A Quote From Elise Sutton

If there ever was a well-said opinion this is it from Elise Sutton:

“Lets take a step back and look at the purpose of a FemDom relationship. It is about your husband meeting your needs. It is not about you becoming the fulfillment of his fantasies.”

I regret that I don’t have the source of the quote, but I assure you that it is from her. I used to be an avid reader of hers.

If all males and females involved in an FLR were to abide by this, many such relationships would fizzle, others would transform in major ways. I am not saying that I have this rule that you must follow. Just that, there is a definition on which we could agree, for example, “Female leads, she makes the rules, male follows.” Sure, you can impose your own nuances on that, and no sane person would object as long as the basic rule is followed. Otherwise it is not an FLR, but yours or your wife’s fantasy. Somewhat like, “On Saturdays you wear the pink panties and …” I hope you know what I mean. Nothing wrong with that, and you could wear purple for all that anyone cares. But that is just between you and your partner, and does not change what E. Sutton said. She did not mention finances, house cleaning, oral service, or chastity in this statement. All she said of essence was that you [female] have your needs met. Period! The rest is up to the two of you.

I hope you enjoy!

Haunted By Ill-Placed Empathy

I walk from my car to the store. Near the entrance a middle-aged man moves in my direction. His unkempt, ill-fitting clothes emanate an odor of many days’ sweat. His face may be handsome but the dark suntan under the unshaved skin conveys a neglect that is consistent with his persona. He is muttering something unintelligible as he steps off the curb into the path of oncoming traffic. I am within a couple of steps, so I lunge outward and pull him to safety by the back of his loose short coat. He lands on his bottom on the sidewalk. He ignores me.


She moves slowly on the sidewalk in an exaggerated rolling gait. She is pushing a shopping cart piled with items that most of us leave in dumpsters. Her clothes may have seen many previous owners. Layers of pants and shirts cover her to the extent that only part of her face is visible. Her hands are covered with gloves of filth. Her hair hangs below the cap on her head. The thick matted mess would resist combing with a rake. She stops every few steps and seems to count things in her mind using her fingers, then resumes her slow ambling. At the traffic signal she pauses, then turns her shopping cart around the way she came, and continues her trip. The passer-bys, the traffic, the noise of the street don’t seem to be in her realm.


These are two people not in my social acquaintance, unlikely to encounter again. They appear people who have lost contact with those who may have cared about them. Two people whom I may one day have to take into protective custody.


It was the evening of a holiday. Most of the drunken parties have taken place on the eve before, so we had little to do. No calls for our services were made, drivers behaved decently. We were getting sleepy. As I drove at traffic-speed my partner said, “We could serve some warrants.” He was always looking ahead, and as usual, had a handful of printed warrants to serve as an option.

“Come on, this is a holiday. Even a scumbag deserves a rest from time to time,” I suggested.

“Well then, let’s stop at the intersection. The intersection was where we usually bagged traffic offenders within a couple of minutes of observation. I drove there and stopped just off the road on a vacant lot, positioning the car so that we could see traffic from four directions. Just as we stopped an SUV slowed at the intersection, and made a left turn without stopping. With four-way stop signs that was cause for us to intercept. As I switched on the strobe we received a call to proceed to an address up in the foothills to see about a domestic dispute. The address was in the direction that I have taken already after the SUV. The driver of the SUV lucked out. We sped by her on the way.

Even with the emergency response it took about ten minutes, and by the time we got there, the dispute was over. We were satisfied. Nobody was seriously hurt, no charges were pressed, and we were asked to leave by both parties.

My partner said, “As long as we are here, we could see this guy.” He handed me the warrant for the arrest of a person with an address in the neigborhood. Charges: possession and sale of drugs in this state, escape from a psychiatric institution while under observation for domestic violence and lewd behavior in another state, etc. We are not judges, but we make some judgments. He seemed to be a person to arrest even on a holiday; besides, he was unlikely to be stupid enough to stay at his home address after that.

In the darkness of the night we looked for the address among trailer homes of the neighborhood. We found the place after several passes. A woman in her twenties answered the door. She was devastatingly beautiful and sexy. I tried to remain functional. The subject was asleep in the trailer, and had to be rousted to come along. My partner handled the arrest with his usual skill without incident while I watched the woman and her little boy who were standing outside within a few feet of me. The subject was a short, stocky man in his late twenties. His face emanated hatred and instability. Still wearing only shorts of some jersey material he was shirtless. We stuffed him into the back of the car with hands cuffed behind him. I asked the woman whether we could take some clothes along so that he could dress when the opportunity arose. She nodded, and then walked up the two steps into the trailer. In a minute she returned with a paper bag with some of his clothes, which I tossed, into the trunk of our car.

After we dropped off the subject at the jail I relaxed a bit while reflecting on the actors involved. Here I was, doing this mostly for fun. There was my partner, doing it for making a living. There was the subject doing it because at some point he though it was the best thing he could do. There was the woman who could have been in a better place just about anywhere, but she was doing it because she was protecting her son, an adorable five-year old.

It has been years ago that this took place, but I am still not over it. The danger that the man’s face projected was more than I would want to impose on a young woman and her child. Yet, as bad as I felt about the woman and her child, I felt worse about the man. He was obviously not fully functional in his mental capacity. He had to be contained, for he was dangerous. But he was some mother’s son. Some mother, who had lost the fight to protect him, as he grew away from her in age and involvement with bad people. The lovable five-year old that I remember from the incident may be following the same path, breaking the heart of his beautiful mom.

An ordinary job, for example, being a clerk in a store, can be challenging, but does not take much except perseverance. He can go home in the evening and detach himself from the next day’s challenges of dealing with peers, customers, promotions, and maybe looking for another job. Law enforcement, on the other hand, is not just a job. It is a twenty-four hour a day responsibility. One does not just go home in the evening and be done with it until the next day: after a while things turn around. An ordinary person has a life, and, "oh by the way", he has a job. A law enforcement officer out on the streets has his profession, and, "oh by the way", he may have a life, but don’t count on it. He tries, but it often fails.

Empathy with or intense dislike of the subjects comes up repeatedly. It becomes very difficult to continue being subjective and be able to make quick decisions between victim and perpetrator especially when they are indistinguishable. Trusting subjects can and will be the cause of lives lost. Empathy misplaced takes its toll. It is difficult not to become jaded, but empathy not given also haunts us. I remember incidents when I could have trusted …

Some Women

I have been reading comments on a blog, and made some replies to the original posting. There is a person who appears to be female who has also commented. As usual, we, the readers make good-natured responses based on the posting and also on comments made by readers. Sometimes readers take offense, and we end up in verbal free-for-all unless the owner of the blog or one of us calls an end.


This time I ended up responding to one commenter who said,

“As soon as a male needs training, he's already out of my book.
As soon as a male claims he wants to be trained, he's trying to top from the bottom
As soon as a woman believes a male needs training, she's wasting her time.
As soon as a female wants to train a male, she's not a femdom in my book.
And then, “Why should i care if a sub (as u call them), wants to please me or not? I crave danger.“”

My comment to her was, “You are destined to be one lonely woman.”

Well, the stuff hit the fan at that point, and she became offensive. After I reflected on the events I posted a comment in an attempt to defuse the situation, “I meant no offense. Let’s just get over it.” Those were not exactly my words, but I don’t want to get too sappy in showing all. After my comment was posted she made more snide remarks of no discernible value. Seeing her response I decided to remove my comment Her response to the removal was, "…removed his ‘peace offer’. Well, how about that! Males. U can't trust them, hehehe.”

