Spanking Bench -- A Technical Question

I received an email from a reader today.  Apparently, I've had correspondence with this person before, and it seems he may have run afoul of my tendency to admonish people who approach me in ways that I find too familiar or offensive at some level.  I honestly don't remember the exchange that he refers to, but however that went, his question today seems reasonable and even a bit intriguing (and besides that, some have declared this to be question month, so here you go):

Interesting.  Hmmmm...

Hello Swan,

...I emailed you ...a few questions about your lifestyle some time ago, and you were a bit put off... I'm just a guy that reads and enjoys your blog...You answered some of my questions in a later blog post, which I really appreciated...I appreciate everything about your blog. I like the realness of it, and you. We all know there is professionally produced BDSM porn on the web, but none of it looks real. None of it looks like something I might experience some day. I don't have a dungeon and never will have. I will also never have a young woman with a perfect model's body. I really like your pictures of the bench in a living room, in the real world, with pillows to make it comfortable!! So, my question this time is ...about your new bench...do you think, if you completely lost control of yourself and struggled hard trying to get away, while restrained to the bench, that there is danger you could tip it over sideways, risking injury?

The short answer to that is, "No.  I don't think I could cause it to tip over."

It hadn't really occured to me to even think about this.  The bench is still very new, and I've only been on it a couple of times, so there are potentially things about it that will surprise me, but at this point I think it is very stable.  It sits fairly low.  The ratio of height to width makes it seem unlikely to "rock" or wobble.  Too, once I am on it, all of my weight is pushing down on the structure of the bench.  I'd think that the action of gravity, and the laws of physics would work to keep that bench on the floor under those circumstances. 

We are not really "into" bondage AS bondage.  He restrains me as an adjunct to His play, and His primary interest is in erotic and disciplinary spanking (and related arts).  Bondage for its own sake holds no particular appeal for either of us.  He likes the bench because, with it, I can be secured in a position which works for Him while still being relatively comfortable for me.  For us, the use of restraints is more often about creating a safe and secure situation for our SM play.  I will sometimes ask for restraints if I sense that a session is going to be particularly difficult, or if I am feeling particularly wimpy (and He usually indulges me).  Given that reality, He can choose to restrain me with varying degrees of severity, and the bench seems very accommodating on that score.  So, for example, the restraints that He used last weekend were fairly "easy."  I had some range of movement, and while I wasn't going anywhere, I was able to shift and stretch and pull a bit at a number of points.  I was able to arch my back, lift my torso completely off the surface of the bench, and move my hands to a couple of different places where I could hold on.  That was just fine for what we were into over the weekend, but we do have sufficient restraint gear to completely immobilize me if that becomes the goal.

The expectation here is that I will stay in position during our sessions, and I am pretty good at that under most conditions. However, there are levels to our play that make it very difficult for me to stay put. Some of His preferred implements can pretty quickly drive me into complete and absolute panic and / or rage. That is particularly true of his synthetic switchy/birch-style rods and the singletail whip. And... I am not a petite, delicate flower. I am, by any estimation, a big, strong, muscular woman, and I have been known to "walk" a full size St. Andrew's Cross completely across the floor of the dungeon while lashed to it -- powered only by the intensity of His blows and my own efforts to cope with the pain. So, I am familiar with the effort it takes to "move" a piece of bondage furniture while strapped in place on it. I just don't think it would be possible to do with the bench -- especially if He were to put me in very tight bondage on it.

The other consideration, as I think about this, is that I am convinced that if I were to tip the bench over while I was strapped to it, I'd very likely damage things in the immediate vicinity, and probably injure myself. His goal, in terms of SM play, is to hurt me. He has NO interest in injuring me, and I am certain that He would not allow me to injure myself -- especially while I was so totally vulnerable and under His control. He watches me very carefully during a session, and shifts and adapts to manage me and the environment. If I were to become so agitated and out of control that I actually succeeded in turning the bench over while He was "in charge," I'd be sure He'd feel responsible for that event. I can't imagine things ever getting so out of control with my Master.

swan

T's Mom Tonight

Things with T's mom are mixed as of right now.  Some things seem better, and others seem to be worse or, at the very least, not really improving. 

