The Dictionary, Page Fourteen

Claiming, for the fourteenth word in my dictionary of submission, is one of those words that necessarily involves two people.  Words like "discipline" or "chastity" or "service" do not necessarily require someone other than me to be in the room.  I may perform these words in solitude as part of my lifestyle.  But, the act of claiming -- this is an act that requires two people:  the one who declares and the one who is now possessed.

To celebrate, I sport Lola's Tangos in their two-fold enormity, nearly breaking my back from how pendulous and full they feel.  (They are as large as my head, and they could be larger still if I choose!  Unreal.)  The large-breasted phenomenon that sweeps through Second Life right now is hilarious to me.  But I digress.

I remember the anticlimactic declaration of an RP official who said that, after long and arduous negotiation so many years ago, Tasdron could indeed claim me and I could now officially consider myself his.  I remember the ceremony of the brand that almost could not be, all because of more RP shenanigans.  I remember the "going home" with him and the special rituals, the idea of ritual that would come to characterize the flavour of our interaction henceforth.  I remember, outside of RP, a companionship ceremony that we conducted for ourselves in the privacy of his own land, under a flowering tree at the mouth of a cave.  And another, in the dark, as we stood upon stones in a sparring arena, equals in each other's gaze.   I remember a long, long absence ended by a sudden return, and Tasdron reclaimed me in a house I kept just in case of such an incident.  And then a long, long absence after which the bell tower came into sight.

Once, I wrote that it mattered not whether "he knew" I submitted to him.  The very fact of my submission was in my mind, after all, and even if he had no idea, I could submit to my own heart's content and behave in such a way that demonstrated my submission -- whether or not he accepted it.  In this way, it is similar to O in the Chateau:  the men try and try to enslave her, but she repeatedly declares her submission to their will.  It doesn't matter what others think, in other words: my own demonstration and my own behaviour define me.  Just as O is submissive and not a slave by her very declaration of submission, so am I, even in my own mind, even during the vast emptiness between "claimings."

But, when the time comes for him to make his claim, then something even more meaningful happens.  I am not just me alone in my own imagination: I am now me, alive and real, in his also.  And his mastery is not my imagination: it becomes more and more real just as my submission becomes more and more dynamic.  That declaration -- like a wedding vow or a sworn vendetta -- is one of the few remaining utterances with the power to change a person's state.  So few words remain in language that will physically and permanently alter a person's state:  "I submit," and conversely, "I claim you" are words that hold such power -- almost as magic transformation.

I now return to my svelte and lean silhouette, putting the tangos away.  (The sexually-charged world astonishes me, honestly.  Sex sex sex.  Tango tango tango.)

The Dictionary, Page Twelve

Capture, now what was I thinking?  Capture, of all things.  The dictionary of my submission -- the words meaningful to me as I relate to my Tasdron:  capture is word twelve.

Not roleplay, no -- this is not a game.  Not slavery, no --  a slave to my passions, I am not, and I govern my passions with the desire of a saint.  Surely to cupcakes I had something in mind when I blurted the word "capture" for page twelve of the dictionary.

Oh indeed, oh yes.  Oh for the very certainty.  Yes, and I remember precisely why, too.  I remember a day -- early, early in my understanding of this lifestyle -- when brave old Sir Will set me down in a new and unfamiliar sim, greenery everywhere, with some delicate iron chairs and a table for two.  I was honored to hold his attention for the twenty minutes we had for talking and enjoying green nature.  (I am always honored when someone of sublime humanity invites me for a small time to enjoy an idea or two, and I have been very lucky with how many of those people -- people of sublime humanity -- I have been able to meet.)  What we talked about was preserving -- holding time in a bottle, as it were.  How afraid I had become, at that time in the year, of time slipping away and vanishing, and taking everything I love with it.  It was an anxiety easily quelled, in fact, and brave old Sir Will's picture in my photo album proves it.  "Why do you take pictures?" he asked.  "I need to capture and then hold on to moments," I replied.

When I frame it, snap it, save it, and treat it, it is mine for however long I say so.

