know it is the reality.  And then, there is sex.  All of that pain, all of the energy, and the connection... can all serve to turn me on, make me horny.  Not always.  I am forever unpredictable and my responses are never automatic.  Especially since the hysterectomy, that experience of sexual excitement and arousal is elusive, fleeting, and fragile.  When I am "horny," I want.  I really want.  And that was the story yesterday morning after my spanking, after He and I had made love, after His orgasm...  I was ready to try for one of my own; to lie curled up in His arms and vibrate myself off into my own release.  

And that was when, He asked me to hand Him the radio remote so that He could turn on...  "Car Talk."

swan

Abject Obedience

Friendship is a disinterested commerce between equals; love, an abject intercourse between tyrants and slaves. 

~~Oliver Goldsmith~~

It has grown quiet and gentle in our lives since we discovered the roots of the debilitating despair and depression that gripped Tom, and with Him our whole family.  The addition of the metabolic supplement, L-methylfolate, created a balance that was, quite possibly absent throughout His entire life -- and restored Him to clear-eyed, happy, sanity.  When the darkness cleared, everything changed.  The storms that nearly tore our world to shreds ended, and suddenly we are alive together in a reality that feels so much better than what was … It is also true that there is much about that new reality that seems foreign; unfamiliar in a host of ways.  

On one level, I have been glad for the changes.  It is good to not be caught up in a continual fight for survival.  It is good to not be constantly afraid of what the next moment might bring; good to find stability and consistency and sanity.  However, I have also been prone to question who we are now -- what is it that we have left now that we don’t have all that fire and fury and frantic struggle?  
He seems content to just let us be what we are, and to see us become what we will become.  He does not appear to feel the need to define our relationship or our roles.  When I have fussed about it, He looks bemused, and suggests that we can just be Tom and Sue.  I have lain awake nights, railing in my mind, at the ordinariness of that -- just Tom and Sue.  How many couples must there be who are “just Tom and Sue?”  I’d imagine that those who have followed me along these many years might not be surprised by that bit of mental fussiness -- is it funny?  Probably.  
Were we extraordinary when we styled ourselves “Master and slave?”  Was my capacity to serve somehow more than that of any other loving partner, and was the erotic bent toward sadism and masochism that He and I shared sufficient to set us apart from others who enjoyed a powerful and passionate erotic love?  For whatever reason, I had myself convinced that the love we shared was “special,” and that my drive toward submission and masochism, paired up with His sadistic and dominant personality traits, constituted a formula for perfect and unmatched love.  I guess I needed to feel superior and special, like He and I were fated, star-crossed, meant to be -- for always and in all ways.   
I have, through months of therapy, and through all the agonies of recovery through which we have passed, bemoaned the loss of my “slave” status.  There is irony in that, is there not?  After all, what sort of “status” ought to accrue to one who is truly “slave?”  I know it makes no reasonable sense, but I have felt that as a loss -- and grieved accordingly.  On more than one occasion, Judy, my therapist has challenged me on the issue of whether I really wanted, or was prepared to give Him (or anyone, for that matter) what she termed “abject obedience.”  It has remained, between us, a question that I have avoided answering directly.  I have, over time, come to terms with the undeniable reality that I have clear limits, and will act to protect my life and well-being when those things are threatened.  I have accepted that as a fact, and I am clear that it is appropriate that I maintain those boundaries.  I am even willing to acknowledge that my failure to establish and defend those boundaries contributed to the huge crisis that befell our family.  That was my responsibility and I did not manage it well.  But, still...  I have believed that, somehow, my failure to offer that level of obedience in that awful moment cost me the depth of intimacy that was wrapped up in the M/s dynamic He and I shared.  I have believed that.
Back in August of 2009, I wrote at length on the subject of “mindful obedience.”  That piece grew out of a question about “mindless” obedience, and it was a pretty easy step off to turn mindless into mindful and then hold forth about what that meant to me.  I’m not ashamed of the writing there, but I am a little squrimy about the contrast with my actions and choices in the moment of crisis.  Still, I have been unable, when pressed, to give a full and direct assent to the idea of “abject obedience.”  So, maybe it is time for me to consider the questions that phrase raises for me...
The word, “abject” comes from Middle English, and before that from the Latin abjectus -- to cast off or reject; literally, “to throw away.”  In modern usage, it implies a sense of hopelessness or resignation.  And so, to offer “abject obedience” would be to become obedient out of a belief that there was  no other path, no way beyond, nothing at all to be gained by any other course.      
I think that, as life spiraled out of control here, I did move toward hopelessness.  There was nothing that I would not have done to bring Him out of the addiction that nearly destroyed Him -- and all of us.  There was also, in the depth of my being, a knowledge that my love and service, and yes, even my obedience was never going to be enough to break the hold that alcohol had on Him.  I grew up with alcoholic parents.  I raised an addicted child.  I knew the truth, and so my continued obedience was, in fact, “abject.”  I was resigned to the increasing distance between us, to the escalating anger and bitterness, to the recriminations and bitterness and accusations and abuse.  I knew, in some deep and wordless part of my mind that nothing good could come to us along the path we were traveling, and I had no hope of any sort of rescue or reprieve.  That is the abject obedience that I offered my Master in the last weeks and months before that part of our life finally ended.  It was pitiable and pale and lifeless.  It was a poor, poor sort of submission I gave in those days.
So much for the high-minded, and prettified version of “mindful obedience” that I once detailed for another.  THAT sort of obedience would have found a way; would have sought out appropriate help and taken the risks to assure that He received the help He needed.  That sort of active, listening obedience would have been selfless enough to withstand His anger in order to find the resources that He needed to break free from the demons that were pursuing Him.  That sort of slave would have never given up hope; never settled for what became our daily reality; never allowed for some kind of resignation to whatever would come.  What sort of slave “resigns?”
So, the answer to the question about “abject obedience” is that I will not offer that to Him again.  I am ashamed that it was what I gave Him in the moment when He most needed my strength, my integrity, my intelligence, and all my effort and energy directed toward His well-being.  I understand that, given the road we have traveled to this point, we are lucky to be still alive, still together -- and I am in awe of the fact that He still loves me and wants me.  We are, clearly, better than we were a year ago, or two years ago...  We are healthy and happy and amazed to have this life together.  He is right.  We are who we are.  We will be who we will be.  And, to be just Tom and Sue is not ordinary at all -- it is the most wonderful and extraordinary thing imaginable.  Perhaps that highly charged label, “slave,” is gone forever from our relational lexicon.  Perhaps that is all for the good.  I hope to grow into the woman He wants and needs; to love Him well and with all the best that is in me; and I hope to live the always and all ways that I promise.  If I can come to a place of doing that, I believe that will be enough.
swan

Spanking: A Reinvestment

This blog began primarily as forum to discuss the practice of adult consensual spanking and polyamory in a committed family (our family), within the context of a BDSM relationship.  Much of our attention here the last two years has been consumed by conversation about a maelstrom our family passed through as we transitioned through the abrupt end of my work career, and my drinking career, and the far reaching crises that ensued, exacerbated by a number of serious health issues and family deaths.  My passage into middle age and retirement has been far from boring or pleasurable.  On the other hand it has been referred to by my therapist recently as a period in my life/our lives in which I was transformed from coal to diamond under massive pressure.