On the plus side, the creatinine levels are falling.  Slowly.  They are still way higher than they ought to be, but coming down, and so there is currently no move to bring in a nephrologist to manage the kidney failure.  Her blood pressure has come back up and is actually now tending to the high side, but that is normal for her.  She has no fever.

However...  Her oxygen levels continue to be worrisome, especially if she gets up out of bed to move around -- as in go to the bathroom.  Oxygen being delivered via a nasal cannula seems to be less than efficacious because mom tends to breathe through her mouth.  They've brought in a full face mask portable oxygen delivery unit for her to use when she gets out of bed.  There is still a lot of fluid on her lungs, and that does not seem to be improving.  We don't have results yet on any of the cultures, so the treatment for infection is still being done with broad spectrum antibiotics. 

All in all, things don't seem as scary as they were a couple of days ago, but it is clear that we are far from being in the clear with all of this. 

Thank you all so much for your continued kind words and good thoughts.  You are holding us up each day.

swan

Spanking Bench -- Round 2

Sunday afternoon, after things settled down a bit, He and I found some time to play again with the new spanking bench.  It works.  The kneeler makes the geometry of the thing function as I imagine it is supposed to.  It isn't uncomfortable.  It is wide enough to comfortably support my shoulders, arms, and hips.  It is long enough that my head rests on the padded top and does not hang out in space.  We have a set of macrame restraints, made for us by a friend many years ago, and they work well to fasten me down to the thing.  The restraints make it impossible for me to take off in the middle of the session, and that increases the vulnerability level some, but it also gives me a sense of security.  With the restraints, I am not entirely left to my own determination to stay put as the intensity increases. 

He likes it because, as He puts it, the bench "presents" my ass nicely.  That's obviously a plus for Him, but since I don't often get to hear much about what He thinks, sees, or experiences during our sessions, I find that having that information improves my own experience, too.

I had two minor issues getting settled on the bench as we were getting started.  The first challenge is that the leather always feels cold to the touch.  Why is that?  I've played in all sorts of settings, and it always seems that the surface of whatever bondage equipment we might use is ALWAYS icy cold.  Putting naked parts down onto that cold surface is like jumping straight into a chilly pool.  It is OK once you get in, but that first plunge is tough.  The other challenge I encountered was about angles.  The inclined top of the bench seems to align my hips and spine in a perfect position to make every impact on my butt travel straight along my backbone and explode at the base of my skull.  It feels like He's swinging straight at the end of my tailbone and driving my spine right up into my head.  As a migraine sufferer, I am nervous about anything that is likely to send me over the edge into one of those beastly headaches.  However, this problem was pretty easy to manage.  He brought a couple of pillows off the bed and tucked them under my hips.  That changed the angle just enough to resolve the issue.  Thank You, Sir!

It was a pretty good session, I think -- for both of us.  He started with the suede floggers -- two-handed.  That's another benefit to the new spanking bench -- it seems to position me at precisely the right height/angle to let Him swing a flogger without it hurting His shoulders.  We've just about quit flogging because the arthritis in His shoulders has gotten so bad that He just can't do it without significant pain.  It might be that the new bench will give us back the shared joy of flogging.  Of course, suede floggers are very sensual toys and they don't create anything like the sort of painful intensity that He so enjoys.  Getting flogged with suede is a lot like a rapid fire massage.  The only real pain that is going to result from a suede flogging is that eventually the rough surface of the leather will create some abrasion.  It's a little sandpaper-ish after awhile.  Given my absolute preference?  I'd go with buffalo floggers everytime.  Buffalo is way heavier than suede.  It packs a pretty good wallop.  Buffalo hide has a pebbly texture, but the surface of the hide is smoother than suede.  The falls of a buffalo hide flogger fill the air with a delicious, deep, heavy leathery fragrance.  It is a whole other level of sensuality.

