Stranger Come Home

I may not see her this visit. After three magical stopovers we just may not connect. Then again, we may. There's still Friday.

I don't know why I feel compelled to write publicly about something so personal. Perhaps the writing process helps me understand and deal with powerful and confusing feelings. For me, wordsmithing is cathartic. Plus from comments and some emails I've gotten, at least a few people relate to what I'm going through so I end up not feeling so all alone.

I was meditating on the essential nature of my relationship with "She-Who-Visits". The common lore seems to say that since I started as her client our bond is flawed. "Once a client, always a client." Not that the relationship of prodomme/client is bad or blemished or emotionally corrupt in anyway. But collective wisdom, especially sub-guy folklore, warns that it is a rare union indeed that can successfully transition from the dungeon to a lasting and permanent tie.

I don't allow much room for illusion. I was estimating the other day I've had somewhere between 350 - 400 pro sessions in my life. Almost every single beautiful one of les liaisons dangereuses have remained behind the kinky curtain - except with her. She has become a part of the fabric of my life. She has become an incredibly important person to me. I suffer no pretense at a future in the traditional sense of the word. No white picket fence around a cozy cocoon of kink for us.

I've wondered this week whether in even the rarest of client/prodomme couplings which transcend the clock and tribute in a real sense if there isn't an unavoidable dynamic. Stress can make people revert. My shrink likens it to crevasses of character. You do all this work to root out the weeds and rot. You landscape it all nice and pretty. Invariably, life's storm clouds bring a downpour which fills those emotional arroyos right back up. For a time you lose the order and beauty of those carefully planted zinnia, begonia, and sweet alyssum.

It strikes me that just as I may have vexed anxiously about whether she really only loves me for nice hotels and fancy dinners, she may defensively place me in "business mode" to compartmentalize me away - returning me to "client status" - so as to gain distance and remove. Last night she cancelled our dinner we had arranged yesterday morning. I have no doubt she was suffering the affect of a stomach virus. But given the emotional roller coaster of the week - I was actually relieved not to be seeing her under these circumstances.

But this too shall pass. Our tie to one another is that rare kink hybrid - deep and resilient. The strong spring sun will shine, the flood water will recede and those deluged canyons will bear flowers again. The other day I saw my first green shoots of spring in Foley Square on my way to court. I texted her about it - my message like a robin, landing in a tree.

Hey girl, there's only me waiting here for you. Am I wrong to love you like I do?

These Open Doors

I'm really feeling pretty confused tonight. Bewildered, sad, disappointed. "She-Who-Visits" is visiting and we really seem to be on the outs. Since Valentine's Day and my premature report that I was out of the Doghouse, she's been sort of mean and distant. So I wrote her and said she seemed to still be upset with me and I just didn't get why. I figured rather than either get angry or really grovel and beg for attention, I'd say that it felt bad to be ignored and that I thought she was treating me unkindly. So a week ago I wrote a heartfelt letter.

During the past week she'd made it clear that it was unlikely we'd be seeing each other much because she was here to see her parents. I totally understand this, but it's always easier to hear bad news if it's delivered with a pinch of sugar. Something like, "I really miss you and I really want to see you but ..." would do the trick. I know that's very "undommy". But it would do wonders. I'd be sad but I'd understand. She said she'd be unlikely to come to the city to play. But she'd keep me posted. Her family may drive her crazy and she might have to get out of the house. So she'd settle for me is what I hear. This is not so reassuring.

I've become adept at reading her. But there just comes a point when it's her issue - not mine. Apparently she was working incredibly long hours, a fact she never shared. A week after I sent her my heartfelt "friends don't treat friends this way" email, she wrote back this morning seven hours before she was to fly up here. She really reamed me out for "creating drama". She said she had not been upset with me before but now she is really mad at me. She left me a voice mail calling me an ass.

My friend Crimson, with whom I've shared my travails, wisely told me everyone in any sort of bdsm relationship should have a card they always keep with them. On one side reads - "submissives aren't emotional punching bags". On the other side is written "dominants aren't psychic and aren't made of steel". My therapist was likening my relationship with "She Who Visits" to a situation where a patient falls for their shrink. She said most of those relationships never work out. Assuming nothing unethical, at some point the former patient realizes that the former shrink is messed up like everyone else. The former shrink realizes that his former patient isn't in awe of him anymore. At that point the real relationship starts.

