Dual Climate Controls

It was only a couple of weeks ago that Master and T went through that car buying frenzy, and so we ended up with the beautiful, garnet-red, brand new Hyundai Tucson.  The specs for the Tucson say:

•Redesigned compact crossover SUV

•“Fluidic” design language featuring new hexagonal grille treatment to be rolled out to all Hyundai models

•Bigger inside and out, with more head, leg, storage and cargo room

•Available dual-zone climate control

•Available dual-panel sunroof over both rows of seats

•Available rearview camera system with Smart Park Assist

•Available leather seating

•Available Smart Key ignition and locking

•Standard 2.0-liter 4-cylinder engine with 6-speed manual transmission

•Available 2.4-liter 4-cylinder engine with 6-speed automatic transmission

•Available all-wheel drive

•Available 18-inch alloy wheels

 

Yup.  Our new Tucson has dual-zone climate control.  I have seen that control, and in the first few days, I even had occasion to operate it.  It was a heady thing to be able to jump into the passenger seat and set the temperature on my side of the car to whatever number I liked -- warm or cool, I decided! 

For a couple of days.

Somewhere, in those first few power-drunk days, Master noticed that His side of the control system reacts to whatever it is that I do on my side.  If His side was set cooler than my side, then on His side the air would blow cool.  Well, that is all it took...

Today, we were out, running some errands, and I took note of the fact that the Hyundai still HAS dual-side climate control.  However, today, both of those controls were set to the exact same number -- and that number was, of course, determined by Himself.  Of course.

It is a small thing, but I think that the story of the dual-sided climate controls is illustrative.  It shows in very plain and prosaic terms how our relationship works.  He controls.  Everything that He chooses to control.  Big and small.  I may play with making my own decisions and controlling my own world, as long as He allows that -- and not one minute longer.  And, when He chooses to take the control back to Himself, that is how it is, and there is no "wrestling" over that.  The control slides easily into His hands, and if I am not paying close attention, I might not even notice. 

That is, in the end the simplest answer to all the pointed and judgemental questions that have been tossed into the conversation here lately.  Questions that ask why I post pictures, or write the tales of spankings, and others that ask why T and I allow Him to drink when He chooses to do that, and questions that wonder how we can tolerate some of what happens in our household -- all are simply answered by the story of the dual-side climate controls in the Hyundai.  There are loci of control that seem accessible to all of us on an equal basis because we are all competent and capable adults.  There are times when the control rests in my hands, or in T's, but it is deceptive because that only occurs when and if He allows it.  When He wants the control; when He chooses to choose; when He is feeling "dominant," then things are the way He wants them to be.  And that is that. 

There really aren't any dual-control systems in our world -- not even when it looks like there might  be.

swan

How Do You Know What You Know?

We are automatic assumption machines. How far would you drive if you couldn't assume that on-coming cars are going to stay on the other side of the road? Strolling across an intersection on a green light requires an assumption, too, doesn't it. Same for when you buy something. Or marry somebody. Only we don't always think about our assumptions. ~ Discovering Assumptions ~

It is one of the questions that I regularly ask my students, especially as we study world history and world cultures, and also as we tackle new topics in science:  "How do you know what you know?"  I usually follow it up with a whole series of challenges to their thinking about the things that they encounter -- Who taught you that?  Where did you learn that?  How long have you known that?  Do you have any proof of that?  Is it possible that you might not actually know that?  What would happen if you were wrong about that? ...

What I notice is that, even at the very young ages of 11 or 12, students are very attached to the things that they "know," and it is very, very difficult to get them to even consider the possibility that there might be some other way of seeing the world.  Kids just KNOW that if they look more like one parent than another, then they must have gotten all of their genes from that parent.  Introduce them to a society where three brothers share a single wife, and they are going to, inevitably, go, "EWWWWWWWWW!"  They know that their lives will be pretty much like their parents', and they are convinced that their religious/political views (given to them as a whole package by their parents, and totally unexamined at this point) are the "right" ones. 