I think that He shifted from the floggers to a couple of different leather straps -- one about an inch and a half wide, and the other with a split tail.  I remember that the straps fell sharply and I remember the louder cracking sound they made as they hit.  It was a vivid contrast to the floggers, and I think I remember Him saying that I was getting a "beautiful red ass." 

In between implements, He wrapped His arms around me and assured me that He loved me.  That sort of closeness sustains me in the midst of a session.  He can ground me with His voice and His touch.

I'm not sure what He used next; maybe a quirt...  Quirts deliver that eyes-wide-open sort of stinging lashing pain.  I think that, with the quirt, I fell out of my usual "I love You, Sir" chanting and was reduced to counting strokes.  I try to never count strokes.  It doesn't work for me.  When I am counting, I inevitably hit the place where I become desperate, comparing the number of strokes past to those still to come.  Counting is the road to panic.  With the quirt falling across my butt in no discernible pattern, I caught myself counting, and as soon as I caught it, I forced myself back to my "I love You, Sir."  Better.  Way better.

There's a heavy leather paddle from Leather Thorn, and I think He used that and a small lexan paddle.  Somehow, the paddles didn't seem as difficult as paddles often do.  Maybe I was flying a bit.  Maybe? 

Toward the end, He brought out the Adam and Gillian cane.  The cane strokes seemed really heavy.  Sharp and biting, like a cane, but heavier than I remembered.  I don't know why that should have been, but it is the way it seems as I think back about it.  I think I must have made more noise than is allowed, because I remember Him shushing me at one point.  He wasn't angry at all, and I think I quieted down, because He went right on with the cane then. 

At the very end, He went and got one of those nasty switchy things that He's been fascinated with here lately.  The one He chose isn't as bad as the other one.  I remember trying to remember to just go through each stroke one at a time, but I don't think that held up very long.  The switchy things are just awful, and what I end up feeling at some point with them is that I just want to grab the damn thing and beat the shit out of Him with it.  Not the expected or acceptable reaction for a slave.  I know.  Whatever I did in response to the switchy thing, He didn't use it for very long.  He offered me the paddle to kiss, I thanked Him for my spanking, and it was over.

I think I did pretty well.  He seemed to think it was one of the "better" spankings that I've had in awhile.  I was glad, at the end that I'd done as well as I had, although I was aware of a sense of not going as far as I used to -- as far as I know He'd like me to.  I also know that I didn't come to that "other place" that I get to after a really good, and really intense session.  I ended up on that point of being angry over the switchy thing, and we didn't push past that place.  I was left wondering what might have happened if He'd gone on in the face of my anger.  Back in the "old days," that's what He would have done.  He'd have faced down my fury and gone right on with whatever He had in mind.  I'd have raged and stormed and strained at those restraints, and we'd have traveled to whatever place He saw for us.  When that used to happen, I almost always fell out on the other side of my anger and panic -- finding myself in some place that was washed in complete submission, feeling softer and safer and calmer. 

Everytime we talk about our current levels of play, I find myself feeling weak, frightened, and timid.  He always throws the challenge of just blistering me "the way He'd like to," and I always fall back into that unsure and scared place.  I am unable to assure Him that I'd like to play there, but I wonder...  If He took me there; if He claimed me as His, what would that be like?  I can't drag my mind away from that question.

swan

T's Mom Update

As of this evening, T's mom is receiving respiratory therapy on a regular schedule.

They have done cultures to see if there is some infection, and she has been started on two broad-spectrum antibiotics while they await those results. It could be 24-72 hours before we actually know anything definitive on that front.

Her creatinine level is elevated, and the current thought is that this may be due to some level of dehydration.  She is officially in acute renal failure.  They are having her drink a lot in the hopes that things resolve themselves.  We'll have to wait and see.

Too, her blood pressure is very low, and that is a concern.

Master spent the afternoon with her, and He and T are headed back up to spend an hour or so tonight.

