Hyperbolic Whining

I think sometimes I whine for effect. I go on about wantin' to be friends with dommes, oh-I'm-so-"high maintenance", can't get no satisfaction, wife doesn't get me ... buncha blah, blah, blah.

A veritable bdsm bleater.

But tonight I'm appreciative of all the nice things that have happened for me since I've been back on my kinky trek. Sometimes, I just feel kinda lost.

But tonight ... tonight I have a wife I love very much, business is doin' well, and my dear friend arrives for her "New York State of Mind" week on Sunday. And I have all these new pals who share their advice, jokes, and slaps upside the head - all of which I really need.

Tonight ... I feel rich indeed. And very grateful.

Golly gee, I just wanna be well ...

Scenes from a Vanilla Marriage

Why, you may rightfully ask, am I talkin' about my marriage on a kink blog? I don't play in my marriage. I don't even have sex. No kinda sex. Not even an itty bitty handjob ...

But it strikes me that alot of clients of prodommes have got to be at least a little like me. Married, love their wives but play with prodommes. I suppose some are completely cool with that dichotomy and integrate it seamlessly into their lives.

>cough<

Maybe others have an "understanding". Bdsm playtime ... it's not really sex. No kissing, caressing, canoodling, making out - and no intercourse. So, okay honey, go see your little leather wearing friend who whips you once a month as long as our sex thing is cool.

My situation is a bit different, but I'm sure far from uncommon. For years I just slunk out when the urge to session hit. I was a sneaky, world class, secret agent of kink. So what if I felt guilty and ashamed. For many years I was completely isolated. I kept the secret all by myself. While I rationalized my need, the feelings of deep ignominy were sometimes overpowering. But gradually I became a bit more comfortable. For a time I saw a truly great domme who was just this sweet, nice, normal seeming person after our hot, nasty, dirty-sexy sessions.

Then I got caught ... oops. I took a long break which included two years of couple therapy with my wife. I've never completely confessed to my kinkified shenanegans and don't intend to, since it would just cause too much pain. But since I've been back exploring my kink again I feel pretty completely unashamed and am pretty guiltless. I realize that it's not really possible for me to be completely "out", but I'm working hard at some measure of integration and less compartmentalization.

I talk with my wife about the possibility of us finding sexual satisfaction outside our relationship but remaining married. There's just too much baggage - veritable steamer trunks full - to expect any meaningful sexual connection between us at this stage. I'm trying hard to be nice and supportive and physically affectionate with her and while it ain't happening over night, it seems to be working.

How I'd react to her having a lover is altogether unclear. I do have cuckolding fantasies and what's good for this goose has to be okay for the gander. We shall see.

Some of my buddies on Max suggested service. Bring her this, do that, rub her feet, carry her bags. She can't stop the fantasy that's playing in your head, advo. Try it, you'll like it.

But I do all that. There's a big difference between even a little spark of dominant mischief in your partner and none at all. There is no spark in this process and I can't manipulate it - she's got to want to offer it and it just isn't there.

Maybe, because I honestly want to meet kinky people and make kinky friends, I can negotiate for event attendance rights. That way, I could go to a Cat O' Nine party, a TES meeting or a munch without fear of being "caught". That way I could have more kinky friends, integrate the process into my marriage and feel less like a lurky, covert, creeper up to all manner of masochistic tomfoolery.

Then, really swinging for the fences, my wife and I could have a more sexually open relationship and I could meet a dominant woman who understood all this, really liked me and wanted to play, all hot and nasty, with little old me. A guy can dream, can't he?

Then again, I'll truly miss all that sneaking around. No more swingin' on the Riviera one day and layin' in a Bombay alley next day ...

Me, my kink life & 7up.

In my never ending quest to equate my deepest and most serious feelings about my kink life with iconic pop culture advertising, I'm reminded of 7up when I think of where I'm at these days. In the 60's, 70's and 80's 7up was locked in a dual for the useless caloric intake of America with Coke. 7up became the "uncola". Geoffrey Holder extolled the virtues of larger and jucier "uncola nuts" in the process of making the sickly sweet drink. For a chastity guy, larger and jucier nuts are quite appealing. But, despite the catchy ad campaign, I was always a Coca-Cola guy and 7up has really faded.

However, in reflecting on how much I like having kinky friends and how complicating the "client" relationship is to a shared dinner with a domme, I'm reminded of 7up. Despite the name of my blog, I think for the time being I'm swearing off the role of client. I like making friends too much. So ... hi there... I'm advochasty, Client Nine and a Half, the "unclient".

And, dear reader, instead of our usual musical interlude, here's a banned 7up commercial for your prurient pleasure. My kinda girl ... I think I'm in love.

Waiting

She's coming to visit. The one I've fallen in love with. The one who changed my life entirely - made it richer and infinitely more complex. She'll be here for a week. She's staying in a hotel near my office. I'll bring her coffee in the morning and we'll have dinners together at night. She'll have been in the dungeon at work and I'll get to ask, "How was your day, honey?" She'll call me ferret face in such a loving way that my heart will burst with joy. I'm pretty sure she'll rifle through my wallet and steal my Starbucks card. She'll laugh at my jokes and call me her "mealticket" in a voice that is the sexiest melange of honeyed gravel ever heard.