I am declaring an end to our endless family crisis.  I want to get back to the discussion of our experiences with the primary topics of this blog, our relationships within the D/s context, our polyamory, and how the practice of adult consensual spanking emanates from our identities and our erotic love.

In the past I have declared that much of the fun joy and excitement of my life was tied up in the enjoyment of smoking, drinking, eating, and spanking.  When I celebrated a holiday, or a vacation, or a weekend, or whatever....these practices were my celebration. My enjoyment of smoking and drinking are ended, and I am so much healthier physically, emotionally, and spiritually without pursuing these addictions.    My eating is now a process of consuming those nutrients that I need to survive healthily.  While eating now is not always entirely an exercise in asceticism, it is far from the enjoyment that it once was.  In all these cases those changes which may seem like sacrifices (because they are) are more than offset by the improvements in my health and the potential for me to live a much longer and happier life as I age than I was headed toward a few years ago.  I do not need pity for having lost these previous passions......they were all killing me.

I have often described adult consensual spanking as my primary expression of erotic relatedness, excitement, fun, and joy.  That remains.  As the lone survivor of my previous menu of enjoyments, it is now not only important because of my drive to experience it, but because it seems to be my singular remaining expression of hedonism other than, of course, vanilla sex.

I want to revisit the discussion of adult consensual spanking and eventually to explore its role in my life.

It is interesting that during our preoccupation with our family’s crises of the last two years, our culture’s steady progress toward coming to greater awareness and acceptance of adult consensual erotic/ and or disciplinary spanking and D/s has expanded dramatically with the huge readership of the book Fifty Shades of Grey as well as depictions in a number of films.  At a minimum, those who were previously intimidated to admit, even to themselves, that spanking had a place in their sensual/erotic orientation or fantasy life, may now feel permission to explore that.  If anything, in our current cultural environment, adult consensual spanking is a fad and not the taboo it was once viewed to be.  Sadomasochism and its primary expression, spanking, have evolved from being a psychiatric diagnosis to a legitimate alternative erotic expression.  We  who share an orientation to spanking have gone from being viewed as perhaps having psychosis, or certainly neurosis, to today being seen as engaging in slightly deviant naughtiness....even  perhaps as being in the mainstream exploring a fad of progressive erotic expression.

This was certainly not the case a few decades ago.   I grew to my adulthood in the dark ages of having erotic feelings about spanking.  I described this in this post back in 2005 as my path to my present relationship, and my acceptance of my need regarding spanking.  I have changed so many aspects of my self concept over the last two years.  So profound an evolution has affected everything including my relationship to this seminal aspect of my personality.  I am more interested in the experience of spanking both as a spanker and a spankee.  It is more important to me to experience spanking from both ends of its inherent power exchange with my spanking partner.  I am less intensely sadomasochistic than I was.  I am still sadistic of course.  Spanking is sadistic.  Being spanked is masochistic.  I used to have far less concern for the level of intensity a bottom partner I spanked was experiencing.  The greater her intensity the more I liked it.  My spanking partners knew how intensely I played when I spanked and consented to that level of play or they did not participate.  Certainly the most intensely masochistic partner I ever had was my sue.  Now I am more solicitous of the experience of my partner, although considering the baseline of spanking sadism that was mine previously, I am maybe now “improved” to the level of most high end intensity spankers.  I also used to switch.  I switched to explore the experience of bottom partners so that I imagined what they experienced in reality. My sadistic enjoyment was, in its essence, my imagination of their experience when I spanked them.  I seemed to have a pretty high tolerance for the intensity of my being spanked then.  I don’t know how much it may have been that my sensual reactions were muted in those days, perhaps by my alcoholism, or some of the medications I was on for arthritis, or whatever, but today my pain tolerance is far less, and my wimpiness, when I am spanked, seems to be far greater.

My feelings about power exchange in general, Dominance and submission, are also changed, and I am not sure what I can say about that at this point.  I am sure that as we go on and relate those dynamics will  become clearer for us to write about here.

I find though that I want to return to spanking in my life, and in my writing.  I am still one of the more experienced spanking practitioners one will encounter.  One of the aspects of my age is that I have long experience.  I have one of the larger collections of spanking implements, restraints, furniture, etc. that one will likely encounter (some of which are shown in the pictures above). I am trained, experienced, and skilled in their use to create a variety of sensations, and intensities, in the safe but quite effective administration of spankings..........not just in the technical aspects of the physical act itself, but in the psycho-social dynamics of spanking as well. Fortunately, I have with me a family which is similarly equipped, experienced, competent, and inclined.

This is the beginning of my reinvesting in this aspect of my life.  It is my returning to a more normal existence that is not so absorbed in continually needing to discuss my feelings, my identity, my “issues.”

This post is my transition.  In subsequent posts I am planning to write about spanking......in particular adult consensual spanking......and its art, science, philosophy, history, psychology, physiology, theory, practice, politics, emotion, eroticism, etc.  I will base this on my experience and research.  I will encourage my family to chime in with their insights, information, and experiences as they are moved to join in.

I hope this may enhance our experience of our new reality.  I hope in that there are more people who are interested in exploring spanking today, this discussion from someone who has lived with this for a few decades might be of interest or help.

Thank you again for the friendship of so many loyal friends who have supported us here, as we have passed through this last two plus years of travail and growth.

All the best,

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.  Live the life you’ve imagined.

Vanishing Pubes

I haven't really seen my pubic hair for probably a dozen years or more.  Very early in my explorations of BDSM, I began to shave my pubic hair -- because it was what everyone did in the lifestyle.  No one ever asked it of me; no one ever required it; there was nothing of dominance or submission in the doing.  It was simply one thing that I took on as a newbie because I thought it was a way to begin to fit in to something I very much wanted to be a part of.

So, for about a dozen years, I kept those parts of my anatomy shaved clean and relatively smooth.  I always imagined that, if I'd stop maintaining that routine, the hair would just grow back and within a few months or so, it would be the curly, springy, thick bushy thatch that I remembered.