We are worried.  T is worried -- and very, very tired.  We're doing our best to keep things together and take care of each other.  We'll keep you posted. Thanks to all who are holding our family, and especially T and her mom in your hearts and your minds.


swan

Clutter and Chaos

One of the catch phrases from my childhood was a fairly regular reference by one or the other of my parents to "Fibber McGee's Closet."  While I was never entirely sure, as a young child, exactly what the genesis of the expression might have been, it didn't take any particular genius to figure out that it refered to some sort of out of control clutter and mess.  I was much older when I learned that Fibber McGee and Molly were popular characters from the days of old time radio.  Running continuously from 1935 until 1959, the program ended when I was only four -- far too young to actually remember it.  Still, tonight, sitting here trying to put my thoughts in order; trying to write something coherent about these last days and weeks, I am feeling like my poor swirling brain is every bit as cluttered as the "closet" that so entertained my parents and their contemporaries.

I could write about --

• All the various trials and tribulations that poor Master has bumped into as He's worked to settle His dad's affairs.  What a very odd and strange set of rituals and rules we've strung up around the business of dying.  There have been so many people that we've dealt with who have been remarkably good and helpful.  On the other hand, there have been an astonishing number of total incompetents who have made the entire process way more difficult and complex than it really had to be.  In recent days, it has seemed that most of the lose ends are tied off.  The deluge of paper has subsided.  Things are beginning to settle. 
• Fridays.  T's work schedule is such that she works Monday through Thursday (10 hour days), and then has Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off.  For the last two weeks, on Friday, I've gone off to school, all unsuspecting, only to arrive home to find that Master and T have purchased new cars.  Yes.  Cars!  Two weeks ago, it was a brand new, tiny little, bright blue SMART car -- the car that T has dreamed of and longed for ever since she first saw one in the movie, 'The DaVinci Code.'  Then, last Friday, I came home from school to find a brand new, garnet-red Hyundai Tucson sitting in the driveway.  ARRRRGHHH!  Have I ever mentioned how really bad I am about surprises?  Those two need to find some other way to amuse themselves on Fridays.

• The spanking bench is finally working the way it was designed to do.  With the kneeler installed, it isn't difficult to get on it and find a place of relative comfort.  I do find that I need some sort of support under my hips -- a couple of pillows seem to work just fine.  That raises my hips up enough so that every stroke doesn't feel as if it is traveling directly up my spine to smack into the base of my skull.  We've got a set of macrame'd restraints,  made for us a long time ago by a friend, and they work well to fasten me to the thing so that I'm not going to "run away."  I had a spanking on it on Sunday afternoon -- following a whole raft of interuptions and distractions that made it seem like we were never going to get to play.
• Like the toilet.  We woke up Sunday morning and made love.  We were just getting ready to think about starting to play when the toilet got clogged and WOULD NOT BUDGE.   We plunged it over and over and over and over and over and over...  until we finally gave up and called a plumber. 
• Like a "coin collection."  One of the holdovers from Master's dad is this business of collecting coins.  Grandpa had an extensive collection of coins, and shortly after His death, we took His collection and sold it to a local coin dealer.  Having done that, Master was insistent that there were other coins around here that could be sold as well.  So...  on Saturday morning, He and T loaded up some bits and pieces of coinage, and went off to sell the whole lot of them, netting us a grand total that came in just under $50.
• Like shopping for new floors.  We are planning to have the old, worn carpet removed from our two condos, so that we can replace it with laminate flooring.  It's a thing we've imagined doing forever, but we are finally able to manage it financially.  That project has necessitated a batch of visits from various contractors to measure the space and bid for the job.  What an absolutely overwhelming array of choices and details!
• I've been simply amazed by the thoughtfulness of readers here -- those people that my creepy anonymous commenter refers to, derisively, as "my" readers.  Of course, they aren't MY readers.  They are their own people with their own views and values, and they honor me (and us) by their participation here. 

