This Ain't No Lay Down

My friend Ms. Mahwah Kiss claimed the other day that the reason I have been in so much pain over the sale of my coop and separation from my wife is due to my kinky proclivity to serve a dominant woman. Ms. Kiss maintains that because I am compelled to serve, my inability to sustain alpha-provider status is causing all manner of heartache. The lovely Ms. Mahwah believes she knows this about me because one afternoon when we met for coffee, I insisted on having her sit while I served her coffee and a snack.

I declared, "See, you get a servant when you get involved with the likes of me."

"Hmmm," she mused, "Well I like that!"

Anyway, her whole take on my emotional state these days got me thinking that maybe she was onto something. Even though I do not have a kinky relationship with my wife, there are developed aspects of my bdsm personality in my bond to her. I can recognize my hurt pride for now in not being able to continue to provide as just that - hurt pride. But I have to admit that the depth of my sorrow might be related to a need to serve. At least the thought helps me to manage the ordeal and feel some honor that my submissive side is so actively engaged.

Which brings me to my next point. Since when is submission all about the lay down? Recently, a dominant woman friend confided that she had bottomed a bit and that she loved it because she got to lay back and do nothing. She got to just bliss out in a pleasurable release from any responsibility. Now I suppose there are aspects of sub-space which match up with this description. Certainly, the dominant is often the planner, the decider, and the actor. But I gotta say that for me, submission is very engaged and interactive. I figure out how best to compliment my domme's style, accomodate her preferences and meet her needs. For me, this is the very heart of active submission.

Indeed, there are lots of times when I play with She and she's doing nothing and I'm doing everything. Maybe if I mess up I get punished. But I'm all about being an a vigorous, dynamic bottom. Unless I'm wrapped in Saran wrap...

Come to think of it, just tie me up now and I'll lay here and moan.

Here I Am

Miami in July is summer with a capital S. Hot and humid it just brings out the do something down and dirty in me. I'm on a business prospecting trip. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. But who says ya can't mix a little business with big fun.

Had lunch with fellow blogger and kink voyager Aarkey. Like my lunch in Manhattan with HMP/KBB we are all three truly brothers-in-arms and the Musketeers of kink. Straight off the street, or actually off Florida's Turnpike and out of the convertible (Sebring not the Mustang - drat), we had a grand time just talking about this, that and the other thing. My two pals are real guys into variations on the theme that I for so many years kept secret - stuffed away in a cold, dark closet. Now in the light of a Manhattan summer and the South Florida heat it's just a private matter among true friends instead of some deepest darkest taboo. Our blogs connect an important community of sharing. Meeting Aarkey and KBB has been one of the great things of my life.

And She has bought a ticket. She arrives today! An airport rendez-vous. A finnagled SoBe hotel upgrade to a suite will I hope impress. I'll get to bring her Starbucks in bed. Play personal shopper for a VS bra run. I'll be her chauffeur, sixteen days into on-my-honorness, for a trip she is laser focussed on taking. Forced shell collection. A brand new fetish. And brother, I deserve this one. I do indeed!

So here I am, baby! Come and take me!!

A Man's Man?

I was never a man's man or a guy among guys. Never really been one of the boys or hung with all the young dudes. Not that I'm a wuss mind you. I hold my own. But I was a shy, awkward, discomfited kid. I was painfully quiet and mostly felt like I was always the new one - from that boring, uninteresting, non-descript town. To compensate I tried to play sports. I was obsessed with football. Surely I had NFL potential in all my 5'9" and 120lb Heisman bound dreams of glory. I had horrible acne which I slathered with Clearasil; kinky, curly hair which I tried constantly to straighten; and I was so nervous and tongue tied around girls it was a true agony.

At twelve, like an obscure bit of character color in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, I snuck little medicine bottles full of bourbon into my preppie dance classes. That got me noticed by the cool kids and until I limped into an AA meeting at 29 years old, my life hanging by a thread, I did a terrible tango with alcohol. Mostly alone, not in bars until all hours of a bloodshot boys night out.

But I picked a part of a profession that's still predominantly male, decidedly macho, and very vocal. I make my money shooting off my mouth and I've gotten pretty good at the whole deal. Some of my hobbies reek embarrassingly of Hemingway or Teddy Roosevelt as I suppose I've tried to overcompensate for the unflinching, small-minded nag of a voice that says I'm not a guy's kind of guy.

I've always confided in women and had them as friends. Somehow it's safer and more comfortable. Women always seem less threatening and not so judgemental. They're more empathetic and supportive. But always hard to put the moves on and seduce. The sex dance has been endlessly puzzling to me. They like me alright, but I just don't have that "seal the deal" gene. It's why I love dominant women.

And now, I'm a sub-guy's guy. If all the congratulations on my blogoversary are a sign, I'm definitely one of the boys - one of the sub-boys. A bottom dude. One of those sincere and fetish-proud guys who long to serve Mistress Right. It has been one of the truly unexpected pleasures of this blog to have connected in such a positive way with other submissive men. Thanks guys! We rock!!

As the Godfather of Soul said, while it's a man's world - it wouldn't be nothing without a woman or a girl. Especially this girl who just nails JB and the whole "it's-a-man's-world-thing" to the wall.