At this point I will say this: As much as I love women, I have my limits. When I wrote my “peace offer” I thought that she had some redeeming qualities, and she and I could come to a reasonable relationship of somewhat opposing views. Silly me. No redeeming qualities there. Aside from her grammatically challenged writing and virulent opinion, such as,

“I'm not monogamous.
I'm not married, never will be, nor am i interested in married men.
Few males turn me on. Genuine slaves do.
I share my home with 4 other women, and have sex with all of them.
I believe that men who cheat on their women, should be put up for castration.
The concept of superiority/inferiority was removed from my life a long time ago, and is alien to me.
Femdom shouldn't find its roots in patriarchal cultures, or be based on male fantasies.
The assumption u could, for whatever reason, eat me for breakfast, could leave u with a major food poisoning.“

I think that she will indeed end up as a very lonely woman. She imparts no love or care, and expects explicit slaves. As I said to another such woman, “good luck”. It may work for a while, but wait until you run out of funds, youth, and stupid slaves.

I don’t think she has enough to give for someone to care. The one-dimensional male that she wants in her life is like a slice through reality: there is nothing there. She will wish that she had had the wisdom to give some all along. But by then it will be too late.

Female Superior Position

God, I love to serve a woman. In my case it is my wife. She is a deserving person of my love, admiration, and servitude. I also love to serve other women. I love them just because they are female, and feel protective and supportive toward them. I also have the hots for them, but that is not to be satisfied. At the same time I admit that my devotion to females is not universal. Each such person must be worthy of my attention. That is what separates me from wimps, would-be-slaves, and useless creatures who claim to be sub human.

There is a blog by John. He posts provocative ideas. We don't know whether he is in his seventies with a fertile imagination and no cock, or a young man who has no real personality. His blog is all based on rhetoric without evidence of reality. I have been following it, and tried to remain supportive, but it has been a challenge. In the last one Female Superior Position he asks questions, such as, “Who should be on top, and whether a submissive male should be allowed intercourse.” Ok, they are just questions, so I should not get riled. But even questions can be inappropriate. It is his blog, and there were many people responding including me. But that is the reason for my post this time. By his questions he drew people into a discussion that is so broad that any of the specific topics could not be covered in satisfaction: responses ranged from here to infinity.

My assessment of his blog is that he is a frustrated male in his forties who has no access to what he really needs: a strong woman to whip his ass. He advocates female supremacy, which is the opposite of male supremacy. If I interpret his writing correctly, he is willing to submit to anything as long as it is female. By his assumption a female cannot be wrong, misguided, stupid, idiotic, or psychotic. Therefore, females should be in charge of everything, and males should be serving all who need serving. Males should be subjugated, mistreated, kept in mental and physical bondage by all females.

If you have read my posts, you will understand that I have a real problem with this interpretation. I have gone through wars and revolutions to depose tyranny. Female supremacy is tyranny, just as male supremacy is. In a fantasy world one can submit to slavery, but we are in a real world, and slavery is not one to prescribe to all of us by some schmuck who thinks it is cool. I will say again, female supremacy is as bad as male supremacy.

A person, regardless of gender, should rise to his intellectual level in life. He should not be prevented from excelling in any field that is constructive and helpful to the species. I may have prejudices based on experience, but I truly believe in allowing the member of any race or gender to attain what they are capable of attaining. If they succeed, fine. If they fail, hey, they are just like the rest of us.

This idea of supremacy based on being female is just crap. It is created in the fertile imagination of some who like to rattle our chains but have nothing to offer. I am a firm supporter of women’s rights. The whole idea should not be an issue. Women are human, and must have human rights no less, and no more than men have. As for who is in charge, let the best person be.

When it comes to partners in life, anything goes as long as you don’t try to impose your silly rules on others. I might like your lifestyle, and would try to copy it, but I don’t feel compelled to follow it.

She Remembered Me

For a couple of days now she has been hinting that I should be rewarded for my good service. I usually don’t say anything because I don’t want to agree or disagree with her. She can decide on her own.

Yesterday afternoon she sent me to town to buy some grass-fed no-hormone ground beef for her barbecued hamburger. I went out, and braved the damned winter visitors in the isles of the store, in the parking lots, and on the highway. After returning I took care of some chores, did another bout of weight lifting, and then settled down to do some writing. As the evening progressed she let me know that the hamburger was ready to be torched. I dropped everything (my stuff, that is) and lit up the barbecue. With our canine beasts helping me I was done with the meat in about half an hour. By then she had all else prepared for the feast. We had an enjoyable meal. After that I cleaned up the dishes, trash, etc., and went back to my writing.

She summoned me to the bedroom where she was laying out some ropes that were already attached to the four corners our playground. She told me to shower. I did, and then shaved. When I came out of the bathroom she pointed to the bed where I should lie down. Not being too dense I figured that she wanted me on my back. I complied. She proceeded to attach ropes to my extremities, and then pulled one of her sexy panties over my head that obscured my vision. She dropped a CD into the player, and left.

The music playing was one of our favorites, so for a while I lay there enjoying it. The problem began when I had a hint of a sinful thought, and my Little Guy did his thing. Sort of like in the crappy old TV show, The Incredible Hulk. The only difference here was that, whereas the Hulk would split out of his clothes due to the increase of size, the Little Guy tried, but was unable to do so. That evil Kali’s Teeth Bracelet that MW had me put on that morning was unyielding. The consequence was a lot of bulging of cock on both sides of the rows of shark teeth. At first I became aware of the slight pain. As time progressed, maybe an hour into the session the CD expired. I hoped that MW would come and rescue us.

She came, replaced the CD with another favorite, and then left. And so began my second hour of torture. I tried every thought to help diminish the bulges around the device. None worked. For the next hour I dealt with the pain. In a way it did get my mind off being cold, thirsty, and needing to go to the bathroom. The pain was the center of my attention.

I was counting the tracks as they played. Toward the end of the CD’s repertoire MW returned. Upon my hearing her steps I pleaded wit her to release The Big Guy. Using some cutting instruments she managed to release him while causing more pain with the process. I had so much pain in the area that I could not tell when the bracelet was off. It was only after she began to massage the Big Guy with some lotion that I realized the freedom given to us. My thinking quickly adapted from pain to pleasure, then back again when she applied tight clamps to my tits. Actually, I wished she would do so even before it happened. My tits are part of my pleasure-pain mechanism that works on my mind.

She continued with the Big Guy and I wished that she would sit on my face. I guess she did not want to overwhelm me with pleasure, so my lips remained unoccupied. After that it did not take long for me to blow my stuff all over my chest. She did not say anything, but released my hands and ankles one by one. She left me lying on my back.

“I assume that you are done with me?” I said after a while.

“What do you think?” she answered. “You may want to shower.”

I did. The hot water on my poor abused cock was painful. In a way it was another gift from her. By the time I returned she had a tray of tea, cake, and fruit for me. Isn’t she great?

Idiots Are Still In Charge

If you fly commercial airlines you can feel safe because everybody is thoroughly checked before boarding a flight. That includes the pilot, copilot, and little old broads in wheelchairs to make sure that they don’t carry bazookas between their legs, etc.