I've been reminded, here, about how important it is to watch out for assumptions as we go through our lives.  Surely, as I've learned my way into the life I've chosen, I've had to confront, and rethink a whole number of assumptions -- things that I was pretty sure I KNEW. 

I've had to learn to think about love and sex and eroticism in ways that were never part of what I was taught by the culture, to respond instead to what is true for me.  I've had to reevaluate the notion of "rights" -- the right to be treated as an equal, the right to make my own choices, the right to be heard whenever I have something that I think is important to say, the right to take care of my own needs first, the right to decide when and how and where, the right to have things be the way I want them to be...  I've had to reframe my assumptions about family and marriage.  It has been necessary for me to notice all the couple-based, heteronormative, religiously defined beliefs -- and look carefully at whether those things are really "true," or the only "truth."  I've had to reexamine the whole tapestry of social interactions that surrounds my life, and understand what is and is not "true" about concepts like friendship and community and belonging.  What I've learned, for myself, is that there are lots and lots of things that we all just accept as normal and right and true without ever examining how we came to hold those views. 

The fact is that, for most of us, the culture that we grew up with seems absolutely "right."  It is all around us -- the air we breathe and the sea within which we swim.  Mostly we don't even notice it unless or until it comes to somehow impinge upon our awareness.  We are able to assume that things are the way we think they are because we are not generally challenged to see it any differently.  We really are not all that far removed from the time when we all lived in very small, very isolated communities, when "the wisdom of the village" ruled every aspect of our lives.  Today, we have a much broader view available to us.  We do not have to be constrained by the assumptions of the place where we are. 

On the other hand, we do all live in the place where we are.  We can examine our own assumptions.  We can ask ourselves those "how do you know what you know" questions.  What we cannot do, if we learn to see what others do not, is expect them to shift their awareness.  We can challenge them.  We can tell them what we can see.  Choosing to see more widely however -- that is entirely up to them, and it is not something that most people ever choose to do.

swan

T's Mom -- Surgery (Update -- Thursday Afternoon)

Things have really not changed much for T's mom.  Her kidney function has improved, and that seems to be resolved.  However, the lung function is still exactly as it was when she arrived at the hospital.  There is no infection, and the doctors continue to refer to this problem as "inflamation."  She remains unable to walk as far as a bedside commode without experiencing extreme shortness of breath and a dangerous drop in her oxygenation levels.


Today, she is undergoing surgery to biopsy lung tissue.  It is a risky and invasive procedure, and we are worried about how she will come through it.  We do expect her to spend some time in intensive care and on a respirator. 


T is already on the road so she can be with her mother before she goes to surgery.  Master and I will leave shortly to go be with her while she waits.  Once again, we'd ask those of you who are inclined to sit with us this day.


Thank you, friends.
swan

1:59 PM (Eastern Daylight Time)
T's mom made it through the surgery well.  The surgeon took 3 tissue biopsies.  We may have a preliminary report from those later today, but the full results are not likely to be ready until Monday or Tuesday next week. 
Mom is in intensive care and on a ventilator.  The ventilator is a concern; to us and to her doctors.  They are likely to keep her sedated for the near term so that she does not fight against the ventilator. 
T has gone to get a bit of a break, and Master and I are home preparing to attend the board meeting for His agency scheduled for this evening. 

I cannot tell you how much it means to us to have all of you supporting and thinking of us as we go through this today.  Thank you all -- so much!
swan

41%

I'd like you to make a list before you read this post.  Take a few minutes, and list 100 people that you know.  They don't have to be good friends, but see if you can come up with 100 names of adults that you know.  Try neighbors and relatives; co-workers and old college chums; acquaintances from church and the PTA; clerks and hair dressers and mail carriers and the pizza delivery guy...  Go ahead.  I'll wait.

Ready?  OK.  Here's the story for today:  We were out walking last evening, and He told me that He'd seen a video piece on SPIKE TV reporting that about 41% of adults in the U.S. admit to having some interest or involvement in spanking (the number is much lower around the world).  Wow!  That's a pretty impressive segment of the population.  Take a look at your list and draw a circle around the names of the 41 people there that you think are "into" spanking.  Have fun!