Memory is unreliable, and dreams are easily influenced.  The taste of the tea at the time of a special moment is a taste I could try with all my might to recapture, tomorrow.  And of course, that taste, that perfect chemistry just so, just right, just there in that moment now gone, that taste is precious and flown.

So I take tea every day, for every moment.  I won't take any chances of missing out.

* * *

What happens, though, when the moments are perfectly collected, and the visuals perfectly captured, and the words and associations catalogued carefully and with pristine attention to every detail worth remembering -- and then the feeling fades... What happens when the chemistry that coordinated all of my feelings of submission suddenly changes, changed as a vial of blood poured into the clear, pure glass of aqua vita changes the look and meaning and value of the intoxicant?

The chemistry that made me crave the pain; the chemistry that made me crave the care; the chemistry that made me crave the naked vulnerability and steadfast rules and limits.  The chemistry that made me open myself to surrendering to another.  How do I recapture that chemistry?  I have gone all vanilla and happy.  There is great love, there.  There is placid, easy conversation.  There is intelligence and connection.  There is beauty and truth.  There is all such goodness but -- what of the chemistry that made me crave the sting of a riding crop?

My submission changes with every new day.  I am no less submissive simply for not craving pain.  I am no less submissive simply for not craving a passionate violence in fantasy.  I am no less submissive. I am simply... chaste in thought, now, as well as in deed.

There is no capturing chemistry as one captures its look.  Chemistry boils and bubbles, forever changing.  The species named "Submissive" does not change with the flowing, floating fury of volatile chemicals always at play.  I'm still me.  I'll be fine.

* * *

And I have valentines chairs to sit in for when you get home, by the way.

The Dictionary, Page Eleven

Rendering is the word that begins the new year.  A joyous 2013 requires a joyous space for contemplation and so I have renovated the contemplation space.  It gets me in the mind-set required for "rendering."  What does that word mean?  It has several meanings, depending on the artistic or engineering or food-manufacturing contexts.

To render is to shade and texture something until it becomes the most "itself" it can possibly be.  It could mean the preserving of slight, tiny details that may otherwise be lost in production, thereby making "itself" the most "itself" it can possibly be.  It could also mean separating the "itself" from the layers of indigestible fat, red herring, white noise, grey smoke, invisible demons, and black thoughts that detract "itself" from its real self.

The relevance, then, to my ongoing journey:  it's a sidewinder, so I will try to clarify this for myself and any others who may someday find it interesting.  In a discussion about "pushing someone's limits" I thought very carefully about all the time during my D/s journey that I have spent trying to defend my personal limits against people who insist on pushing them instead of respecting them as I wish them to be.  As I mentioned to my friend in this discussion, it just feels to me like whenever I state a limit, someone is there to try to bust through it -- as though stating a personal limit were the equivalent of painting a bull's eye target on myself.  "But, pushing limits is how people grow," is the argument against.  And, I disagree.  It is not the only way people grow.  It is not the only way people try new things.  And it is not the concrete, definite, be-all-end-all rule that every Dominant or Master must push a submissive to do things that are uncomfortable.  It's written nowhere that this is "the only way" a D/s relationship may successfully exist and thrive in the world.

"But, you will stagnate and grow bored," is the argument against.  And, again, I disagree.  As I meditate on the idea of rendering, I think about the ways in which pain is removed from me -- not inflicted upon me.  As I meditate upon the idea of the getting-to-know, the sharing of imagination, the conversation and processing of the world together, the ways in which Tasdron gets to know me and offers perspectives that I had not thought of, the ways in which I may speak candidly and freely with him and unburden the sealed vaults of festering secrets or unleash the anxious chirping doves that are eager to fly, all the different ways that he takes care to preserve my essence while carving away the excess noise and sludge...  this process of rendering that takes place time after time, day after day, weeks and months on end... this process of rendering (that he would have me believe is mutual, in fact) is a process that does not involve substituting one pain for another but, rather, involves letting the real person come out.