Of course, that does not cover the real danger. The maniac in this case was allowed to board a flight even though he fit the exact profile of a would be terrorist: young male, features shared with all know terrorists so far (Arabic or Middle Eastern), carrying no luggage, buying a one-way ticket with cash, encased in explosive underwear. Oh yeah, there were other things known about him, but in order to be politically correct, nothing was done.

The head of the US Homeland Insecurity is Janet Napolitano. She dumped the Arizona governorship to accept this position offered by Obama. In a statement to CNN referring to this incident she said, "… the system worked." Can anyone tell me what part of what system worked?

Napolitano is in charge, but she is either a puppet or an idiot. We should fire her and the whole bunch that she oversees and contract homeland security to somebody like Blackwater. We would save what we now waste on salaries of bureaucrats and the workers who are, by policy, not allowed to act with common sense. We would not be violated every time we fly, and they would catch the murdering bastards before they board a plane. Of course, our current administration would try the would-be terrorists in civilian courts and let them off on technicalities, but at least the fanatics would be out of business in the mean time. It seems that we have more to fear from our politicians and appointed bureaucrats who make this policy than from the fanatics who want to kill us.

Unforgiven

The Gift That Is Not Given


Some of you continue living in Neverland. For the nonce it is good. You can convince yourselves that it is real and that it will never change. She has taken charge of your sexual needs and does or does not do what you really want. You keep going serving her while you get some bits of gratitude here and there, and you are happy with it. I have been there. For all I know, I am still there. But there is a problem that is not part of the sexual gratification of a female led relationship. It has to do with deeper commitments and pseudo-obligations.

I grew up loving Christmas. It is a Christian made holiday, and I have no problem with it. The way my family approached it while I was a child was benign. If we had the resources, we gave presents to one another. When resources were scarce we rejoiced in the spirit, and not blamed would-be gift givers.

As my children grew in a slightly different venue, expectations were different. A gift was expected. If not given or received, the would-be giver was in deep shit. That is me.

Now it is years later, and my children don’t expect much from me in the way of things for gifts. But my wife does.

I am not a fucking saint. I don’t claim to be the best husband or the only virile and most ardent lover to MW. Well, I am the only one, as it turns out, but still, I try not to take unearned credit. The thing is, I persevere. I am there for her at all times. I do things for her even when she does not ask. It is my nature to be kind to her and to give her all that she wants and needs. I seldom fail. Even when I am ill I provide her needs. I have never denied her anything that was within my power. Even when I am tired I give her comfort. I always give her love. That is not sex, although I would never withhold sex from her. It is love and kindness. I feel the same about our children and their significant others. I don’t judge their behavior, and I don’t hold a grudge when they do something shitty. I may not like it, but I get over it.

Then there are these holidays when I am expected to give a gift. In our opulent society it is difficult to find a gift that is meaningful. Electronic gadgets are no longer appreciated since they are generally up our assess already. Clothing is a no-gift item, since that too, is so plentiful that one more tee shirt with a message will end up in the charity items the next day. Food is not a gift item anyway, since it is plentiful and wasted already. So I try to think of something that is personal, from me to her, and not one thing that anyone could give her but me. Well, I have had many of those. The problem is that these gifts I have been giving all along during the rest of the year, and come Christmas time, one more just does not count. After all, having given hundreds of such gifts, one more is just un-noticeable, down in the mud. Maybe a diamond would be noticed, but then, I cannot afford one, so here I am. What to give her?

And so goes Christmas, and so I am in deep shit. I still do my thing in serving her, but that is of no importance. It’s the gift that I did not give that counts. The days will go on, and I will keep giving. But the gift that I did not give will be unforgiven. I am tired. I am ready to do away with this kind of Christmas.

A Remarkable Ass

My ass is remarkable. Not that I can actually look at it directly and say in appreciation, “Now, that’s remarkable!” Far from it. For one thing, my neck and head don’t swivel that far. Looking in the mirror is a poor substitute. I have never seen my ass the way another person could. I am not suggesting that I would be turned on by watching my own ass that way. Well, maybe, on the occasions when nothing or nobody is planning to use it I could get enough of an incentive to do some well deserved self-gratification on the other side. But that is not as satisfying as being involved by another who has a need to satisfy, and she knows that I can provide that need. Whoa! This is what gets me going.

MW has a kinky way of looking at my ass. If the said ass does not have a recent pattern of her appreciation, it should; therefore, she wants to make it look proper. This is not the so-called over the knee punishment. This is not recurring discipline that “a man needs”. This is her artistic need to impart patterns onto my vulnerable lily-white cheeks to satisfy her creative needs. My ass must look like it belongs to her, and the best way is for her to do that is to leave her mark.

She has done some carving leaving her permanent mark. It is barely discernible after the several years, but it still shows up during temperature changes. She has tattooed to a very small extent, and it too, is noticeable if you look closely. She has not given up on permanent marks yet. However, her most notable contributions are the ones that linger for a while, and then need to be remarked usually via canes, whips, paddles, etc.

I have posted a number of such occasions. While I receive the marking, it hurts. At that moment I would want it to stop hurting. When it is over, I would not change it for anything. It is a gift from MW, very personal, and somewhat lasting. Some days or weeks later, they are to be renewed for her satisfaction. Her satisfaction is my joy.

Comptuters: You Hate Them, But You Can't Live Without Them

Sea Level

I was meeting relatives for a few days’ stay at a California resort last week. I had a great time. On the way home out of the valley the terrain sloped upward as I headed east. After a half hour on the Interstate highway I encountered a sign, “Sea Level”. That was after I was somewhat above the place where I spent the last few days. I know that the nearby Salton Sea in southern California was formed during one of the floods that occur periodically. The area is generally below sea level, so it makes sense. The unexpected thing about it is that it was before the so-called “man made global warming”, I guess, “woman made global warming” may have been a factor, but then, there were not enough pseudo-scientists then to tout that, so we really don’t know. If we are indeed in a global warming phase, then we should expect that the sea level will rise a couple of inches over the next century, so the resort I visited may have to invest in some sandbags. I suppose the rent for a night’s stay will go up appropriately at that time.

Vexing Problems

I have been using an ancient laptop computer on the few occasions while away from home. It has been sufficient to keep up with my email and instant messaging with MW. On this last trip I ran into its limitations: ran out of swap space for virtual memory on the main drive. Even after doing some well-justified maintenance, the processor was still thrashing, so all activities were slow. In addition, a slow wireless connection and internet supplier made it a frustrating experience. I love a challenge, but this one had no solution. I concluded that I needed a more recently made laptop computer with larger hard drive, more RAM, built-in high speed wireless card, and larger display. I did some research on low-end laptops, and found some that would work as a replacement. Alas, none come with the choice of my operating system.

What There Is …

I am a Windows type user. I have used a MAC on and off, and I can tolerate it for specialties, such as graphics. However, for general use, I prefer Windows. In the last decade or so since Microsoft introduced Windows XP I have grown used to its quirks and foibles, and lived with it. Every few months the gigabytes of updates and security patches are added to its existing repertoire, and all is well for a while. It is not perfect, but unless one is into Unix and derivatives, there is no alternative. Sure, Vista was introduced with fanfare a scant few years ago. After reading the specifications, and comparing to XP, I realized that only the starry-eyed media fan would be impressed by it, so I dismissed it. Now, it appears that I was right. Microsoft supplanted Vista with still another improvement, this time over Vista as opposed to good old reliable XP: Windows 7. Here we go again.