• And as for anonymous -- for some unknown reason, the poor soul seems compelled to follow along here, all the while proclaiming how awful it is to view our less than "perfect" bodies portrayed on the web.  On days when I'm not feeling especially solid and stable, the barbs find their marks.  Still, mostly I'm mature and living a life that I've chosen.  So, from now on, the official response to the anonymous nonsense is from Glinda, The Good Witch -- "You have no power here.  Begone, before someone drops a house on you, too."
• He and I are launching out onto the uncharted waters of sexual reconnection.  We've been drifting further and further apart for the last number of years -- as I've suppressed my own desires in favor of focusing on His pleasure, I've unwittingly pushed Him away.  He's been bewildered and confused.  I've been frustrated and angry.  It's been a mess.  Last night, for the first time, we actually managed to talk reasonably about IT.  There's no easy answer, but we are on the path to figuring it out.
• Saturday evening, we went to dinner at Red Lobster with T's mom and niece.  Lobster Fest has been an annual "event" for all of us for many years, and this year's dinner had particular poignancy as we all remembered how scary those first weeks after T's mom's stroke were.  It was a nice dinner, and then Mom's oxygen tank ran low, and she got very panicky and distressed.  We got the tank replaced, and she calmed down, but we were all stunned at how dependent she's become on the supplemental oxygen.  Today, she had an appointment with her pulmonologist, and he took one look at her and sent her directly to the hospital.  We still don't know what the diagnosis will be.  T and her brother are at the hospital, while Master and I wait anxiously for some word... 

So, there you have it, friends.  If you've wondered why it's been quieter than usual here, it is because we are simply buried in the avalanche of things that seem to have fallen out of our very own Fibber McGee's closet...

swan

Transitions in Slavery

For me, the comment stream on my last post drew the outlines of the way our kind of relationships can evolve over time.  I'm not sure that my thinking is entirely clear on this one, and I'm really only looking at my own life and my own experiences, so take what makes sense and know that none of it is about anyone but me...

My friend, morningstar, talked about the entry point into the lifestyle that sexual submission was for her: 
...way back when..... i labeled myself sexually submissive...i was too shy...i couldn't just "do it" without being asked/told..."good girls" don't do IT.  It didn't take long...to move from submissive in the bedroom to submissive in my life.

And then, ~~A (who I think I probably recognize) offered the view from the other end of the relational curve -- that long-term, "been there and done that," established relationship.  She said ...
We tried to make the D/s stuff work outside the bedroom...and we had a great deal of enjoyment and fun with it but it just stopped working...became exhausting and not fun...we just got tired of it...slowly dropped it by mutual agreement...

I've rolled those two comments around and around in my mind, trying to tease out the kernel of wisdom that feels wrapped up in that for me.  Somehow, it feels like a whole lot of swirling thoughts have been caught up with those two comments and woven into something that makes a sort of sense. 

Each of us, who identify at some level with this lifestyle, start somewhere.  Each of us was new at this once.  Each of us, like morningstar, had a starting point.  For me, that starting point was domestic discipline.  That whole arcane and tortured construct allowed me to finally ask for the control and spanking that I'd craved for a really long time.  It didn't work for very long, and it never really was a very good fit, but it was the beginning.  I moved from that beginning place into a deeper and more deliberate and conscious exploration of BDSM and my own sexual orientation.  I learned to understand the nature of my masochism, and I learned to embrace the part of myself that is submissive.  I traveled along a route I'd never imagined, and I changed, and changed, and changed again. 

Change is a constant.  If we live, we change.  We learn and we age and we confront the challeges of living day to day.  In the context of intimate relating, we do that in tandem with those that we love.  In the context of power-based relating, we do all of that inside a defined dynamic that has its own existence.  As we change, the relational dynamic must change as well if it is to remain a vibrant and vital expression of our lives and loves.

Master and I first came together as friends and occasional play partners.  We progressed into a D/s relationship -- and we grew to be lovers.  Over time, we saw ourselves as life partners and understood that we were in fact Master and slave.  While that describes, in a very simplified fashion, the trajectory that we followed, it shouldn't be taken to mean that those various permutations were merely points along a continuum.  There was a major shift in intent and connection when we moved from relating as Top and bottom to engaging in something that was more formally Dominant and submissive.   Similarly, our shift from D/s partners to Master and slave was a paradigm shift, not just a step up the "kinky ladder." 
At the Teramis website, I found a very articulate discussion of the characteristics of submissives and slaves.  It counters the common assumption that a BDSM slave is just a higher level BDSM submissive.  I found the delineation of slavery to be very helpful, and was grateful for an exposition of the differences that is largely devoid of all that sensational, lurid, porn fiction nonsense: 
 ...slavery in an M/s sense of the word has specific connotations... A slave makes a one-time choice to submit, up front, and thereafter ...slavery hinges upon a commitment to obedience...in consensual slavery a person gives themselves over to the control of another as completely as is humanly possible...there is actually a chattel property context to the relationship...the slave becomes literally (by mutual agreement) the property of the Owner......a slave cannot say "No" without completely abrogating the very basis of the Master/slave agreement...