The real person emerges.  And frankly, that's enough of a challenge for me, because it's been a long time since that's been a reality, and I didn't even realize it before.  This process of rendering requires trust and time and closeness and intimacy and care so that mistakes do not happen, of course, just like pushing limits requires.  But instead of pushing limits of endurance, it's a process of removing unnecessary endurance to free the soul and let experience be that much more gratifying.  And, thank you.  The peace is delightful from where I recline.

The Dictionary, Page Six

Chastity is the next word in the dictionary.  The words of the dictionary I'm working on, incidentally, are found in the "page one" post, but here they are again:  intimacy, connection, submission, worship, chastity, adoration, service, creation, representation, rendering, capture, surrender, claiming, ritual, frame, solid, eternal, earthly, heavenly, sinfully, humility, revelation, giving, taking, ornamental, mastering, skillful, privacy, shield, ourselves, perfection. 

Chastity, for me, is easy.  It's not like it's any hardship and I'm making some huge sacrifice.  The only difficult part is actually saying the word "no," especially if I know it's going to hurt his feelings.  I have no trouble meaning it; and I have no trouble enforcing it.  But that first declaration of "Oh, my submission doesn't involve sex," is a doozy.  Men have, in the past, reacted negatively to my "no."  Sometimes they might try to convince me that I'll never get anywhere in this lifestyle if I don't offer my body.  Sometimes they might try to convince me that I'm topping from the bottom by refusing my body. (Note well:  both of those excuses are false!  Tricks!  Pay no attention!)

My great learning about chastity in this lifestyle:  you're allowed to have the kind of relationship that you want, no matter what anybody else says.  You're allowed!  The proudly-sexual women are happy with themselves and feel good about their choices.  The proudly-chaste women can feel just as good!  And the world keeps turning.  And the lifestyle keeps growing.

This is not new wisdom:  if he can't handle you saying "no" to him, then he's not worth saying "yes" to.  (Nevermind "yes, Sir.") This part of the dictionary is not for Tasdron: this part is for me, the part of the dictionary that represents my power and my thinking, my self-care and my self-love.  This is my personal applause for the power that I have held onto and for the faith I've kept during the time I've been on my own in this world.  I have done well, and I can be proud of my behaviour around men and women (and around the men of other women).

When I sit at my computer and begin my private time of submission for the day, and I begin reviewing what I have learned so far and where it is that I want to go, I think about all that I have to offer in this virtual communication and living. I give a beautiful kind of intimacy.  I give an intensity of care and concern, and I rush to turn wrong things into right things.  I rush to consider feelings. I hurry from my place of waiting to the place of action, of problem-solving.  Sometimes I dive in a little too far, and in my eagerness I might appear abrupt.  But my zeal and eagerness are undaunted until what is wrong is right again.  In short, I am a hell of a companion.  And my house is your house.  And if you have not eaten I will make you eggs and toast and tea.  And if you have not slept I will tell you a story and watch you doze off while I clean up after our meal together.  And while you sleep I will make sure the house is silent (and tidy) for you.  And while you dream in silence I will make sure there is something good to wake up to.  My work is chaste work, and it is hard work, and it is out of love and devotion that I do it.  I submit to this effort and to this kind of pleasing and to this kind of purity of intimacy.

When I think of submission as a picture, I don't think of a man binding my hands behind my back and forcing his cock into my mouth.  That is not submission: that's just kinky sex.

Pain and forgiveness

Forgiveness redux.  The task is not complete.  We did a ritual of red markings upon my body, and that begins a journey I did not anticipate.  The paint has faded but I remember my task, and the pain is changing.  Pain and Paint are words I link, now, and things make sense to me.  I do not know if you intended this link, but it has happened anyway.  Painted pain fading.  At least, changing.

And this book has done things that we will need to talk about, also.  This is the picture in my mind when I imagine the book, and how you will always come for me.