I hoped that this time they had come up with real improvement. Alas, the only improvement so far is the “improvement over the improvement” introduced in the now essentially defunct Vista. That means, no real gain. The few gimmicks that they have introduced in this (essentially Beta version) are not worth the effort or expense to try to install it. Not only that, but you would likely need a more powerful machine to accommodate it. Then they have the 64-bit version option, which will just run up the bill without obvious benefit at this time when compared to a plain old 32-bit machine still running XP.

I would not be going to all this trouble to disparage Microsoft’s attempt to make a former OS obsolete so that they can cash in on the gullibility of the less informed buyer. But I have a problem. The new computers that I found for a reasonable price have either Vista or Windows 7 installed. I will definitely not buy one with Vista, because it is on its way out even before XP is abandoned. I don’t want Windows 7 at least in its current state of development, sometimes stupidly called, "state of the art". Since Microsoft relies on the gullible to buy it and report their problems and frustrations, it appears that they have a bunch of willing slaves to do their testing, no D/S reference intended. Applications long stable and designed to run on XP will have problems on Windows 7. Sure, there is an option of running an application in the “XP mode”. Being a realist I know that life is not that simple. For example, I use Norton 360 for a comprehensive security application on several computers under XP. I don’t see installing it and expecting it to do its job in the “XP mode” under Windows 7. If you believe that it will work just fine, I can sell you my ancient laptop: it too works just fine using XP, you will love it. Meanwhile, I may have to look for a reconditioned recent laptop computer that still has XP. You may call me a (realistic) Luddite, but at least what I have works.

What Do You Mean By Being In Charge?

Ancient History

I will take a side trip here to present my past. I married a woman barely of adult age who had absolutely no experience with men or being in charge of anything. Although she was college educated, she was "raised to be a wife". She was not at all dominant, and liked to shirk responsibility. To her, excuses were the way to handle things. This was basically the fault of her parents whose home had a hostile environment to anyone showing resistance.

I, on the other hand, even as a child, was used to being responsible for my own actions, and also to support those who relied on me. My parents taught me that, because all members of my family’s life depended on it. I did not believe in excuses other than, “I couldn’t do it on account of I was dead.”

My bride and I were complete opposites. Given this situation, one might guess that I was in charge in the marriage. You would be right. The problem was, that I did not really want to tell her to do everything. I figured that we each take responsibility for some of the household tasks, and just do them. I would also handle what she absolutely did not want to do, be it dealing with the dogcatcher or the Sheriff. I handled our meager finances, and I worked while going to school.

Under these conditions I was often angry when I had to do shitty things that she could have done, and it took an hour out of my four-hour-a-night sleep. Therefore, I ask you, “Who was in charge?” and if I was, “Did I have to tell her to do every damn thing?” and “Did she do what she was supposed to do as an underling?”

This did not last, of course, she learned, and I began to relax especially after getting my degree, finding a full time job, and getting maybe five hours of sleep a night. However, that did not end there. I still had to manage things otherwise they were not done.

Later on we figured things out, and this thing about who is in charge was no longer an issue: she did what she wanted, I did what was necessary, which is still the way we do it. What became different is that at some point I acknowledged her being in charge of me. She did not need tell me to do anything. I did all I could, and then some. I also loved to serve her. Once in a while she punished me for slacking on some of my assumed duties, and I had no objection. I became temporarily corrected, and life went on.

What we never did was to pretend that either one of us was a dummy who should have no thoughts or rights. It did not occur to either of us to change titles of our possessions to the person in charge. That would have been stupid, and a legal debacle in case one of us died, or in a divorce.

The General View

Most adults have worked for someone who “was in charge”. Some of us have been "in charge”, so we more or less know what that means. Still, I can ask ten people to define what it means to be in charge, and will get ten differing opinions with some overlap. It’s not because of disagreement of the basic understanding. It’s because we each have different expectations of the meaning.

I picked this topic because even though we speak the same language when it comes to FLR we seem to be going off in different directions. Female Led Relationship should have a basically simple definition: “The female is in charge.” But I already messed it up. Now I have to define what it means to be in charge.

With Respect to FLR

I challenge you to write in one concise sentence the meaning of “being in charge”. You can’t do it justice except in general. You need to write more. If you say, “My wife is in charge,” we have only a vague notion of what you mean. Let’s assume that the wife or female partner is in charge, and you, the male partner do what is expected.

• Does she take away your rights in general?
• Does she assume ownership of your community property?
• Does she limit your behavior to the extent that you must ask her to do anything, like using the car to buy groceries?
• Does she make financial decisions and leave you out?
• Does she take away all of your money and give you an allowance of a ridiculously small amount?
• Does she go out with friends of either sex and forbid you to do the same?
• Does she deny you time off?
• Does she discipline and punish you?
• Etc.

All of the ideas covered by these questions have come up in the FLR blogs many times. Most of them are a man’s idea of his partner being in charge, as opposed to the woman's idea of what it takes.

Much of what goes on between couples is stylized role-play, although in some cases it is real. As long as they have an understanding of the basics of the FLR, there is no need for a contract or extreme rules. We each know what we are expected to do, and we do it. She may give you daily or weekly chores, a special list of chores, and set some rules of behavior for you. She may expect personal attention of sorts as part of her position. She does what she wants, but not in vacuum.

My Case

In case you wonder, of the questions above, only the last one applies in our relationship. If I get no acknowledgment for my services, I become testy and belligerent. A discipline session may correct me temporarily, but not on the long run. This relationship must be a give and take on both sides. However, I don’t need for her to be the person who does all the things I asked in the questions above. We do what is proper under the circumstances.

I also don’t need to be told explicitly to do my chores in boring detail unless she has some unusual requests, or unless I consistently do something that is against her expectations. Then I change my method, and she is happy until I mess up something else. The point is, that she delegates her power for me to execute. That includes investments, finances, home projects and repairs, and dealing with the law and occasionally with the vermin. For example, she accepts my leadership in investment and finances. She knows that I have a talent and the discipline to do it right, and that I am honest about it. When I decide something, it is because we have discussed the issue, we both know what is involved, and we agreed on what to do for our common good.

I could benefit from her scrutiny of some of the things that I do. For example, I tend to spend more on wine than I should. If she were to give me a rule to limit it or to stop entirely, and enforce it, it would be difficult, but I would comply.

As much as I love to be sexually dominated, things like my chastity, oral service to her, D/S sessions, and even some more kinky things are not the rule, but the exception. Well, maybe discipline and occasional punishment are the rule, but not in a rigid way.

To me the best part is the sexual domination, but I also get my kicks from discipline, and just doing nice things for her. And yes, the other things too that I have mentioned that I do.

One might say that ours is a vanilla relationship with an occasional kink. I like to think that it is an FLR with no contention and arguments and fights that a vanilla relationship often has, and we used to have. The reason is, that when she is finished telling me what to do, I do it. If her decision ends in undesirable outcome, well, she is in charge, and she is responsible. Of course, I would not follow her order to do something that I knew would hurt us. Other than that, she is the boss. We have not divorced over irreconcilable differences, and it is unlikely that we will. That may speak for our relationship.