Somewhere over the course of the last year and a half, I stopped shaving the pubic hair.  There was simply no reason to keep it up.  I finally understood that I could shave it or not shave it -- whatever suited me; and that was all of it.  Really, no one in the entire world cares about the state of my pubic hair-do.  Thus it has slowly grown back...

And...

It is nothing at all like what I remembered.  It is thin, fine, straight, and sparse.  Apparently, the hormonal changes of menopause cause changes in hair growth.  Everywhere.  Thinner on the head.  Thinner on the pubes.  Heavier on the face.  Right.  One more curveball.  Not a crisis.  Not even a problem.  Just one of those places where the way things turn out seems -- I don't know:  perverse?  Yeah.  That.

Sue (swan)

I Do Not Know What to Call This

I keep hearing myself, in my head, talking to myself.  One of the things that I have been telling myself in the last few days is that "it feels like we have turned a corner."  Not literally.  The idiom means that if something or someone turns the corner, their situation starts to improve after a difficult period.  We have come through a very difficult period, and it feels like things are beginning to improve -- on a number of levels. 


That is good news.  Better is better.  It is.  I am convinced we have been carried along by powerful magic, pure un-redeemed stubbornness, remarkable good luck, and perhaps some friendly spirits.  I'm guessing that not one relationship in a hundred would have withstood the period of two or three years through which we've just passed -- and remained intact.   


So, here we are, having turned the corner.  Or seemingly so.  There is the odd sensation that I can no longer see what was.  It is behind me, around the corner, and out of sight.  All that remains is ahead of me.  What that is, I do not know.  This is such unfamiliar territory.  There are none of the familiar landmarks, and nothing that I recognize or could use by which to orient.  This side of the corner is utterly foreign.


He is feeling better and better, maybe even starting to feel good.  As that happens, He and I are beginning to circle around the resurgence of our D/s dynamic... and I am a mess.  I failed so utterly at being "slave."  Clearly, I am not up to the ideal of "no limits" slavery.  I have limits -- definite and incontrovertible, and when I am pushed, I will fight like a wild cat to protect myself in those places.  I still read around the BDSM blogging circle, and I can see where and how I fall short of the mark.  Everywhere I look, there you all are:  trusting, confident, softly submissive, sure of yourselves and sure of your dominant partners.  I tried that path; made a thorough-going mess of it, and now it is a fact that I am "in control" in our relationship to some degree.  The part of me that wants to be "good at this;" the part of me that wants to be "doing it right;" the part of me that values "success" is horrified at that truth.  I am ashamed at my weakness and inability to do what others seemingly do with ease and joy.  


My therapist tells me that there is some of my power that is mine alone; that it should never be given away; that I was foolish to ever believe that could be done safely.  No sensible person should give away all of their power to another.  She contends that, knowing that, I can choose deliberately and consciously how to share my power and create a relationship that works better than what was before.  It all sounds so rational; so sensible.  Sitting there, across from her, I can nod assent to those ideas.  Intellectually, they make perfect sense -- and then I leave and they sit inside of me like a stone.  To hear the life I dreamed of characterized in that fashion makes me feel small, foolish, diminished.  How can she be right (and I imagine she is "right"), and that make me feel so bereft?  


I am conflicted.  I love Him.  Still.  Always.  I want to be His.  Am His?  Don't know what that means.  I know where I will not go again.   I know what I will not tolerate ever again.  I imagine that requires some sort of "negotiation," and I have no idea how to do that with Him.  It sets off my famously convoluted capacity for asking "what if," and always brings me to the awful question:  "What if, after all, He doesn't want me anymore?"  


Then again, what if He does -- want me?  Still.


Sue (swan)

Love and Power Exchange

Sin started a conversation about the conjunction between love and D/s, and Oatmeal Girl picked up the thread here.  It is one of those discussions that comes up periodically in our BDSM community, and I’m certain we’ll never agree on this one one – does participation in a power exchange relationship mean there is also a “love” relationship?  Will one lead to the other?  Can the two things exist independently or each other? Like so much of what we do, the commingling of love and power exchange is uniquely expressed in each relationship.  We all do it differently, and we’re ferocious in the tenacity with which we cling to “our” way of doing “our” relatedness.  Which is exactly as it should be.

Brain scientists are learning more and more about what makes us "tick." According to an ever expanding body of research, we feel the emotions associated with being "in love" because of a stew of hormones and neural chemicals acting on the pleasure centers and memory circuits in our brains.  Sex stimulates the release of vasopressin and oxytocin.  Dopamine, serontonin, and endogenous opioids play seemingly critical roles in romantic love and long-term pair-bonding.  The systems overlap and interact in order to enable mating, pair-bonding and parenting.  Of course, cultural and social factors, and learning, play big roles, too. If we are successful in love, it comes down to knowing the range of factors that lead from arousal to the rewards of sex, love and attachment. 

It really seems that, at some level, when it comes to love, we all dance to a tune of which we are hardly even aware.  It might not be so surprising then, that we have conflicting reactions to the intricate patterns of love and sex and power that rise up in our unique and intense kinds of relatedness. 

Within the BDSM realm, we already understand that there are parts of what we do that stir up the chemical cocktail that includes the whole list of pleasure related hormones and endogenous opioids that are also, intimately, connected to the experiences of lust, romance, and long-term attachment.  It is definitely possible to play with all of that, and not land in the lap of love and romance, but it is a risky business.  If we don't mingle SM play with sex, maybe it is easier to not find ourselves "caught" in the web.  If we don't mix D/s with sex or with SM, probably things are going to be less tangled.  If we don't pair up in long term partnerships, but stay with a more footloose play style, the odds of staying unattached are likely going to improve.  


I can't speak in generalities.  I won't even try to classify or explain the ways that other people do this thing we do.  I may be able to say one or two things about how love and power exchange have co-existed inside the relationship that Tom and I share.  It isn't intended to be prescriptive.  My path isn't one that anyone else ought to follow.  Consider this to be just me rambling -- maybe even just reminiscing.


First -- We met.  Online.  We shared a common interest in "spanking," and in the beginning, that was contained within the context of Domestic Discipline (DD).  We had some common interests, and we were "emotionally" compatible -- we liked each other.  I know that all seems pretty self-evident, but the truth is that, especially within the context of BDSM, the necessary first step of finding each other is critical.  It may be easier today than it was just a decade or so ago, but we are still in the minority, and still persecuted to a large degree.  Making connections is a challenge that has to be surmounted if anything else is going to happen.