SPIKE.COM: Check out the premier online destination for Men!


SPIKE.com

If that 41% number is accurate, then those of us who feel like our sexual/erotic orientation toward SM might find that we are actually not as much in the minority as we have thought.  There might just be a whole lot of us out there walking around looking just like the regular people that most of us think WE are.  That might mean that, over time, our kind of sexual and erotic choices might be treated more even-handedly in the marketplace and the media.  Perhaps, someday, we might even see the laws change to de-stigmatize our lifestyle choices.

As I contemplated that, it occured to me that perhaps there's an explanation wrapped up in that 41% number for some of the interpersonal dynamics that I notice more and more frequently, both here on this blog, and at other social networking fora where one encounters the larger kink "community."  I think that it is likely that if there really are significantly larger numbers of adults finding their way into adult spanking at whatever level, then some significant portion of those people are probably coming into the "lifestyle" with very little information, and almost no relevant real time exposure to members of the community.  That number means there are probably lots and lots of people busily spanking away with wooden spoons and paint stirrers -- completely isolated from anyone else who might share their orientation. That's unfortunate.

Out here, in the lifestyle community, we learn from each other, and we share a culture that is uniquely ours.  To learn about a culture takes time and it also takes deep immersion with the members of that culure.  I was lucky.  I opened up to my sadomasochistic nature at a point in time where there were ways to connect with others online, but before it was really reasonable or effective to try and learn and grow in the lifestyle by remaining entirely inside the privacy of my own home -- or within the confines of my own ordinary, and familiar life.  I had to reach out into the community around me, and find other people who were doing this in real time -- and then I had to put myself into a position to be able to learn from their experience and expertise.  Face to face with others who shared my kink, I learned the techniques and the details and the precautions of the lifestyle.  I also learned about the norms of protocol and etiquette that community members shared. 

There are all sorts of rules and expectations within our lifestyle.  We come out of a rich tradition, and at our best, we behave within very clearly defined expectations for good manners, gallantry, and civility.  Many of those expectations have to do with respecting other's space and property and privacy.  It is also the norm, within our community, that we respect and honor other people's personal choices -- even when we perhaps do not understand or approve. 

When I was new and wide-eyed and untutored, I was lucky to encounter those more experienced community members who taught me to hold my tongue when I encountered things that I didn't understand, or didn't like, or didn't want to participate in, or felt scared by, or didn't approve of.  I was taught that, if I was concerned by something I saw or experienced, that I was free to walk away, but I was not to ever, ever, ever impose my judgement on anyone else.  I learned that there were sometimes going to be situations that might cause me to be uncomfortable enough that the best thing I could do would be to simply take myself out of the situation.  I've done that.  More than once -- physically in realtime dungeons, and figuratively in the reading I've done around the cyber neighborhood we share.  I've walked away from things that made me uncomfortable and frightened me and sometimes even disgusted me.  I've honored those adults who chose to participate in things I didn't understand by assuming that it was their option and their choice to act as they might choose.  In my experience, and within the context of what I've been taught, that is behavior that is simply polite. 

I think that there are lots of people who are engaging in this thing that we do who have never had anyone to tell them what it is that we really belive in as a community.  No one has ever told them how absolutely essential it is to respect other people and their choices and proclivities.  They've never been taught that, as social outsiders, it is important to make a safe space inside our community for those with whom we share this lifestyle choice.  It is that lack of community-based groundedness that allows some people to engage in vicious personal attacks -- that sort of mean-spirited "gotcha" mentality that is so pervasive at sites like Fetlife.  There is no gallantry, no gentleness, no withholding of personal judgement, no reticence.  These new ones, untrained and untutored, display that lack of understanding of appropriate boundaries that causes them to know that when they are uncomfortable that is their reaction and their response and their responsibility.  The "old" ones would have told them to turn around and walk away.

swan

Spanking Bench -- The Experiment

I didn't think it would be possible to turn the new spanking bench over, and I am now convinced that I had it right with that guess. 