Back To The General Case

I did not ask other questions (above) mainly because most would delve into sexually related subjects, and those are not really part of being in charge. They are more of personal preferences in power plays, and not necessarily requisite of FLR. They can certainly be part of FLR, and most men wish it. Then again, most women don’t seem to wish it. They may get some joy out of it on and off, but it does not drive their lives, like it does men’s.

In conclusion I want to offer that a woman being in charge means different things to different people. To me it means, “Having the authority and the power to command” in general. In FLR one needs to say more.

In FLR, occasionally, or for short periods of time she may take on the entire range of dominance. But it is rare, or maybe nonexistent, that she would want to be completely in charge, and have an essentially mindless slave to kick around. See my treatment of one at Owning And Training A Male Slave which is a totally unreal (as in FAKE!) scenario. Other than that, we come up with a balance of who does what to whom, and change it as necessary over time.

I realize that many FLR blogs are interesting because they show an ongoing tension whether benign or malign. Sex play is a great source of such tension. However, being a dominant in a sexual D/S scenario is not the same as being in charge in an FLR. The same goes for doing irresponsible things because one is supposedly in charge and can do it. Being in charge assumes that one has the authority to back up her orders, but she remains responsible for the outcome. That is how it is in real life. Anything else is role-play.

Where Are All Those Dominant Women?

Are There Any Real Dominant Women?


There is a lot of material on the Internet about dominant women. I can’t help but run into it while I am searching for my subject of interest, Female Led Relationships. Much of the material is fantasy, business oriented, or borderline and true pornography. I define pornography for the present purpose as “material that does not try to convey an idea or a message, just simply presents mindless acts of sexual and D/S nature”. All of this can be lumped under “femdom”, although FLR is only a subset of that.

If one were to take a clinical view of the subject, it would be an easy conclusion to say, “Male driven. It’s not what a woman wants, but what a man expects and she provides.” Ok, it’s just an opinion on my part. I can’t prove anything other than offer my feelings and needs, which I will not do to a full extent. However, I can ask some questions, and offer answers on them, based on my not-so-humble opinion.

Female Led Relationship

I have had a couple of those silly polls on my blog for close to a year. The first asks the question whether you as a reader are male, female, or other. Males are 81 percent, females are 13 percent, and the rest are undecided or wise guys.

Think about that: male readers outnumber female readers 6:1, assuming the responses are honest and accurate. That implies six times as many males are interested in femdom than do females in general. I Don’t think that all the people were stricitly looking for FLR when they found my blog, which is why I used “femdom” in my conclusion.

The second poll asks, “Who initiated the Female Lead Relationship in your life?” Males 29 percent, females 16 percent. The rest are split between those who are not in FLR and those who don’t wish to be in one. This is another reason why I think that my blog shows up under “femdom” more often than under FLR. Only 45 percent of the respondents were into FLR in specific.

There are different ways to play with these statistics. One is, of the females who are interested enough to read about this (13 percent of readers), only 16 percent initiated FLR. This gives us 2 percent of the female population who is interested in and initiated FLR. I admit that the survey was not what I would call scientific, just based on the people who are willing to read this drivel admit to it. Still, 2 percent is small. This indicator seems to go against the feminist and female supremacist theories and advocacy that appears to be overtaking civilization.

I think that most women are comfortable with not having to make so many explicit decisions, taking charge, and being held responsible for the results. They would rather leave it to their men, and just work from behind. That does not mean that they are not mostly in charge, just that they don’t admit to it. Very few women wear the tee shirt in public with the message, “I have the pussy, so I make the rules,” but we all know it is true. It is subterfuge, working under the radar, manipulating from behind the lines. How can they lose? Of course, they can’t take credit openly for being in charge, such as being leaders, being “Goddesses” etc.

There are those few who can, and are quite vocal about it, such as pro-dommes and active feminists. But we really don’t know how they are in their private lives. Maybe they, at least some times, like to find a man who takes charge and makes them feel like a helpless woman. Even the women who are really in charge, such as Corporate executives, business owners, judges, etc., don’t necessarily go home and spank their husbands for not having dinner ready. In fact, I believe that they would rather be pampered and made love to as opposed to running the household.

The 2 percent of women mentioned above are the actual leaders, the true advocates of FLR. They appear to thrive on the power, the details, and the results. The others who are interested do it for the advantage it offers them, not for the dominance or the thrill of the leadership and responsibility. They compromise.

D/S by Femdom

I have seen the typical D/S Femdom pornography. There are a number of themes: whipping, spanking, humiliation, CBT, trampling, face sitting, forced masturbation, etc. I don’t even want to mention some of the less savory fetishes. Once you see a few seconds of one of these, you have seen them all. Some you don’t want to see again or even in the first place.

“What have all these in common?”

“Is it that women want to put on fetish costume, i.e. ridiculous makeup, rubber suits, harnesses, lace up boots with impossibly high heels, platform shoes from which they could fall an break an ankle?”

“Do they really want to go to all that trouble just to manipulate the male member to orgasm?”

“Do they themselves orgasm while manipulating a man’s needs?”

I don’t think so. All this is strictly catering to some man’s needs. Women do this because they get paid for it somehow: pro-domme, actress, or a wife who goes with it because of a number of reasons: hubby pays the bills, he does extra chores in exchange for the thrill, and, as kinky as he is, the next husband could be even worse. It’s still a man’s fantasy coming true from time to time.

The 2 percent of the women who initiated FLR may actually enjoy D/S by Femdom, and do it for just the fun of it. I would love to meet them. But there may be as many, or more, who enjoy D/S where they are the submissives. I did not ask that in the poll.

The Goddess Syndrome

There are several definitions of “God”. Some are frivolous, others are ridiculous. For example,

1 the supreme or ultimate reality: as (a) : the Being perfect in power, wisdom, and goodness who is worshipped as creator and ruler of the universe (b) Christian Science : the incorporeal divine Principle ruling over all as eternal Spirit : infinite Mind


2 a being or object believed to have more than natural attributes and powers and to require human worship; specifically : one controlling a particular aspect or part of reality


3 a person or thing of supreme value


4 a powerful ruler

I don’t frequent male dominant things, so I don’t have anything to cite here. I assume that some male would claim to be “God”. I would also assume that he is just some schmuck too full of himself.

The dictionary definition of a Goddess is a female god. But which god are we assuming?

“Requiring human worship…” Give me a break! Any so-called human who worships another human is an idiot.

"A powerful ruler", yes, he or she could make a decision of life or death of a subject. But that is not the same as creating life. This is not godliness, just taking advantage of a position. Anyone can take a life, but no one can give it.

That leaves me with my definition as, “A being who has powers to create things and situations from nothing”. That could be god or goddess, not some human created in the mind of a submissive person.

I may, and do, look at a woman with great respect and admiration when warranted. However, at no time, place, or circumstance would I claim, accept, or imply that she is a Goddess. She is human, just like some of us. She may be smarter or more intelligent. She may be more beautiful or sexy. She may be younger and more capable. But at the end, she is a mortal human just like us. She gets old and no longer coveted by the young shallow schmucks. That is not a godly attribute.

The lofty title of “Goddess” is nothing more than a title. I am willing to serve a woman for the rest of my life. Actually, I am doing that now. She does not claim to be god or goddess except in jest. I would not believe it if she did. She has no more powers than I do except her power over me. But that is human, not godly.

So, when I encounter a self-proclaimed "Goddess", or one who has the title bestowed by insipid underlings, I am a little annoyed with the impudence of it.