Then -- We talked.  A lot.  Online, and on the phone, and in person.  We came to know one another as friends.  We discovered that we didn't have big deal-breaker differences.  We had congruence around our world views, our political views, our life paths to that point.  We saw things in similar ways.  We might have done better at that.  Might have talked about the things that have proved to be huge roadblocks for us, and maybe if we'd done that, we'd have saved ourselves some pain...  Or maybe we would have chosen not to walk this path together.  I don't know.  We did what we did.


And -- We began to play together, and talk about playing together... obsessively.  We were crazy for each other.  It might have been love.  It was surely lust.  Across 1200 miles we longed and yearned and pined for one another.  We couldn't wait to be together, and we couldn't bear to be apart.  We made decisions that changed all of our lives, and we did that in the heat of passion.  Would we have been more cautious without all that fire?  If we'd managed to evaluate all of it in the cold, calculating calm of a business transaction...?  


In Time -- We came together to live and love and learn and grow.  It was, in the beginning, glorious.  There was so much delayed gratification.  We felt as if we were a perfect match.  We loved and played and talked and laughed and explored.  We were completely wrapped up in each other, and there weren't enough hours in a day for us to BE together.  We looked out into a future and I thought we were looking at a long, lovely, happy path that would carry us through to the end of our days.  


But -- Of course, life happens.  Over time, we dealt with every kind of challenge -- surgeries, and illness, and death, and financial trouble, and divorce, and all the myriad everyday disappointments that fall on top of everyone's life.  I just kept saying to myself... someday it will all settle down and we'll go on to live happily ever after.  My parents didn't name me Pollyanna, but they probably should have.  I was in love.  I felt loved.  I believed we could overcome anything.  ANYTHING!  


And Then -- The earth opened up and swallowed us whole.  The things we never really talked about caught up with us.  My childhood abuse history.  His Childhood abuse history.  The things that grew out of that -- issues with abandonment and a demand for safety from my side; addiction and disengagement on His part.  We were a disaster careening toward an ugly crash.  And, people tried to warn us.  We ignored them all.  We were in love after all -- star-crossed and meant to be.  We broke the rules and made our own way.  We were big on "going confidently in the direction of our dreams -- living the life we imagined."  We had our battles, but we always recovered.  We didn't live easily with the places where we were at odds, but we never addressed them either.  We pretended we could just avoid  looking at the monsters lurking around the edge of our beautiful world.  We were wrong.  

Now -- We are living in the rubble of what was.  We are each miserable, angry, confused, bitter, frightened. We cling to loving each other.  And we still tend to fall into patterns that have been established between us over the last decade.  We don't trust each other.  We don't believe in each other.  We don't talk, and we don't listen.  We fight... continual battles of recrimination and blame and accusation.  We are a mess.  There's no power exchange anymore.  He insists He has no power.  I assert that He has all the power.  We go round and round and round.  Long days and hours pass where we don't speak.  At all.  We love anyway.  


I guess there's no answer to the question I started off.  Seems there is no way for me to not bring everything back to me.  I apologize.  It is all I can do.


sue

Words, Words, Words

I knew, yesterday, that Tom was working on a post.  He told me that it was about the last year and where He feels the journey has brought Him to this point.  We didn't really talk much about the content -- more about His work (real labor) to try and get it done.  It wasn't easy for Him to write, and as the day went on, I could hear the strain in His words... His post is so raw.  When I read it last night, I found myself without words -- awash in roiling, swirling, tumultuous emotions.  We went off to bed without discussing it.  It is hard to read -- and I can understand the reactions that it evoked; just as I can understand the overwhelming silence emanating from nearly 800 people who read His words.

Today, He was at pains to assure me that He did not want to hurt me with the words He wrote... and I told Him I was fine.  I was not hurt by His words.  I've been hurt by the things we've been through in the last year -- we all have, and I am impatient for the hurting to come to an end, even as I know that we have still got a long road to travel before we are able to feel that we've healed from what has happened.

It is very likely that there will be more posts here in the coming months and years that will be difficult to read -- the stories that we've told to this point represent only a part of what has transpired.  The bits and pieces of what we each experienced are still becoming clear; we are still figuring out where each of our separate perceptions match up; we are still identifying the gaps in our shared experiences and knowledge.  We are only now beginning to be able to really hear each other; really feel for one another; really reach out and try to support and comfort each other -- and we are just beginning to reach the point where those overtures feel welcomed. 

As always, readers here are invited to look in on us; invited to share the struggles and triumphs; invited to spend a bit of time in conversation with us about the things that we are engaged in.  We're going to live this part of our lives, as we've done most of the last eight or so years, right here in public.  Reading what we come here to share will give a clear and unvarnished picture of our good days and bad days, our love and our struggle, our pain and our hope.  Those of our readers who sit comfortably with us as we flail and scrabble -- thank you.  Your calm and gentle presence is a balm to our weariness and fear.  Those who come and read and then go silently on, you are welcome here.  We will assume that your kind thoughts and good energies are holding us up as we work to heal.  And those who react with frustration, confusion, judgement, blame, anger... You will assume that you know what is and is not.  You will assume that you know what we're doing right and what we're doing wrong.  There's probably nothing that we will say that will convince you that you might not have it figured out... 

Tonight, I wanted to respond to the comments that were made on Master's post.  I am not going to defend or explain, but I want to try to cast things in a different light maybe: 

LynLass, you have been a good and steady companion to us for many, many years.  Along the way, you have often shared generously of your own experience and your professional expertise to try and guide us through thickets that might have snared us otherwise.  I well remember that you were a valuable resource to me in the days and months after my hysterectomy, helping me to understand the various factors that were contributing to my depression, and rage.  Thank you for that.  Too, I know that you are convinced that there is great value to the AA model for recovery from alcohol addiction.  We are locked into that model these days, and not by our own choice.  We are following the path defined by AA, but we are not finding it a good or helpful experience.  I do hope that we will, at least, make contact with a few good, sane people through AA, and perhaps those friendships will prove to be valuable going forward.  But I cannot imagine that AA is going to be a way of life for us once we don't HAVE TO do it anymore.  That is just the fact. 
Beyond that, your continued positive affirmation that there is a way through this, that health and healing are possible, that we may all find ourselves in a better place in time is more important to us than you can know.  I hope that you know that, while we may not implement all of the suggestions you make, we read what you write and give it real consideration.  Thank you.


morningstar, I think that I understand that your "what was the alternative" question is well meant, but it isn't helpful or germane.  What was done, back a year ago, was done.  As Master puts it, we were each "naive" in our own ways; we were each blind to the consequences we were bringing to bear; we were each and all wrapped in our misconceptions, our misunderstandings, our ego trips, our fears and frailties.  Looking back is about fixing blame, and I think we've finally found our way through the maze of blaming and bitterness.  More important, for us now, is the question of how we can change -- change ourselves and change our lives together so that all of us get more of what we want and need than we did before.  If we'd known more, known better, been better -- we might have made different choices and maybe avoided this crisis (maybe). 