He and I played together yesterday afternoon.  It was a session that had a few "agendas" attached.  One of those was to test the stability of the spanking bench under the demands of the sort of high-end play that might cause me to become frantic enough to try and escape.  More significant for the two of us was to explore the potential and impacts of returning to our earlier and  much more intense play style that we've largely abandoned in the last few years.

The latter was in response to a conversation we've been having about the way we've come to the place we find ourselves, and what that has meant for us...

He has, step by step, backed way off from the higher end sadistic play that was His mode for the first years of our lives together.  Mostly, that has been driven by His concern for my health and well-being.  In His view, I've become less and less able to withstand the demands of the play that He is so inclined to -- physically, but also emotionally.  It is, classically, the sort of thing that lifestylers sometimess decry -- struggling with how one reconciles a strong sadomasochistic bent with an equally strong love for the partner.  How does a sadistic Top partner find the path to hurting the one He loves -- especially if that bottom partner is struggling emotionally to accommodate that sort of play?  Over and over again, He's asked me if I want to submit to the kind of spankings He's fantasizing about.  Over and over, I've quailed; too afraid to give Him the "yes" that would have set us both on the path.  Simultaneously, as He's worried about me, He's become more and more connvinced that the solution is to let me play at the level that is "comfortable" for me, and save the high-end sadism for other spanking partners. 

For my part, I've struggled with believing in myself, and believing in Him.  As I've felt my old masochistic power leeching away, I've worried that there was nothing left to me that was of much value.  I've imagined myself an old woman, slaving away at the daily stuff of life -- meals, dishes, laundry, trash hauling, and on and on and on.  I've mourned the loss of that part of this that was sexy and exciting and just plain hot.  Somewhere in my brain, there is a submissive that is absolutely convinced that I could still do it if He'd just help me and guide me.  From my perspective, His move to back off and back away has felt like abandonment.  I could hear Him saying how concerned He was and how much He loved me, but it didn't feel like that inside of me. 

Round and round and round we've gone.  I'm betting that we've not faced anything that other couples making the traverse from relatively youthful lifestyle practitioners to relatively older have had to deal with, but the paassage has been daunting for us.  What a tangle!

I think that the way forward finally appeared when I began to wonder, "what would happen if..."  What would happen if, instead of backing off when I hit a wall in session, He would just push forward and carry me through that place?  It has never been unusual for me to come to a point of panic and often great anger when the intensity passes my initial ability to cope with it.  I cry and beg and struggle and spit and hiss and withdraw emotionally.  If it ends at that moment, I'm left right there awash in a whole host of negative emotions -- and in my judgement, I have failed utterly.  Early on, He tended to not care if I was happy, and would just go right on with whatever He had in mind for me and for us.  In that event, I'd have no alternative but to follow His lead, albeit sometimes grudgingly.  The result of all of that is that I'd fall out of the other side, and find myself finally giving it all up to Him.  In the end, I'd feel soft, safe, secure, and successful.

Being able to express that question to Him opened the door for the two of us.  We've talked a lot, and I think we've come to understand what that might mean to both of us. 

So, yesterday afternoon, as we got ready to play, I knew that I was embarking on a journey that was likely to be challenging, but might potentially be a very good thing.  He restrained me to the bench, and started off with a back rub.  Yes, a back rub.  I'd pulled a whole host of muscles moving the mattress the night before, and I have been struggling with some chronic lower back issues anyway.  The back rub was a surprise, but it was wonderful.  That was followed by some pretty intense hand spanking and an absolutely wonderful flogging with the buffalo floggers.  Things got more and more and more intense after that.  Very early, He switched to the annivarsary paddle, and I (perhaps predictably) panicked and declared that I was done.  He went right on; moving from paddles to straps to canes to paddles to floggers to canes to quirts to straps...  I cried, and yelled, and floated.  He hurt me and loved me and held me and hurt me some more.  Over and over and over, we went together through the cycle of pain and fear and powerful eroticism, until I was spent and He was satisfied.  Somewhere in the middle, I even achieved the (for me) very rare orgasm.