With that delineation clearly in mind, I think I understand the sort of shift that ~~A points to.  Where there is a negotiated power-agreement in place; where it is shaped like D/s or DD and so open to a good bit of adjusting and re-definition on a regular basis; where the power dynamic does not encompass the essence of the sexual/erotic connection between partners; where it is taken on as one might assume a role in a theatrical production; it is possible that the game will lose its appeal, that partners will feel as if they've "moved beyond" it, or outgrown it, of simply become tired of the whole business.  Understandable and entirely reasonable -- especially as partners confront the inevitable and unavoidable changes and challenges that come to us all with time and age and simple familiarity.

M/s, though presents the possibility that that path will be different over time.  The slave is irrevocably committed to obedience and service.  There is no "no."  There is no bargaining; no negotiation; no "do-overs."  In my case, that means that as life has thrown us a variety of curve balls, our relationship has taken on a different cast -- and I remain His property.  My aged body doesn't respond as it once did, and He is quick to point out that I don't spank the way I used to.  I can find myself wrapped up in an internal monologue that revolves around what I want and what I need and what seems unfair and what I think I ought to be entitled to.  I hear myself talking that talk, and it makes the aware and reasonable part of my mind laugh.  Honestly!  I am pretty sure that someone who has lived as "slave" as long as I have ought to have it figured out by now -- there is no "unfair," and there is no "entitlement" in the context of my relationship.  I am plagued by almost irrestistable urges to "bargain" with Him about the way life is.  It won't take me anywhere and I know it, but those pesky, devilish urges remain.  Sometimes, when I am particularly frustrated, I wish that I could pack it in and run away.  Except that I can't.  I can't because He'd never allow it, but I can't because I just can't. 

So, I am working my way along the emotional high wire strung up between the various scary changes that I cannot avoid, and cannot control.  I once believed that if I were simply determined enough, just resigned enough, able to be obedient enough, I could reconstruct the SM relationship that He and I had in those beginning years.  I once believed that there was a direct correlation between His love for me and His willingness to do whatever it takes to make me happy.  I once believed that if I was just "good enough," I'd never have to come face to face with His absolute need to spank a whole host of other people.  I don't believe any of that anymore. 

I understand, I think, that I need to embrace the changes that have happened, and those that will happen.  I think I understand that my committment to obedience has not been altered by any of the rest of it.  I think that I understand that whatever our relationship comes to encompass in terms of SM play and sexual pleasure and pure, simple, straightforward companionship, nothing will change the fact of His ownership.

I've been feeling sad.  A lot.  I haven't, however, been feeling desperate or despairing.  I am coming to terms.  It feels a little like I've worked my way through some of the early stages of grieving -- shock, anger, denial.  All of that has been a nasty emotional stew for most of the last few years.  I have raged and fought and wished with all my heart that I might go back to the way that things were before.  No matter how I reasoned with myself, the emotions would not be quieted.  Now, mostly, I feel resigned.  I'm not exactly at peace, but I feel calmer most of the time.  I don't have any fight left.  What will come will come no matter what I think I want or how I "feel" about any of it.  I slave.  I will slave.  I'll take care of what I need to take care of, and I'll school my heart and mind to give up that insistence on being able to have what I think I might want.  I imagine that life for this slave will consist of paring everything down to the essentials, to those things that serve Him.  I am, perhaps on the brink of really learning what it is that I've taken on in this life.  In spite of everything -- all the diminishments -- I'll remain obedient.  I will be His.