Approaching Critical Mess

I ran across this on the Internet:

The recent hurricane and gasoline issues helped prove existence of a new element. In early October [2005] a major research institution announced discovery of the heaviest element yet known to science. The new element has been named "Government."

Governmentium (Gv) has one neutron, 25 assistant neutrons, 88 deputy neutrons, and 198 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 312.

These 312 particles are held together by forces called morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of lepton like particles called peons. Since Gv has no electrons, it is inert. However, it can be detected, because it impedes every reaction with which it comes into contact. A minute amount of Gv causes one reaction to take over four days to complete, when it would normally take less than a second!

Gv has a normal half-life of 4 years; it does not decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization in which a portion of the assistant neutrons and deputy neutrons exchange places. In fact, Governmentium's mass will actually increase over time, since each reorganization will cause more morons to become neutrons, forming isodopes.

This characteristic of moron promotion leads some scientists to believe that Gv is formed whenever morons reach a certain quantity in concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as Critical Morass.

When catalyzed with money, Gv becomes Administratium (Am) - an element which radiates just as much energy as Gv since it has half as many peons but twice as many morons.

More Sex. But Not As Most Men Know It

When I walk by her she often grabs something: a tit, a ball, a cock, an ass cheek or whatever is in her reach. Since I am in uniform whenever we are together, it is as easy as reaching for a ripe fruit on a low hanging branch. I could complain, but I won’t for a couple of reasons: she has a right to reach and grab, and I love it when she does it even if it is occasionally painful.

During the last couple of days she has commented on the lack of ownership marks on my cheeks. She hinted that I need to be re-marked just to be sure that if I run into that sort of company, he or she would know that I am owned. I know what all that is about, but I can’t justify responding to her remark in any way that would cause her to accelerate or stop the time scale of her action. Generally I just smile, and she knows how I feel.

Yesterday I think she planned to work on my ass. I figured that, because the riding crop was there as I made the bed in the morning. By evening, we had been up for close to 24 hours already, so after we finished watching a movie she said, “I could re-mark you now, or do it tomorrow.”

I was already half asleep, and thinking that having my ass whipped would get me out of the pleasant drowsy mood, I said, “Tomorrow, if you please.”

Well, today is the “tomorrow” mentioned above. This time she selected her instrument with care and with purpose. Yes, she needs the thrill, but she also wants to leave her mark. She is not cruel or sadistic, but she makes sure that I know my place. She chose a bath brush for the occasion. Its length is 14 inches, and its weight is substantial.

She had me in the bedroom this morning. “Assume the position,” she ordered. I did. “How many?” she wanted me to choose.

“One.”

“Choose again.”

“Two.” I really did not know whether choosing any number over another would make a difference since she would give me whatever she decided was a good number. Hell, I could have chosen 56, and still not know what she had in mind. She began, and continued until twelve. Then when I thought she was done, she whacked my poor ass once again.

She must have been pleased with re result, for she said, “Stay there while I take some pictures.” I did, and she did. About an hour later as I finished some chores and for the first time I had a sore ass she stopped me again to capture another development of the temporary alteration of my anatomy. I am sure all that will look different later, and she will probably preserve that too. Hold your breath until I report on it. Meanwhile there may be other things going on.

Sex. But Not As Most Men Know It

“Well, the wife did something yesterday that she hasn’t done much of in the previous few months… use me for sex. It was very nice, to say the least.”

The above sentence is not original with me. I read it at Latest Talk. If you are interested in a female controlled sex scenario, you should read it. What I found interesting, in addition to its content, is that I could have said that.

MW has been hinting about pleasure, which usually means her pleasure. But I find it impossible to separate her pleasure from mine, unless mine is all pain. But even then there is some pleasure associated with it, so I will take the pain that she so generously gives me any time.

It was in the evening. I was reading a Scarpetta novel in bed while waiting for her to finish her shower. She returned with a comment, “That crazy cat opened the bathroom door and let all the heat out.” With winter here, we do have some cold evenings when a portable heater in the bathroom is a welcome addition. That screwy cat has learned to open doors from either direction. She does that just to be on the other side, whichever side that might be. To keep her from doing that, we usually have to lock the door as opposed to just allow it to latch as we close it.

MW sat reclining on the bed, which was my cue to apply lotion to her feet. “Do it only in places that you don’t want to suck and nibble,” she said. We both know that I will do anything she wants, but I don’t prefer the taste of hand lotion. I was tempted to be a wise guy and skip the lotion, but I knew that would not be really wise, so I treated her feet to the lubricious liquid. After I sat on the other side of the bed she lay down and rolled diagonally across the huge bed. With her back side up, I had my second cue to go to work on the massage. I was at it for about ten minutes, when she said, “I would feel much better if you had tit clamps on.”

Offhand I don’t see how anybody could feel better if my tits ended up between nasty little clamps, but maybe some of the people that I have pissed off over the years would enjoy my pain for vengeance.

The photo was not taken last night during this wife led sexual scenario (it is from about a year ago), but the result was similar. I fetched the clamps and handed them to her. She in turn applied them to the appropriate male tits with the commensurate pain that followed. My already hard little guy kicked into gear and was way ahead of me as a result. I went back to work on the painful massage of MW.

We came to a point in this process when she decided that we must accelerate the scenario. I, personally, would have been willing to start with the ultimate titillation, but as you know, women are different. They like to be built up to the ultimate in slow stages. So, she turned over her luscious body to challenge me with another set of curves. Now her front side was up, and my tits began to numb enough so that I could concentrate on the work ahead.

I seldom can tell how well I am doing except by having my ass whacked when I do it wrong. It is kind of like driving a car forward by looking at where you have been. This time there was a clear indication: she parted her thighs. Some men would take that as an invitation, which I did. But an invitation to what? We have done all this before, so I knew that the invitation was for my tongue. “Sorry, little guy, some other time for you.”

What was left opened my mind to the ultimate pleasure: giving her what she wants with my tongue. This sort of activity had been related in prose, verse, and videos, so I doubt that I could add much. Sure, I could use flowery phrases and inventive description which are the fodder of romance novels. Maybe some day I will do that. But for now I played her like a professional plays a fine musical instrument. At some point my fingers were involved, and then later my head was nearly pinched off as she completed her throes of passion. Her scent and flavor were all over my face. As she continued with her repeated orgasms she pressed her thigh against one of the tit clamps on me. She knew she was causing me pain from the sounds I made. As if that was not enough, she pulled the chain on the other nipple to add to my sweet suffering. With her other hand she grabbed the boys and pulled hard. I had a hard time coordinating the various pains and pleasures, but I managed. She finally pushed me away. After a few seconds I offered, “Should I leave you with the girls? I wouldn’t mind.”

With the clamps still on my tits I waited for her answer. I think that she was done for the night. A few minutes later she pulled off the clamps and allowed me to return to normalcy.

Thus ends another night in Paradise. I could live with this!

Straight Shooter

Many years ago I used to commute to an adjacent town with a coworker. We were about the same age, about thirty. He had a brand new Toyota truck. We shared a ride. He drove his truck to the limit, and I hung on, being belted in place with my feet on the dash. I think that he tried to compensate for his affliction of arthritis. He already walked with a limp. Regrettably I lost touch with him as we each moved on to other jobs.