When He was done, He left me there, on the bench, still restrained -- telling me to just calm down and relax.  He went and got some ice packs and tended to my very red, very sore, very welted butt.  I floated away, softly -- completely sure that He'd take good care of me.  When He did release me, I staggered my way with Him into the bedroom where He held me and helped me warm up -- I was very, very cold.  In time, we made love very softly and very sweetly, and when He reached His release, I did too.  Again!  Amazing. 

I spent the afternoon and evening sitting very gingerly, and I didn't sleep very comfortably, but I'm much better this morning.  If we really wondered what might happen if we moved back toward the kind of play we once enjoyed, I think we got our answer yesterday afternoon.  I am entirely able to withstand it, and I will not become mortally traumatized.  On the contrary, what might be true is that our kind of sadomasochistic play remains, as it has always been, the pathway to sexual and erotic fulfillment for my "old lady" body and mind.  How did we ever come to the place where we believed otherwise?

swan

Later at Night with Bob Dylan

"An Irishman is never drunk as long as - He can hold onto one blade of grass and not - Fall off the face of the earth"

In my last post, I spoke to the simple joy and pleasure that He and I shared last evening as we sat together on the sofa and listened to the music of Bob Dylan.  It was wonderful and happy and very sweet.

But, as the evening wore on, He spiraled further and further and further into the fury and frustration and despair that was so much a part of His experience as an anti-war activist in the Vietnam era.  The music reaches into some wounded place in His soul that I cannot ever heal no matter how much love and devotion I might pour into the effort.  I've seen this before, and I always know when I see the disintegration begin to happen. 

It is always fueled by alcohol.  Master is Irish, and the Irishman drinks a bit.  Rather more than a bit, if the truth be told.  He likes the taste of alcohol, and He drinks rather deliberately, and extravagantly, because He enjoys it.  He stopped drinking, entirely and on medical advice, for months after the bariatric surgery.  When the recommended period of abstinence had passed, He went back to using alcohol -- sparingly in the beginning, and then in increasing quantities.  It is not unusual, these days for Him to become quite loopy by the time we are ready to head for bed.  I am accustomed to steering Him off toward the bedroom, and making sure He is safely tucked in for the night.  Last night was different.

Last night, as Dylan screamed the coded lyrics that dragged Master back to the anti-war demonstrations of His young adulthood, He drank -- and drank -- and drank.  Eventually, He began to lose track of the clear boundary between the present and the past.  As I watched, He traveled back in time in His mind, and then He was there -- in the streets, throwing rocks at cops, believing that He would likely die, and prepared to do that as long as He took many of "them" with Him.  Soon, He was thrusting and parrying at the empty air with His knives -- fully engaged in the never-quite-past battles of His youth.

I was not part of that life, and I still am not part of it to this day.  When He goes to that place, He forgets who I am.  That's what finally happened last night -- He looked at me, bleary-eyed, and said, "We have the potential for developing a relationship... if only we had time."

That's when I decided it was time to try and maneuver Him off to bed.  I pulled the covers back, and cleared the path. I filled His drink bottle and set it on the night table, and then I went to try and get Him off the couch and to bed.  It took some real doing; lots of heavy-lifting and cajoling, but I finally manage to heave Him up on unsteady feet.  He took two steps toward the bedroom, and staggered out of my arms, falling to the floor.  He flailed around, unsure where He was, or what had happened, but still clearly afraid that "the legal people" were about to burst in and arrest Him.

I could not lift Him off the floor.  I tried to roll Him onto a blanket thinking I might be able to drag Him into the bedroom -- no dice.  I sat on the floor in front of Him, holding His face in my hands, and told Him how scared I was and how desperately I needed Him to help me help Him.  I thought about going to get T to help me with Him, but knew she had to be up early this morning to go for an important job interview.  I screamed at Him -- calling Him a drunken asshole.  And I cried.  Nothing helped.  Master remained exactly where He'd fallen -- on the floor.