* * *
Inigo could not stop his sudden tears.
"Now you are watching him fall.  Look -- look at him -- watch Domingo die --"
Inigo began sobbing out of all control.
"Tell me what you feel --"
Inigo was barely able to speak the word:  "Pain."
"Yes, right, of course, pain, killing pain.  That is what you should want more than anything, an end to your pain."
"...yes..."
"That pain is with you, every moment of every day?"
"...yes..."
"If you think of ending your pain, you will kill the six-fingered man.  But if you only think of revenge, he will kill you, because he has already taken the thing on earth you treasured most, and he will know that, and when you battle he will say things, he will taunt you, he will talk about your pathetic father and he will laugh at your love for a failure like Domingo, and you will scream in rage and your revenge will take control and you will attack blindly -- and then he will cut you to pieces."

* * *
When I am not imagining love and connection, I imagine ending pain.  But not really.  When I am not imagining love and connection, I imagine changing pain, a transformation.  Another metamorphosis, another pretty butterfly wing emerging.  A different pain.  I imagine feeling something different, something reserved, something never yet experienced.  Putting pain somewhere on my body and letting it feel what it is like to split open and bleed.  And then, deriving pleasure from it.  I would say, a well-earned pleasure.  Time enough.

Not every day.  My submission is not characterized by this.  I am more love than agonizing.  But, for a special treat, the agonizing must flow.

I know now what I must do.  I knew we would figure it out.

To forgive, to absolve, to let go

I'm working on forgiveness.  Like "Jealousy" and like "Shame" it is a very large, very baggy and convoluted idea.  And of course, it involves many people's differing opinions and advice.  When I talk about forgiveness with people, we all seem to have different ideas about what the word really means.  Often people imagine "absolution" or "forgetting" or "letting go" or "re-inventing" or "erasing" when they imagine the process of how they forgive.  But what is it, actually "to forgive"?

The best way for me to look at it is through a Christian lens.  To forgive is to hear a confession of absolute responsibility; to understand without a doubt that the person feels responsible and feels remorse; and then to feel satisfied that the person's sense of responsibility and remorse will prevent any future and similar behaviour.  Forgiveness in that sense takes two people.  The one must confess in a real and meaningful way; and the other must understand that the confession is real.  Which is great if it happens like that.

What if one is required to forgive someone who does not believe he has done anything wrong?  I believe there is no forgiveness in that sense since forgiveness requires two people, but there is the solitary version of it: absolution.  Another Christian term, but applied without any religious fervour.  A person may choose to absolve another human being of any harm he has inflicted, if a person wishes to. That is what Christ does when he offers the other cheek for slapping.  When someone slaps your cheek, offer the other cheek too, he says; don't slap in revenge.  (I'm not really a Christian, thank heavens, so I can slap whoever I want.)

In either case, whether to forgive or to absolve is the tension, the end result is a "letting go," by all accounts.  It is peace.  It is a new level of serenity.  Or, at least, that is my mental picture.  Really, what it means is, if I forgive this person once, I have to keep forgiving this person every day of my life.  Doing it once means I'll definitely have to do it twice, and thrice, ad infinitum.  At least, that is my great fear.

On the other hand, I suppose that it is possible -- it is possible -- that the person in question already self-punishes and self-loathes as a result of past and recent behaviours.  It is possible.  I will never know for sure.  Therefore, it is possible that I do not necessarily need to "keep score" and keep the wound fresh and alive for the rest of my days as an act of "being true to me."  Absolution, private and without fanfare, may be the only solution.  Honestly, the whole situation is simply exhausting... Not like my pretty picture of a dock at sunset and calm water.  My happy, peaceful, forgiving place.  Sometimes I am amazed at how realistic Second Life photography can be.   My second life needs no absolution!  It is such a pretty place!

Proud of Submission

What submission means to me.  I feel proud that I submit my power, sometimes, to a man I love.  When it is good to do so.  When it is time to do so.  Sometimes, because I am submissive, I notice that he is not in the mood to take control.  I watch and I pay attention.  And in those times, I take control, not because I want to, but because it is part of my submission.  I make decisions I would feel more comfortable that he makes.  But he wants them made for him, sometimes.