I'm planning to give her a special gift. I've conspired with a friend of hers. Trust her to have found and charmed the nicest jeweler in the Diamond District. She knows I'm up to something. Lord knows I couldn't negotiate a deal on decoder ring from a Crackerjack box on 47th Street and not get taken without serious help.

I just wanna be here always for her to come back to so she still has a home here. A home in my heart. And just maybe ... if I offer - I have this little plea in suplication planned see - and if ... if she says yes ...

Maybe I'll find peace and be able to let go and stop tryin' so hard to replace her. And be happy that I have her in my life. And be open to new people, new friends and a real kink life now.

Because the night belongs to lovers ... the night .. belongs to love ...

The Sock Hop

Last night I almost went out to a fetish party. Almost ... I mean, when it comes to going to fetish parties, does almost count for anything? Does it count that I'm thinking more about it? Does it count that I'm writing here about almost getting off the couch to actually show up? It's not that I'm worried about being seen. I figure that if I run into someone I know it would be a "So ... you too?" sort of thing. It has something to do with it being pretty late on a Sunday night when I have to work the next day. I mean, isn't Monday rough enough?

But mostly it's the feeling I had at the dance when I was fourteen years old. Nervous the girls won't like me. Worried I'll stand in the corner all night and nobody will talk to me. Concerned about what I should wear, will I be cool, will I be a complete dork? In response to a post I did on the Max board about going to parties someone said I should stop being the "color commentator of my life" and just go to the party. Come on. I like my gig as the talking head of my life. But, I suppose I could continue to be my very own kinky Cosell and go the party as well.

Ahhhh ... there's always a next time ... when there's no one else in sight, on a crowded lonely night ...

Of Apologies & Apologia

Over the past few days it has come to my attention that some of my writing has been disrespectful, angry, and passive aggressive. An effort at humor is mean spirited. A reach for a well turned phrase simply turns off. A personal exposé is impertinent, insolent and contemptuous. I have no excuse for this. I, more than many, know the power of the word. People who have been friendly, nice, and welcoming have been alienated and estranged. I'm so very sorry. From the bottom of my heart I never in a million years meant to do this. I sincerely apologize.

By way of apologia, I am new at blogging, new at commenting and such a rookie at being anywhere near out with my kink it is truly embarrassing. I'm sincere, decent, nice, and funny - that is when I'm not busy being disrespectful and passive aggressive. This kink journey of ours is a complicated one. We're all human, most of all me. I love the journey and wanna keep on keepin' on. I hope y'all will stick with me. And if I could just get me some wings ... maybe I'll fly.

Parlor Games

It's so important to be straightforward about your kink. In my constant process of self evaluation and introspection I've learned that honesty is truly the best policy. Confess and ye shall be free! So ...

I just hate board games. If ya really wanna torture me make me play Scrabble or Boggle or Pictionary. It's not just that I don't like 'em. I despise 'em. It's weirdly phobic. Like my fear of heights. It's like I'm back in eighth grade gettin' called on in math class to recite some formula I can't cram into my head. The whole deal. Sweaty palms, short little breathes, furtive and darty eyes. Jeez it's tough!!

I should be made to face my fears like I did on the Wonder Wheel at Coney Island. Made to grip the letter tray in abject terror, cowering at your superior word smithing ability. Humiliated by your deft use of obscure three letter mots made entirely of useless consonants as you score a triple word slam dunk.

You'll make me keep score. You'll laugh and ask, "What's the count again, I forget." You eye me with a mix of sympathy and glee.

Because you know when it comes to Scrabble ... baby I'm born to lose.

Respect

I'd like to think I'm a decent, basically honest, respectful guy. I'm for sure prone to running off at the mouth at bit and I definitely lead with my emotional chin sometimes without always thinking through all the collateral consequences of what I seek. But I don't see myself as a fundementally disrespectful submissive man.

What is respect within the pardigm of the client/prodomme relationship? Sure, no two relationships are the same and respect can mean different things to different subs and dommes. But are there some basic rules of the toll road to heaven? Still smarting from MTO's good natured, well meaning, completely deserved public flogging I happily suffered on my "High Maintenance" post, I pose this question to you, my reader.

We clients have personal limits. No marks, no harsh humiliation, don't call me at home, no this that or the other. We mercy out. We compartmentalize.

You dommes post limits on websites, run a business, suffer endless time wasters and insincerity. Despite it all you take us to magical places we might never, ever see without your skill, sensitivity and dedication. So are there basic rules of respect?

• Respect her time.
• Respect her limits whatever they may be.
• Respect her privacy.
• Respect and appreciate where she takes me as long as we both choose to interact.
• Respect her no and her yes.

But is it really disrespectful to desire and want if you don't demand? Is it truly disrespectful to want "friend time" if you don't ask for it? To want an emotional connection if you don't pester and plead?

Back in the day... they used ta say, "Take the sheet off your face boy, it's a brand new day"!