I remember this because now I am beginning to face a problem somewhat similar to what he had to endure although on a lesser scale. I am right-handed; therefore, my gun is on the right hip. It is a matter of preference. When qualifying, and re-qualifying for the permit I use the right hand primarily, but I am also tested with the left. I guess, if I did not have a left hand, I might have a problem with that.

In law enforcement the political powers need to make sure that we have our shit together. That means, shooting straight and proper when the situation warrants. I have satisfied all that as time went on. Still, I am beginning to have a problem with my right hand. That is bad, for my right hand is my gun hand. Which brings me back to my erstwhile associate with the arthritic hip. It is now many years later, and it appears to be my time.

I have a deeper appreciation of his problem now. I have lived many years without this problem, but now have come to the realization of how these happen to us. I wish that I could go back in time to tell my former associate that I was an ingrate, and did not really realize his plight. Alas, even if he is still there, I cannot do so. I just feel bad about it.

Then there is my gun hand. I am thinking of switching my holster to the left. My left hand is as good as ever, except it may not be as fast as the right. With some practice it should be all right. I just make sure that when I react I will do so with left, instead of right. As far as the aim is concerned, it is straight with either hand.

She Is Playing Again

The Day Before Thanksgiving

She had hinted about things that were definitely sexual. I pretend to ignore them only because if I make an issue of it, and she does not deliver, then she feels guilty. This way she can rationalize that she did not really mean to do it at any specific time, so she is in the clear. It appeared that these things remained on her mind. In the evening as we were about to settle in to watch a movie she said, “Assume the position.” Being the good husband I leaned over the edge of the bed face down thereby presenting my bare ass to her.


I did not expect what she gave me, for in my limited intellect I had not done anything to warrant it. Nevertheless, she used a heavy paddle to have her way with my skinny butt. She is seldom severe, and this time, too, she stopped at two-dozen whacks of a medium nature. I was happy when she stopped. I was also happy with the attention, so I said, “Thank you Mistress.” Later on she checked the results, and commented on my rosy cheeks.

The next day I was at home doing some chores. After I came back into the house I got into my uniform when she ordered me, “Put on the CB2000. I like the looks of the CB3000, but your little guy is easier to keep clean in the 2000.”

It’s nice of her to be concerned. I put on the device and settled in to pay some bills.

She was not doing a full dinner this time; instead, we were going to have a feast at our son’s house. She prepared some “with-its” that were were to take along. I am her chauffeur, so as usual, I had to take the car out to the front yard in anticipation of the trip. After returning she said, “Switch the CB to the Kali.”

She does this because she seldom lets me go out wearing hard devices. A few times I did while I was on patrol, and felt very apprehensive. Wearing the Kali’s teeth bracelet is less obtrusive, but more insidious: it bites. I had it on only once while on patrol, and later explained to her that it won’t happen again. Imagine my getting out of a patrol car and trying to re-arrange the little guy to avoid the bite while I am approaching a driver just stopped for a traffic violation. It just was not professional.

Since we were on a holiday this time, that was not an issue, and she insisted that I am to receive the benefit of her stand-in. I chose the largest pair of pants I had to avoid the inevitable tightness and resulting discomfort as I drove us to our destination about 45 minutes away. I managed to survive the pre-dinner drinks, the dinner, and the subsequent conversations without indicating that my private parts were suffering. I must have been fidgeting a lot well into the evening, for MW decided that it was time to leave. Hallelujah!

On the way home she asked, “How are your sweet cheeks?”

“They are fine, thank you.”

“Not even tender?”

“No.”

“I guess I haven’t given you enough then.”

“I think it’s not just the quantity, but also the quality that may produce the effect,” I added in a wise guy like fashion that I later regretted.

After returning home I got into my uniform, which alleviated the confinement-induced pain of the little guy. Later on, before we went to bed, she said, “Let’s fix the quality of these spanks. Assume the position.”

I leaned over the bed as requested and waited for the pain. I did not have to wait long. She really put some force into it that time. I could not help but yelp. She is very kind, so she stopped after four good wallops with the heavy paddle.

I tried to go to sleep as she left for the living room to watch a movie. I knew that my sleep would be impossible with Kali still in place, but I knew better than to ask her to remove it.

She came to bed about two hours later, and asked me about the pain as if she did not know, “How are you doing?”

“I am trying to stay awake so that I don’t get a hard on so that I don’t have extreme pain.”

“Oh, that’s silly. Let’s just take the thing off.”

With her per mission I removed Kali and then thanked her. She paused on each of my tits pinching them in turn. She can cause instant but very sensuous pain that way. When it was over I slept well in a short time.

The Day After

The next day I was involved in some construction project in the morning. She said, “As soon as you quit, I want you to shave and put on the CB3000.”

The work was a pain in the ass, and I was tired enough to quit just before lunch. I shaved the boys, showered, and installed the CB. After presenting the package to her, she had me do some indoor chores, but gave me much of the afternoon off. In the evening she had me work on her legs and feet with a lotion, but nothing extraordinary happened. I was still wearing the device at bedtime. I noticed the ropes attached to the four corners of the bed blatantly displayed. I guessed their purpose, but said nothing. At the time I usually try to go to sleep she had me on my back, and attached a rope to my left ankle and to both wrists. I was not exactly four-pointed, for my right ankle was free, and there was a fair amount of slack in the ropes. Still, I was forced to remain on my back. She left again, and I was on my own. When she returned some hours later she asked, “How are you doing?”

I am not too sure that she was interested in my answer, for she turned over in bed away from me before I answered, “I’m OK.”

Around 2AM she was awake and checked me. She magnanimously released my right wrist from the rope. I asked, “What do I do when I need to get up in the morning?”

“We’ll deal with that then,” she replied.

At this point I could turn onto my left side and curl up in a comfortable position, so I was happy with it.

She was checking me at the time I usually get up. She removed my wrist restraint and told me to release the remaining rope on my left ankle. She again imparted that sensual pain to each of my already tender tits. Her fingers lingered in my pleasurable pain, and then let go. She said, “Go now. And put on the Device of Obedience once you are up.”

I got out of bed and went about my business. When I sat down with a cup of coffee, I installed the device also known as the signaling device. I have posted a picture of it earlier; here it is again behind the CB3000.

Around five she zapped me. I dropped what I was doing and went to see her. After a short discussion I set up her computer, and later made coffee for both of us. She let me remove the signaling device in order to preserve the small batteries on which it runs. The CB stayed on.

I Dislike Fakery

I have read a number of blogs that purported to be real. After a while I realized the ruse, and was willing to leave it alone, no longer being interested. What bothered me, however, was that some of the readers interacted with the so-called author as if they believed all that crap. I have exposed several fake blogs over the last three years. They are all defunct by now, for the authors gave up trying to be real.

Don’t take this wrong. I don’t give a damn what anybody writes: I don’t have to read it. But, as long as they invite my comments, well … you know.

I love fantasy. I do much of it. I love to read novels of fantasy. I even write them. What I dislike is when some upstart assumes that we are stupid enough to believe his stuff to be real.

There are many subjects dealing with sexual content that turn me on. One of them is cuckoldry. I am interested in cuckoldry for various reasons. I don’t want it to be part of my life, but I like to read about it. I like to read posts of those who are involved in it. I like to read novels using it as a theme. I find it an escape from my daily life that does no harm. What I don’t like, however, is anyone writing it as real when it is fake. It takes people of limited intelligence to try to pass off something real. It is a matter of time until someone comes along and challenges the author.