And finally, Rhonda -- You judge that Master is a "selfish bastard."  I'd hazard a guess that there are very few BDSM Dominant types who wouldn't happily lay claim to the "bastard" label.  Most of them cultivate that quality -- and hone it to an art form.  Some of us find those "bastards" to be remarkably sexy and way more interesting than those "legitimate" and nice fellows that some prefer.  Different strokes for different folks... 
As for that selfish thing...  Our household; our family is dealing with addiction.  Addiction is selfish.  It moves always to maintain and sustain itself.  Addiction does not care about anyone or anything beyond the next fix, drink, or hot fudge sundae.  We believe that there is hope for us to recover from the effects of addiction and that is the work that we are doing right now.  Your observation simply highlights your inability to empathize with the struggle to overcome the impulses that drove Master to drink too much.  Perhaps that lack of empathy points to your superb impulse control.   Maybe you have never struggled to resist the urge to gamble, the urge to shop too much, the urge to overeat, the urge to spew nastiness across the cyber universe at total strangers who never did you any harm... 
 It is, in my opinion, easy to look casually at the story of our family over the last year and take sides -- easy to designate victims and victimizers, and think that tells the story.  It is also intellectually lazy.  We are a group of three complex humans.  We have long histories and unique personal stories to tell.  You, and all who read here, see bits and pieces, but cannot know the whole.  I'd think that, knowing that, one might be cautious about making judgements.

Master has declared the truth of how He feels about the potential for us to engage in M/s or D/s interactions at the present, and I think that is reflective of how He feels about what has happened to Him, but I also think it is grounded in how He perceives of power exchange within the BDSM context.  He is a spanko and a sadist.  For Him, almost all of the "real" practice of D/s or M/s is about the erotically charged realm of sadomasochism.  It is, literally, sex and violence.  When He does not feel sexy, He does not "feel  dominant." 

I experience it differently.  As Dominant and submissive, or Master and slave, we are really not "the same only different."  Even as He has gone into a quiet period regarding sadomasochistic play and "active" D/s or M/s, I still feel owned.  Absolutely.  The "fun" stuff has fallen off, but I am still operating to take care of Him, meet His needs, do the things that are part of my pattern of service.  I cannot help myself -- and He cannot help but expect those things to continue to  be done...  I still manage His medications, take care of the bills and finances, maintain the household files, keep things around here relatively neat and tidy, fix the meals, handle the laundry (with lots of help from T), maintain my career so that I may make a financial contribution to our household, keep myself readily available to meet His needs sexually, offer what I can of emotional support, act as His exercise buddy...  Somedays, I wish it weren't true, but there it is, and what is more, even when my inner brat is pouting and insisting that it isn't "fair," it remains immovably in place.  I can't change one jot of that routine -- and believe me, I've considered the possibilities. 

And here we are.  We've lost.  A lot.  We've recovered.  A bit.  We've got work ahead of us, and we're not always happy about what we're faced with.  We are taking the good with the bad.  Learning to live a new life with new rules and new goals.  It is all very new and still pretty fragile.  Watch carefully.  This should be a learning experience for us all.

swan

Saving Ourselves -- Part 4

 Summer time is "project time" for me.  All of the big, complicated, high energy things that I don't tackle through the school year get put off until the long, uncommitted days of summer.  Give me a bit of unscheduled time, and I make stuff happen.  So far this summer, I've rearranged my kitchen, planted a fair garden of flowers, vegetables, and herbs, replaced bulbs and cleaned the ceiling florescent in the kitchen, reinstalled all of the smoke detectors, undertaken to revamp our meal planning and eating routines, reworked and tidied up the family records filing system, and created a significant new set of curriculum materials for my social studies classes for next year.  Of course, I've been actively engaged in helping Master through these first four weeks of post-surgical recovery -- lots of help with dressing and undressing.  Too, He and I have been investing about an hour and a half each day in our power walking exercise routine.  The big, gnawing at my brain, making me crazy, summer project though, has been the garage.  My garage is the primary storage space for our family, and over the years, I've struggled to keep it neat and make it work efficiently in that role while simultaneously providing the intended shelter for an automobile.

When we first moved in here, some eight years ago, the "then" husband installed a hodgepodge of shelves all over the place.  Some were wide and some were narrow.  Some were up high, and others were so short as to cause one to wonder what the hell he was thinking.  Over the years, I've tried a number of approaches to the garage storage dilemma, but I've never just ripped out the whole mess and started fresh.  I'm not sure why, but it all just seemed too daunting.  Last summer, I created a serious "Rube Goldberg" style shelving arrangement that involved stacking a number of trunks and plastic storage bins up, and using them to support the wooden shelving boards I'd gathered from all over the place.  The bins and trunks would, I reasoned, do double duty that way -- acting as both storage and supports.  It looked great and it functioned pretty well ... just as long as you never needed to get anything out of one of those bins at the very bottom of the whole jumble.  And, of course, because the universe operates on the principle that, "left to themselves, things follow the path of maximum perversity," everything I have ever needed from the garage in this last year has ALWAYS been at the bottom of the stack.  

So, for obvious reasons, my summer project list included a major overhaul of the garage.  Which brings me to the point of today's conversation about ways to help strengthen and repair a damaged relationship (other parts of this series are found at posts about Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3):

• Share challenging experiences… 
• Develop a sense of humor…

The redesign of the garage storage space may not seem to you to be particularly challenging, and it probably doesn't appear, at first glance, to be the occasion for any significant humor.  But, my friends, that is only because you underestimate the ways in which the universe likes to fuck with some of us.  Me, in particular.

I had, at the very beginning of the summer, shared my thinking about the garage situation with Master, and I told Him that I intended to tear out everything that had been put up by "He Who Shall Remain Nameless," and put in something straightforward, simple, and functional.  I wanted maximum storage with minimum mess and hassle.  He accompanied me on several scouting trips to explore the possibilities, and we saw some awesome and amazing storage systems -- at prices that took my breath away.  I became convinced that there had to be a way to install workable storage at some reasonable cost.  In fact, I got very caught up in that idea of "inexpensive" storage.  That was the beginning of the "challenging experience" that He and I would ultimately share together around this project.  It also turned out to be the driving force behind the cosmic joke that played out at my expense.

