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.