I think I have all these emotional skills and insights but nothing seems to be working. Not my marriage, not my "grey-area-semi-lifestyle-bdsm" thing - nothing. I suppose I just don't get women. Although I suppose that's nothing new. Tonight just totally sucks. I'm in a sexless marriage with my wife and the woman I love to have bdsm sex with thinks I'm an ass. This is not fun.

When Is ProDomming Like Vagrancy?

Edward Lawson, social critic and civil rights activist, fought the good fight. Between March 1975 and January 1977 Lawson was arrested 15 times in California for violating a vagrancy statute which required people to "stop and identify" themselves. The law read:

Every person who commits any of the following acts is guilty of disorderly conduct, a misdemeanor: .... (e) Who loiters or wanders upon the streets or from place to place without apparent reason or business and who refuses to identify himself and to account for his presence when requested by any peace officer to do so, if the surrounding circumstances are such as to indicate to a reasonable
man that the public safety demands such identification.

Lawson sued the cops in federal court in Los Angeles seeking a declaratory judgement that the statute was so vague it didn't let folks know how to act. It also let the cops enforce the law any way they saw fit. Representing himself, Lawson fought the power all the way to the United States Supreme Court and won. In Kolender v. Lawson the Court struck down the California vagrancy statute and held that it was "unconstitutionally vague within the meaning of the Due Process clause of the Fourteenth Amendment by failing to clarify what is contemplated by the requirement that a suspect provide a “credible and reliable” identification."

There's some wonderful language in Lawson and ya know I've got a fetish for the well-turned phrase. SCOTUS said, "Our Constitution is designed to maximize individual freedoms within a framework of ordered liberty."

They went on to say that, "[a]s generally stated, the void-for-vagueness doctrine requires that a penal statute define the criminal offense with sufficient definiteness that ordinary people can understand what conduct is prohibited and in a manner that does not encourage arbitrary and discriminatory enforcement." The Court was all about clear notice to the people as to what was a no-no. The Supremes saw in the California law an amorphous stricture which permitted “a standardless sweep [that] allow[ed] policemen, prosecutors, and juries to pursue their personal predilections.”

Does this sound familiar? If you've checked the Max Board or Yin's blog recently the NCSF has reported that the Manhattan District Attorney's Office believes activities such as "flogging, CBT or genitoture, spanking, body worship and nipple torture, in addition to more overtly sexual activities" would violate New York's criminal law against prostitution if it aroused either party and it was pay-for-play. NCSF reports Lisa Friel, Chief of the Sex Crimes Unit, lectured that the undefined "sexual conduct" element of the prostitution statute should not be objective at all but should be defined by "what is arousing to the participants". Ms. Friel, a rather hot and dommy prosecutrix, harangued that at least one prior lower court opinion had gotten it all wrong. She seemed big on backing the "standardless sweep" - a tactic which so troubled Edward Lawson that he made a Supreme Court case out of it - and won.

Now look, I'm one to talk. I think everything in the dungeon is arousing. I think it's deeply romantic. But who am I? And more importantly, who is Lisa Friel? It's the law that must clearly say what is illegal and must guide both citizen and cop to fairly follow and evenly enforce it. The doctrine of void-for-vagueness is complicated. There are loads of cases and twisting, winding, double blind reasoning. But, as NCSF was saying in their email posted on The Hang, the essence of Lawson provides a basis to challenge the New York prostitution statute as unconstitutionally vague.

Personally, I think such a challenge should be sex worker driven and planned. What does a prodomme who just wants to work for a living need with a privileged, paternalistic, white-guy, wannbe savior.

But ... what if once upon a time three really attractive, well educated, articulate, passionate, accomplished dommes wanted to start a business. Let's call it Domina Dojo. In the preposterously perfect pipedream of my mind's eye, they are a rainbow coalition. This delightful trio is a veritable kinky Charlie's Angels of bdsm charm. Oh, come on! You know who you are!