Finally, I decided if I couldn't get Master into bed, maybe I could get the bed out to the living room where He was.  I went into the bedroom, stripped the linens off the mattress, and began the process of wrestling our king-size mattress out to the living room.  It flopped one way and then the other and I pushed and pulled and kicked and sweated.  It took a very long time, and I nearly gave up in frustration more than once.  But my Master was lying on the floor, and I had to do something.  Finally, I managed to drag that monster mattress out to the living room and get it into position on the floor not too far from where He lay.  I made it up with sheets, pillows and blankets, and then went to see if I could manage to somehow get Him up onto it.

It took a lot of talking and pulling and heaving, but I finally succeeded and got Him into bed.  I tugged and pulled and got Him undressed -- no easy feat, and covered Him up.  I went to turn the lights off, and just as I returned, He looked at me and said, "I need to pee."  Right. 

I'll spare you the details of that dance.  It is enough that I did get Him finally situated in bed, and settled down to sleep.  I finally peeled out of my clothes, drenched in sweat and completely out of breath, and collapsed into bed beside His unconscious form.  I didn't sleep much, worried if He'd be alright.  At 7 AM when the alarm went off, He was better, but not really good.  I tried to get Him up to go see T off to her interview, but it just wasn't going to happen.  Thank goodness, she came in to see us before she left.  Oddly, she was so focused on her upcoming interview that she didn't even notice that king-size mattress in the middle of the livingroom floor. 

I am aware of the sorts of judgements that might accrue in many quarters about all of that.  We've run into more than a few lifestyle types who have chosen not to have much to do with us because of His relationship to alcohol and my acceptance of that.  If there is one hard rule throughout the various and divergent parts of our BDSM community, it is that BDSM and alcohol don't mix.  For me, that has just never been the case.  I am His, and forever in His service.  That means that there are times when I must cope with how to care for Him and meet His needs when He is completely out of His mind drunk and completely unaware of the service I render.  That, too, is part of my slavery. 

swan

A Night with Bob Dylan

Master will be 61 years old next month.  His coming of age experience was shaped by the Vietnam War, and His intense and passionate opposition and resistance to U.S. government policies about that conflict.  For Him, the music of that era can still be powerfully evocative.  It moves Him in ways that are far, far beyond merely nostalgic. 

Late last night, He told me that He'd like to sit and listen to the Bob Dylan musical anthology that we have, and so I loaded the CD player with three discs containing just about everything that Dylan ever did.  It's a lot of music, and for me, much of it is outside the realm of my early memories.  When Dylan first appeared on the music scene, I was only 4 or 5 years old, and even the works that made him very famous in the mid to late 60's were not part of my consciousness at the age of 10 or 11. 

But, I like it.  I do.  I appreciate the literate/poetic quality of Dylan's work, and some of the more well-known parts of his repertoire are surely familiar to me.  Those bits that I don't really recognize or remember, He is more than able to explain to me -- and He can surround the music with a wealth of context that makes the experience even richer.

In the first hour or so last night, the music made Him mellow, and fired Him to a romanticism that is pretty rare.  With Dylan wailing away in the background, He pulled me to Him for a kiss and then another, and another.  Deep, passionate, breathless kisses.  It was wonderful! 

It isn't that we don't kiss.  We do.  But that sort of kiss that is ABOUT kissing is pretty rare.  This was amazing, and took me back in my memory to the earliest days of our relationship when He essentially taught me to kiss.  What a revelation it was to me, after nearly three decades of marriage, to discover that kissing could be such an intimate, erotic, pleasurable experience.  I'd never really been kissed much prior to that.  In my experience, kisses were pecks -- chaste and pretty perfunctory gestures between myself and my husband.  I had no idea what I was missing.  I didn't know about the kind of kissing Master wanted from me in the beginning, and it was an awkward bit of time while I figured out how to simply relax and give myself up to His powerful and passionate kisses. 

That's the good news about our evening with Bob Dylan.  He gave us the joy and simple pleasure of being together as lovers. 

Later, things got much darker and more difficult, but that is for another post.  For now, I want to capture the joyful and playful moments that we shared.

swan