I searched and researched for weeks, and I finally decided that the best approach to the garage of my dreams was a simple system of wall mounted uprights and brackets with plain dimensioned lumber boards for the shelves.    I measured, and calculated, and headed off to the local big box hardware store to acquire the needed hardware.  I found some very inexpensive standards and brackets and bought up what I needed, dragged them all home and worked through a wickedly hot couple of days to get the old stuff taken down and the new ones installed.  It looked great, and I was awfully proud of myself:  forteen feet of 20" deep shelves, running three high all down one side of my garage.

Last night, I loaded them up, and called it a job well done.  We stayed up late watching a movie, went off to bed about midnight, slept fairly late this morning, got up and had breakfast, and then got ready to go out and walk.  When I walked out of the front door and down the sidewalk, I could see, through the window into the garage, that all of my wonderful shelves had collapsed -- and dumped all of the stuff all over my new little car!

I would like to tell you that I took it all in stride and laughed at the joke -- but that would be a lie.  I was furious!  Panicky about my pretty, new car, under all of those boards and brackets and boxes of stuff!  I must admit that I said bad words.  I did. And, He and I walked our 4-1/4 miles with me fuming and fussing the whole way.  Yeah!  Develop a sense of humor my ass!

The good news?  We walked at the fastest pace we've achieved since the surgery.  Rage is a great energizer.  We got home and He helped me excavate the car and haul all of the stuff out to the front lawn -- WITH His one good arm.  And...  underneath it all, unmarked and in fine shape, the little car survived just fine.  OK.  So, then I was able to laugh at the absurdity of it all; laugh at myself for going so cheap that the project didn't serve its purpose;  wander off, with Him in tow, to buy better brackets and better supports (and a new rug for the living room -- HIS idea not mine).  I got everything torn down, and reinstalled, and all the stuff  moved back to the new shelves in just over two hours.  And it looks good, and sturdy, and functional.

Lesson(s) learned.

swan

Saving Ourselves -- Part 3

This is the 3rd part of a series of discussions about ways to recreate relationships (especially BDSM relationships) after surviving a major "bump in the road."  For the first two segments, look here and here.

Continuing with thinking about the work of Mark Gregston, today I want to discuss the idea of "Looking for opportunities for discussion" with your partner.


We are quick, in the lifestyle, to exhort each other to "talk" with our partners.  We pride ourselves on being more open, more honest, more transparent.  We learn skills that help us to negotiate; to state our needs; to define our limits.  We make checklists and contracts and mantras.  Oh yes... we are big on talking, and we create relationships that are awash in words.


So, what would be different if we looked for opportunities for discussion?

Discussion is more than talking.  It is inquiry and examination.  While talk is about conveying information, discussion goes further, looking to explore, examine and discover things that might not be contained on the surface of our words.  The word comes from Latin, and the stem, discussio, means "a shaking."  Literally, to discuss is to "strike asunder," or "break up," from dis- "apart" + quatere "to shake." While the usual meaning of the word is to "talk over" or "debate," the early sense seems to have evolved from "smash apart," "scatter," and "disperse."  So, when we discuss, we break things down; we shake up our assumptions; we smash through our biases and preconceived ideas.  We inquire and examine.  We talk things over, and we debate.

I am reminded of the ancient and traditional practices of divination -- "throwing the bones" (and comparable techniques). In bone divination, bones of various sorts (and sometimes, other small objects like shells, seeds, and nuts) are ritually tossed onto a mat, an animal hide, or into a circle drawn in the dirt.  The resulting patterns are interpreted to provide information and guidance about travel and love and fortune.  It seems to me that discussion, as opposed to more casual conversation, might be the path for us to divine the deeper mysteries and fortunes of our relationships.

In discussion, we'd ask questions of our partners, and keep digging -- searching with them for answers and ideas that might be beyond what we anticipate and expect:

What is important to you?

Why do you feel that way about _____________________________?

Where did you learn about?

What would you do about this problem or that challenge?

Where would you go?

Explain that to me... 

Our discussions, whatever the subject matter, might well be the pathway into journeys of the mind.  Together with our partners, we could find ourselves amazed at the places we might go together.

swan
 

Saving Ourselves -- Part 1

I feel like we've been through it in this last year or so, and I feel as if we've learned somethings in the process.  Maybe some of what we've discovered, and some of what we are discovering, can help someone else someday.

Because -- one thing that we found, in the midst of our own crisis, was that there was little or no information out here in cyberspace about what to do.  Looking around, making Internet searches, one finds that the best wisdom in our "village" is that, when our non-traditional types of relationships hit rocky places, there are only two choices:  put up with whatever IS, however bad it might get -- or quit and walk away.

Partly, that awful dichotomy is derived from the fact of our alternative lifestyles.   It is nearly impossible, when we hit relationship snags, to find the kinds of resources that vanilla couples can call upon -- good kink friendly therapists, marriage counselors, financial advisors, lawyers, medical professionals, and clergy are few and far between and difficult to find.  Too often, we find that those who might help us if we were more "normal," simply decide that whatever our problem is -- the biggest problem we have is related to our lifestyle.  Not much help there.

We were lucky to have a remarkable group of good people who rallied to us right here at this blog, and held us up.  Many of those people wrote thoughtful and kind comments here, and many of them wrote to us privately, offering care and support and sometimes advice and guidance.  It is true that some, who had long been part of our circle, dropped out of sight as things grew ugly.  They clearly opted out of the whole scene; perhaps deciding that we were inherently "bad" people, or maybe just feeling unequal to the task of cheering us through the mess in which we found ourselves.  I believe that some number of those who have fallen silent simply do not know what they can offer -- that the larger question for us all is this:  "How do we really help, and what can we really offer of any substance, to those in our community who encounter relationship trouble?"


With that set of assumptions in mind, I am starting, with this post, a series of pieces that will (I hope) lay out some practical tips and strategies for repairing , reinventing, and rebuilding our relationships when we find ourselves on the calmer side of a major struggle.  I know that, sometimes, things end dramatically, definitively, and decisively.  In that event, there is likely no repairing or rebuilding or reinventing to be done.  But I am very aware that we came perilously close to losing everything just because we didn't know what else we might do after we'd washed up on the beach of relational shipwreck.  Our inherent stubbornness saved us.  Perhaps, as we wander our way through this part of our lives, we can leave some markers along the trail we're following -- and maybe someday, that will signpost the way for others who might walk in our footsteps.  We're not experts, and we've not got any sort of professional credentials, so take it for what it is worth.  What you will read, in this series, like everything else that you read at this blog, is just our story -- plain and simple.