I hope that resignation will, in time, give way to acceptance, and maybe even some sort of quiet joy.

swan

What is Sexual Submission?

I've spent a bit of time in the last couple of days mulling over the rather amazing comment stream that poured forth here in response to some judgemental comments made by an anonymous commenter.  I don't want to get back into discussion with that person.  There seems very little point.  I do, however want to thank all those who stepped into the fray with words of affirmation and encouragement, and I want to speak to a part of that discussion that went largely unnoticed in all the dust and fuss -- the nature of submission/slavery itself.

That was the one bit of all the nonsense that "anonymous" spewed all over the place that really caught my attention:  "I am sexually submissive."  My immediate reaction when I read that; the reaction that has lodged in my brain and will not go away:  "Really?  What the heck does that mean?"

I don't think I have ever, once, thought or said that I am "sexually submissive."  Something about the phrase causes me to have a mental sort of jerky whiplash sensation.  I cannot find a place where that expression makes intellectual or emotional sense to me.  It bothers me on levels way deeper than the simple linguistic parsing.

Mistress Steel actually addresses the topic:  "A sexual submissive is a person who manifests submissive traits only in direct connection with sexual arousal and release. In all other aspects of their life this person will probably comport themselves in a manner that is neutral or indistinguishable from a nonscene related person, vanilla.
There is one line of thought that a sexual submissive may be more closely related to a scene fetisher than to a submissive who is submissive throughout the scope of their life."

There it is.  The definitive description of the picture I get in my head when someone says that they are "sexually submissive."  When I hear that self-labelling, I think of someone who does "this" for kicks.  It is a way to spice up an otherwise ordinary, and perhaps mundane, sex life.  It isn't grounded in honestly lived power-based roles.  It isn't part of an over-arching philosophical or spiritual view of ones' life.  It isn't the manifestation of an essential sexual / erotic orientation.  It is just a bit of play-acting; the sort of cowboys and Indians dress-up game that generations of children have engaged in from time immemorial. 

I don't get "sexual submission," because I don't DO "sexual submission."  Oh...  I surely submit and serve within the context of our sexual relatedness.  But it isn't something that is noticeably different than my submission when I am fixing His lunch, pouring His coffee, ironing His shirts, or finding His latest lost whatever...  It isn't different in quality or character than my submission to His will in the context of our SM play.  It is all part of the same thing.  For me, it all stems from the committment to obedience to His will.  I sometimes enjoy the things we do together, but there are times when I don't.  I sometimes take sexual pleasure out of our intimate relating, but not always -- and it doesn't matter one way or another.  It is still woven into the very fabric of our lives together. 

I see the sort of relatedness that can be defined as "sexually submissive" as inherently self-focused and self-serving.  That seems entirely reasonable and entirely appropriate for those for whom it works.  People enter into all sorts of relational dances, and I'll admit that I am a true clutz when it comes to knowing the steps for most of those gambits.  I don't mean to judge here.  There are as many ways of relating as there are people involved in the act of relating.  What I do -- what He and I do is perfect for us, and so very far from being good or right or workable for most of the rest of the world. 

Contrary to what has been implied here in the last couple of weeks, I do work to maintain myself -- I work to maintain what belongs to Him.  I fit that in within the context of my days; within the limits of what else is demanded and required so that He has what He wants and needs to ease His way.  To do that, I usually make use of stolen bits of time, and self-care routines sandwiched in between dozens of everyday and ordinary tasks that haven't got the patina of glamour and glitz that might appeal to the "sexual submissive."  Sometimes, when life has been particularly intense, when the demands have been steady and heavy, when there's been very little in the way of time to "steal," I look in the mirror and see the marks that show the years and the general wear and tear of life lived with few frills.  As has been noted repeatedly by my anonymous judge, taking care of oneself can be expensive and time consuming.  I am given all I need for my own well-being, but I steward our families resources with care.  That too, is about taking care of what is His. 

It is all about focus.  Him?  Or me?  Him?  Or me?  Him?  Or me?  Over and over and over, through the course of my days, that is the measure of the choices I make.  It is what keeps me from being a "sexual submissive."

swan