Here is an example of the fakery, and I quote from the blog:

"I remember a dream, a very vivid dream. It was one of those dreams you swear really happened. I was asleep on my bed, and Annie walked in. Although I was sleeping, I could see her. She was naked and beautiful. She said nothing as she climbed on the bed and sat on my face. I felt another presence on the bed. It was Aaron. He was kissing her. Cum flowed from her pussy into my mouth like water from a faucet. Huge, unnatural volumes of it. It tasted good, like real food. I was so hungry, and so happy at the seemingly unlimited supply of it. I remember thinking - in my dream - that it was impossible that she could have this much cum inside her. I hoped she never ran out. I was afraid that she would, and I would still be hungry."

Before I go all the way, I admit that I have not read the whole story. I am on page 13 of 22, so I may have some surprises coming to me. However, having gone this far I have formed conclusions already based on common sense. I will present that here. If you were to read The Real Story you would at first go with it as if it were real, sort of like reading a novel. The guy is a fairly good writer, but he quickly runs into gaps of reasoning, difficulty with sequential presentation, and ultimately, inconsistencies. In the story the participants are at least in their thirties, so we should assume that they have accumulated some wisdom.

Wrong!

I can list some of his bad decisions, but as you read it you can form your own conclusion. The scenario is this: the husband is the only one with a job. His wife has been screwing her boyfriend, and this schmuck of the husband goes along with it. He is responsible for paying all the bills, while the wife and boyfriend screw around and use him as a slave in sexual, monetary, and menial manner.

It is a nice fantasy for a would-be-cuck, but highly unrealistic. The wife is about to divorce him and marry the boyfriend who would move into their house. The boyfriend works, but would quit his job when he moves it. Her “former husband-to-be” is expected to remain in the household to pay the bills, do the housework and be a sex slave to the two of them. Whoa! ‘Tis the fodder of cuckold fantasies!

There is no mention of the future other than sex and slavery. Well, that should be a clue! The man’s job is obviously not one that earns him a lot, otherwise his wife would not want to divorce him. What happens when somebody gets sick or has some sort of accidental injury, or gets sued by avaricious people? Who will pay the bills? Does this schmuck of a husband think of his later years, as in, “will he serve these two useless carcasses until he dies at the age of 85?” Give me a fucking break! None of these asses think of the future. They think nothing of consequences. The scenario may be based on some real things, but it got out of hand early, and is, at page 9, a total fake. Yet he goes on. I regret that some people take it seriously and actually respond to his writing. Oh well, we have all been duped from time to time.

I enjoy reading a nice short story, or a novel. It can be real or fantasy, Fantasy is great as long as it is not purported to be real. Then I have real problem with it.

Wasted Chances

I am a poster boy for fucking up a good thing. I have wasted positions that I could have developed into better situations. Instead of doing that, I flipped them off, as if saying, “Hey, I’ll have dozens of this at my choosing”.


Well, I did have a few, but I have not had dozens. As time went on, I had fewer. Now I am down to what I can call tongue-in-cheek, "no options". Sure, I can still do some things, but not to the extent that were possible within the venue of before. What I mean is, “I fucked up in a big way every time”.

An unbiased observer would say, “That is a sign of being less than bright.” I hate to agree. Adequate, I am, but bright, apparently not. But these thoughts are about wasting options. Options are the multiple-choice of what you can waste if you don’t take them.

This post is not really about wasting options; rather, it is about wasting chances. Chances come once in a while, and you either take them or not. Now, there is where we all have something in common. The spectrum of this covers life in general. I don’t want to write a post the size of “War and Peace”, so I will limit the topic to sex.

“’Whoa!’ you say. Sex? So what else is new?”

To answer, or at least attempt to do so, sex is not new. Sex was here before you and I were conceived. Still, keeping in the spirit of modern comedy, “There are no old jokes, just old people who have heard them all.” For most of us sex is as we experience it, old or new. Then at some point we don’t experience it any more, and the problems begin. The question is “Why”.

You have to think back to the last time you had satisfying sex. What caused it? Did you set off the spark that gave you the thrill? Could you have just simply “not done” the deed and still experience the lustful result later?

Whatever it was, what if it did not happen? It would not have been your last sex thing obviously. The last one would have been before that chance (try to stay with me in this line of curvaceous reasoning). So you would have really missed the last one. In addition, you would also have missed all the others afterward that did not happen.

There is a bottom line: you never know which one is the last until you have no more. Than you think back, and you know.

If you think this post is all about sex you are wrong. I used sex to demonstrate what is on our mind. However, there are other things. There are issues that we avoid because we don’t know how to deal with them. Then, years later, the issues are moot on account of the other person involved is gone or dead. We stay alive and try to deal with the guilt as a result. But there is no resolution, since the other party is not able to participate. You cannot go back and beg forgiveness. As a result we have a festering pot of guilt that never goes away. It is because we waste our chances to do what was right at the time.

Don’t waste your chances. Do whatever is appropriate at the time, but don’t assume that you will have a chance to do it later. You won’t.

Limited Chances

My My Patriotic Friend and I were sharing some music and wine on a Sunday evening. Normally I would have been happy. Not this time. I was depressed. Things have been going wrong. Not in a big way, just not right, and I was expected to pick up the pieces. So I bitched about them,

"I miss doing things with her. You know, personal things that meant a lot to both of us, loaded with sex …” I commented to him.

He remained silent. I guess he figured that my statement did not warrant a response other than a nod. After a prolonged silence that even I determined to be too long under the circumstances, I added, “I just don’t want to hurt her by saying anything that would bring back the guilt. Not that she has anything to be guilty about. Just that, damn, she feels guilty about anything.”

He sipped his wine, and I did the same. The music at low volume went on, not really bolstering my well-being, rather, making me feel less capable of handling what went on.

After a long silence he began, “You’re not there yet, but will be. Wait till you must quit what you love to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you spend much of your life doing something that you love to do, you want to die doing it. Don’t you?”

I had to think about that. I understood his words, but the deeper meaning needed time for me to resolve into understandable quantities. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die doing anything. Yet, I know, that I will die as we all do. His words struck me at my core.

“Why are you telling me this?” His silence following my question began to really annoy me, so I went to get some more wine. Even after I returned he was still silent. I have great respect for him, so I held back from telling him that he was pissing me off.

“What you expect and what you receive will rarely coincide,” he finally continued.

“Oh really, I would never have guessed.”

“Your sarcasm aside, why are you disappointed then?”

“I hope,” I responded in barely more than a whimper.

“Hope is a nice sentiment, but is no more than that.”

I knew that already, but I needed his remark to bop me on the head to remember it.

He continued, “I wake up with memories of situations. I think of them during the day. I don’t miss an hour without wanting to be back there solving other people’s problems. I was on a constant high. I feel that my life is over because I am handicapped this way. I know it would come to an end, but not this way. I don’t expect people to understand. Maybe you do.”

“I understand. I am almost there. I just did not realize it,” I said with compassion.

My friend is still active, but he retired from law enforcement a few years ago. He knows more about right, wrong, guilt, compassion and bravery than I will ever know. He has helped more people than those who deserved it. But his time had come to reflect on it rather than continue. In that respect my current problems seem small. I still have a chance. His are limited.