I plan to base the things I'll write about all of this around a set of principles taken from the work of Mark Gregston.  His real expertise is in the area of relationships between parents and teenagers, so the focus is not the same -- but then almost no one focuses on OUR kind of relationships.  Gregston offers a set of ten tips for repairing and rebuilding relationships, and I think they work for us, too:

• Spend time together, one on one…
• Share challenging experiences…
• Look for opportunities for discussion…
• Listen more and answer less…
• Develop a sense of humor…
• Play together….
• Remember the past and believe in the future…
• Establish boundaries…
• Practice selfless confrontation…
• Correct and discipline, even when it makes you uncomfortable…

We are, ourselves, in the midst of learning our way along through this.  Some of those things, we've gotten well into and are feeling pretty comfortable with.  Others?  Not so much.  So, I will pick my way along through those "tips," speaking to them in no particular order, starting with playing together...

Experts recognize that, from earliest infancy, play is the primary way children learn.  Children play because it is fun. The heart of play is pleasure, and with pleasure comes the powerful incentive to repeat the activity. With repetition comes mastery. And mastery brings a sense of accomplishment and confidence.

Children engage in different types and stages of play depending on their personal development and their indivudual needs.  Their play may be solitary, parallel, associative, or cooperative, varying in terms of the levels of interaction, complexity, and organization.  

Through play children learn about concepts, how to group and classify objects, how to make sense of things and events, and how to solve problems. Play requires a child to make choices, direct activities, and make plans to reach a goal.  It is through play that children gain social and emotional skills such as waiting,
negotiating, taking turns, cooperation, compromise, sharing and expressing emotions.

We are not children, but we are finding that one of the most productive ways for us to interact these days is from a playful stance.  We have, largely, put most forms of BDSM play on hold for now.  Mostly, that is because of His surgical recovery, and has nothing to do with our relationship struggles.  To be sure, there is some tension and uncertainty between us about how we will ultimately come to engage in that kind of play, but we have grown increasingly easy with each other about other kinds of teasing and lighthearted banter.  We touch -- tickle, scratch, swat each other playfully.  We joke and giggle together, and it delights us both.  Sometimes, we just sit and watch the antics of the cat, and enjoy the lightness of it all.

It is good.  We had, over time, come to live in a world that was dreadful and dire and dark.  Everything had gotten serious for us.  There was very little that was fun or joyful, and how sad is that?  We'd gotten to be very grown up, I guess -- so grown up that we were nearly dead from the weight of all that seriousness.  And, in the final analysis, none of our grown up intensity could save us from the rush of our self-made calamity.

So, that's the first tip:  Play.  Laugh.  Enjoy.  Stop being so damned serious.  Yes, there are responsibilities and obligations and duties and all of that, but when all of life becomes a long list of "should's" and "must's" and "ought to's" it leaves no room for spontaneity and joy and lightness.  "All work and no play," the nursery rhyme admonishes us, "makes Jack a dull boy."  We've found a bit of sparkle left in our days and nights -- and we are not missing all that drab and dull grownup business.

swan

A Good, Happy, Joyful, Wonderful Spanking

Spanking still occupies a central part of my, and our, erotic and sexual identity.  That part of our relationship has been under stress in these last months.  Even as life (in the general sense) has steadily improved, we've both felt a real tentativeness about the power exchange we've shared, and that has included our SM play.

I wasn't good or easy with our SM life for a long time even before the most recent crisis.  Going back five years to my hysterectomy, my ability to endure, process, and transmute painful stimuli shifted.  While my masochism remains as an essential part of who I am, nothing I could find to say to myself in my head made my body work the way it once did.  I was caught between my own wanting and my inability to actualize that physically.  That reality grew between us over the years as I struggled to accommodate the level of sadomasochistic intensity that we both remembered. 

Then there was that awful trio of  fear and trauma and mutual mistrust -- the artifacts of our explosive, meltdown.  Each time we've come together to try and re-establish that old, familiar connection, we've run smack into the jumbled pile of emotional responses that neither one of us completely understand.  Spanking play is freighted with emotional responses anyway, and the two of us were carrying a whole host of spoken and unspoken feelings that tangled themselves up in our "play."  To say that things have been complicated would be an understatement.

And we have a shoulder.  Well, technically, He has the shoulder, but it is one of those things -- His shoulder has become a shared concern and impediment.  His right shoulder has essentially disintegrated after years of osteoarthritis and a lifetime of hard work.  There really isn't much left of the joint, and the only treatment is a complete shoulder replacement -- actually, what is needed is an even more complicated reverse shoulder replacement.  The surgery is scheduled for June 17, and until that can be done, He has very little range of motion or physical strength in His right shoulder.  More and more and more, He depends on His left arm to perform the most mundane of physical tasks.  Spanking, which is for Him a right handed activity, has become more and more complicated.  He's shifted to the left hand as much as He can, but it isn't easy, comfortable, or particularly satisfying -- the right arm is definitely His preferred and DOMINANT side.

There have been lots of hurdles and barriers for the resumption of our spanking life.  We've been more comfortable switching, with Him in the role of bottom, than we have with our more accustomed D/s roles.  It has been a confusing and disquieting time.

But this morning, things aligned and we spanked.  He spanked me.  I wanted it.  He wanted it.  It was good.  He seems, through all of this, to have evolved to an increased interest in leather implements; more straps and quirts and such -- moving away (to a degree) from His former fascination with paddles.  I've always been better with leather than with plastic and wood; better with straps and floggers and quirts than with paddles.

This morning's spanking was good.  We did it together.  We connected.  We were with each other and enjoying each other.  It was good, happy, joyful, and wonderful.  I was thrilled.  I am not sure that He reached the level of thrilled, but I think He was pleased.  We are, I think, on the road to recovering ourselves.

swan

I Can't Leave

He and I ended up toe to toe and eyeball to eyeball over the weekend, because I tried to leave on Saturday afternoon.

It was me, being weak, and I am ashamed of myself.   He's been so wounded and so angry -- furious really.  Most of our interactions include not even slightly veiled references to the events of October 28, to my role in bringing those events about, to my failure to behave in any way that seems in keeping with the power exchange dynamic that has been foundational to our relationship.  Over and over and over again, He expresses His wish that He did not have to go on living this reality.

All of that hurts me; makes me sad; feels unfair ...  and, feeling all of that, I tend to become angry myself.  I am not nearly as good as T is in the face of all of this.  She is unfailingly calm, patient, gentle, sweet, loving, and supportive.  She always seems to know what to say -- and she seems to have some limitless stockpile of "right" things to say.  I, on the other hand, become furious, resentful, and frantic to escape the whole mess.

And so, there we were, faced off with one another -- both unwilling to bend or give an inch.  Except that -- I did not, ultimately, leave.  I am still here.