Let's say in my reverie our heroines outfitted a space and did lots of publicity to advertise a grand opening. They wouldn't have other adult businesses and would offer only two menu items. Bondage and corporal punishment. No OTK spanking and no other activities at all. It's a sexy, edgy, specialty house. Prior to the gala kickoff they inform the Manhattan DA's Office, the New York City Police Department and every newspaper, radio station and TV reporter in town of the ribbon cutting ceremony. Only before they see a single client, they file a declaratory judgement action either in New York State Supreme Court or the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York, seeking to strike down the New York prostitution statute as unconstitutional on the grounds that it is void for vagueness. Oh gosh, let's call the case Domina Dojo v. Morgenthau - or whoever succeeds him as he announced yesterday he's finally retiring. Before our conquistadoras see a single client, they await a ruling from the court.

They possibly would have a "case and controversy", something required to get a federal judge to act. This might be important if they decided they wanted to avoid state judges, many of whom may owe their positions to a mayoral committee. In addition, judges generally won't give advisory opinions. The black robes deal with dispute.

But the dommes have one - with Lisa Friel. They wanna know who she thinks she is! They want to know can they make a living and provide a service without violating the law and getting shipped up the river to the Big House. Maybe they don't think it's Ms. Friel who ought to be judge and jury. They certainly don't think she's concerned with "individual freedoms within a framework of ordered liberty." Most importantly, they are unlikely to get arrested because they haven't done anything even arguably illegal yet. They just want to work. Hmmmm ... now that might be a fun case.

This, dear reader, is pure fantasy. There are many ways this would likely not work. And it's just the merry musings of a hopelessly conflicted bdsm romantic. It's not legal advice. And no, I'm not your lawyer. And even if we fought the law, you know what they say about that.

Paroled

I've been released from the Doghouse. At least temporarily. This was not good Doghouse - a part of some game or scene - but it was a miserable week spent fretting and obsessing. It was genuine worry and concern that unintentionally I had offended the lovely "She-Who-Visits" just before she was going to visit. I sent flowers the Monday after Valentine's and she just wasn't melting at all. In fact, she took careful and intentional aim and punished me some more. It was all too personal and specific to share here in the blogosphere, but suffice it to say she is practiced in the art of sadism and can wield it for good or evil. Her shot across my bow was well and truly a wickedly malevolent, grade A plus exercise in the intentional infliction of emotional pain.

Which caused me to wonder about what must be an essential element of the relationship between a submissive man and a dominant woman. A truly sadistic woman is a powerfully sexual force in the life of a guy like me. But in the throes of a real argument, when my ideal domme-goddess really wants to hurt me, as opposed to playing at hurting me, haven't I opened myself up to someone who is particularly expert? Doesn't she know precisely where my vulnerabilities lie and how to exploit them for maximum agony? What defenses, if any, does a submissive guy like me have when there is a flog-fest of a fight and she knows where personal trigger points are?

I came through this one in relative short order so I'm feelin' pretty savvy. Once in the past I was not so lucky, but today I'm going out on a limb to share what worked. First, I took my punishment like a man - even if I think it was undeserved. No whiney excuses. I just messed up. Next, I used my sensitive, understanding, empathetic, sub-guy qualities to realize that she must be having a rough time in her life if she needed to punish me for such a small infraction given the context in which it took place. I mean, we had never celebrated the dumb, silly, capitalist heart holiday before. What am I a mind reader? Finally, I summoned my own well honed bdsm qualities. To be sure, she is a semi-retired professional pain provider. However, I dear reader, am a world class groveler. I have honed this skill both professionally and personally and it really comes in handy. I beg and plead with class, style and creativity.

After four heartfelt emails and a vintage e-Valentine card courtesy of fellow knight errant HMP, she was still giving me the silent treatment. And so it was that I ordered her a bouquet of "I'm sorry" balloons and a card. The message on the card was critical. I tried to dictate my precious entreaty to the proprietor of the island flowers/events shop I had chosen to aid my supplication. In the end I emailed the message which they cut out and pasted into the card. I sent her two verses of Sam Cooke's song "Cupid".

Cupid, draw back your bow and let your arrow go
Straight to my lover's heart for me,
Cupid, please hear my cry and let your arrow fly
Straight to my lover's heart for me.

Now, I don't mean to bother you but I'm in distress
There's danger of me losin' all of my happiness.
For I love a girl who doesn't know I exist
And this you can fix.

I closed with "Just Wait Until Next Year!" A couple hours later she called me and forgave me.

So in the end, even though she thought I was a jerk for missing Valentine's Day - I was a cool jerk.