The reason?  He would not allow me to go.  He stood in front of me, clearly upset, absolutely furious with me -- and refused to let me walk out the door.  Perhaps I could have pushed harder, turned the whole thing into a physical confrontation -- but short of that, there was no way that I was leaving.

Today, I asked Him why He wouldn't let me go?  "Tell me.  Please.  It's important."

He told me, "I love you.  I need you.  I don't see any sort of future without you."

And I pushed and pressed and asked:  "Is that it?  Is that all?  I think there is more..."

He was mystified; had no answer to my questions, and wondered why I felt that it was so important.  Well, here's why:

I think that I am still here precisely because He insisted that I stay.  I am here tonight ONLY because He was unwilling to allow me to leave.  For seven weeks now, He's insisted that His dominance ended on that awful day in October.  He's repeatedly stated that He is now the submissive, and He's tagged both T and I as "His Dominants."  It is true that our SM play has fallen silent in these weeks, and it is true that He's not feeling particularly turned on by the spanking stuff that used to be His continual passion.  But DOMINANCE is more than that -- much more.  As grim as that confrontation was on Saturday, one thing was crystal clear -- He was quite certain that He wanted me to stay, was not going to let me leave, and had the absolute right to make that be the reality.

He might not like me much right now.  He is unflinchingly furious with me, and He surely blames me for making the decisions I did on October 28.  We are nowhere near a resolution of our feelings and responses around that crisis point, and we may not achieve any sort of peace over it for a very long time.  It doesn't matter.  He is the "owner" in our relationship and I am His "property."  I can feel as bad as I feel.  I can be all bent out of shape about how "unfair" it all seems.  I can wish that my apologies would fix things, and I can wish that my intent were taken at face value.  How that will all turn out, in the long term, remains to be revealed.  What is clear is that His Dominance remains, unshaken and unshakeable (and nevermind His protestations to the contrary).

I have an odd mixture of feelings about all of that.  I am astonished at the arrogance of the Man.  I know that I am, most likely, the only one who finds that part at all surprising, but there it is.  More though, I find that there is some comfort and reassurance in all of this.  He is not gone, not at all powerless, not when it comes right down to it.  His move to dominance may be at a low ebb, and I think that in this period of crisis, exercising control over me takes more energy than He can muster most of the time.  That makes perfect sense to me.

swan

Collaborative Evolving Power Exchange

Some readers may have noticed a verbal shift in that long and convoluted conversation between He and I the other day -- our long custom of exchanging affirmations of our power exchange relationship was modified by Him:

Raheretic: I love you

Swan: Yours always and all ways

Swan: bye for now

Raheretic: Mine Always and All Ways

Raheretic: Too..............Yours Always and All Ways

Raheretic: I/we need both

Swan: well then ... Mine always and all ways

Swan: bye, Love

 

That was intentional on His part, meant to point to what He perceives to be our new and evolving reality.  As He has come to feel more switchy, His sense of our relationship has shifted.  He has increasingly indicated that what we are about is more collaborative and less definitively tilted toward anything that might reasonably be called M/s or maybe even D/s. 

Things have changed.  Things do change.  We are, clearly, not the same people we were 2 years ago, or 5  years ago, or 10 years ago.  Not as young and not as intensely dedicated to the sort of BDSM interactions we once enjoyed.  We've experienced real changes in our health status -- mostly for the better, although there is no denying the fact of ongoing aging.  We've seen significant changes in our career paths and our incomes.  We've withdrawn completely from the public scene -- finding it simultaneously dull and almost incomprehensible; not to mention ridiculously expensive.  We never imagined the road we'd travel in this last decade.  If we had, we might have chickened out before we ever started.

We've shifted the control back and forth between us, over the years, depending on what the circumstances dictated.  Most often, that has been driven by health issues, and I have sometimes been the controlling, and guiding partner as He has needed to focus on surgeries and illness and recovery.  There is no doubt that I am capable of assuming control when the situation warrants it.  

Now, it seems that He does not feel any need to be THE ONE IN CONTROL.  It seems that He is comfortable with our sharing that; switching not just in terms of erotic spanking, but in the much broader context of our day to day power dynamic.  I am made uneasy by that baldly stated truth -- even as I must acknowledge the fact.

I don't know what it means.  Perhaps it really doesn't signify any big change.  Perhaps it is simply the statement of the reality that has evolved between us.  Perhaps it is the natural landing point of the trajectory that we've been following from the moment when, out walking together, we accepted (with a sense of trepidation and wonderment) the desciptor of Master/slave for our relationship.  In that moment, we adopted language that we'd resisted previously, and made it "ours."  We've lived that in the years since, and found it made some sense for the two of us.  Now, there is a new understanding -- a new reality and awareness.  

We still play with the power dynamic in our relationship.  We are aware of it and deliberate in our manipulation of the power flows and energies.  Those who do not understand the use of power inside of intimate relationships are unable to use those energies to their mutual benefit.  That is not us.  Now, though, we seem to meet more as collaborators and partners in that balancing.  Truthfully, maybe we've always collaborated in that, but been more content to have the balance be more radically tilted.  Perhaps it is the fact that I've moved more toward the fulcrum point of the balance, and He has allowed and accommodated that -- until now we stand, face to face across from one another, and right in the center.  

There is no exotic descriptor for what we are engaged in -- no fancy uppercase/lowercase delineators.  We will likely, eventually, stop using the Master/slave lexicon altogether.  The provocative scintilla that came with all of that business will just slip off and away and we will gradually become more apparently "normal" and "mainstream" than we have appeared previously.

It makes me a little sad.  It scares me a little.  There is something easy and sure about being able to sum up the nature of your intimate life in such simple terms.  This new collaborative, evolving, power exchange dynamic seems much less defined and way more nebulous.  I don't know what it is and I have no clear sense of who or how I am inside of this.  It is disconcerting and unsettling.  I have no good experience or working model to draw upon for plain, old, garden variety relatedness based on some sort of equality.  The only time I ever tried that, it turned out to be a total disaster.  Sigh.  

I am full of questions.  What is expected?  What will this mean for us sexually?  Will we still play?  What about the collar I wear?  Should I -- or should I not?  Still?  Will He still be "Sir?"  "Master?"  Will I still be "swan?"  "His?"  What are the lines, the limits, the agreements?  I feel like I am living in a new and uncharted place where I do not know the rules.  And then, I tell myself that it is all silliness -- we are doing this already.  There is no tidal wave of change happening here.  The changes have come incrementally over the years and months leading to this point.  All I need to do is just go on doing it day to day and it will be whatever it is going to be.  There is no going back, even if I would wish it.  

I just don't know.  I just do not know.

swan