What submission means to me.  I feel proud that I am observant and watchful.  I feel proud that I pay attention to details.  I feel proud that I observe and keep my eyes wide open (not dulled with drink, not dulled with smoke, not dulled with medications that I do not require, not dulled with over-sated appetites).  I feel proud that, because my eyes are wide open, I can anticipate.  I can predict.  I can have patience sometimes when I might not have had patience, otherwise.

What submission means to me.  It feels as though I wear it openly like a system of restraints, obvious to anybody.  It feels like clothing to me.  It feels like a zipper I cannot reach behind me that someone else zips and unzips for me.  It feels like a thick, chunky, heavy-metal collar with no seam and no clasp: as though it was born there, on me, reminding me constantly who I am.

What submission means to me.  I am part of a club that teaches me, like I teach them, how great it is to feel like our true selves.  Our true selves.  My true self.  I look at other submissives through my camera lens, studying their beauty and self-declaration.  I study their presentation, their decisions about how the world will see them.  I look at them, and I rejoice.  I look at myself, and I rejoice.  We are, truly, our own selves.  (Thanks, E, for letting me take so many pictures of you.  I know your time is precious.)

What submission means to me.  I am not a sexual object.  I am not a tool.  I am not a doormat.  I am not stupid.  I am not gullible (because of my submission).  I am not a slave.  I do not surrender all my power at all times to all people.  I do not accept violence.  I do not accept abuse.  I do not accept other people's anger about not submitting myself to them.  I have never been obligated to.

What submission means to me.  I give a part of myself to one man that I do not give to anybody else -- not a boss, not a police officer, not a judge, not another man, not any woman, not in pretend or in fantasy.  I give a part of myself to one man with which he could do anything he wants, and I give it to him as a surrendered offering, because I would not be me if I did not give this to him.  When I deal with police and judges and bosses, I do not submit to them, and they do not dominate me.  I do what I do because I want to do it.  There is only one king of the castle for me!

Shame, Part Four

There would be no shame without curiosity.  It is not real shame (is it?) if we did not ask for a little bit of it.  Or, more than a little bit.  Curiosity is the beginning of shame.  In the story of Eve with Adam in Paradise, it is curiosity (not defiance) that claims Eve's innocence.  It is not that she wanted to upset God.  It is not that she tried to get Adam in trouble.  It is a very simple motive that changes poor Eve forever after: curiosity.

With curiosity comes temptation.  With temptation comes indulgence.  And, from indulgence derives gratification which, alas, feels so good... or feels terrible.  It depends.  But, in the end, the terrible feeling is shame.

It is the terrible feeling anorexics feel for eating food.  It is the terrible feeling alcoholics feel for drinking whiskey.  It is the terrible feeling pedophiles feel when looking at a child in short pants.  It is the terrible feeling victims of bullies feel when they read the text message that says "Everybody thinks you smell foul."  The shame comes after the eating; after the drinking; after the looking; after the clicking and opening and reading.  The shame comes after the curiosity.

Shame comes from secrets.  The secret is the closet where shame resides, hangs up its hat and coat, settles in.  The secret is the darkness and safety of that closet.  We know where that closet is, what hides inside.  We know, because we shut the door and keep it safe.  We know because we volunteer, in this act of shame-keeping, to give the secret a good home.  Sometimes it is for good, that we keep this secret.  It protects people.  Sometimes it is for worse, that we keep this secret: it hurts people and we are too weak to change it.  Shame relies on this secret, though, however we look at it.  Shame relies on this secret, and relies on our ability to hold that closet door closed.

If we do not keep that door closed, then shame will no longer be private:  shame will become public embarrassment.  Shame will become the object of public scorn, and then guilt blossoms from the garden of soiled embarrassment.  The danger with shame is the imbalance of power, again: shame has the potential to destroy every carefully-balanced arrangement.

Shame, Guilt, and Embarrassment co-exist in this way:  shame is private; embarrassment is public; and guilt is the responsibility of the individual to action, somehow -- rightly or wrongly.

Shame, Part Three

Shame as kink involves a phenomenon that I still find difficult to put into words.  I have a great empathy for the practice, but I do not wish to practice it.  I do, however, understand the incredibly powerful connection that arises when two people engage: shame actually fails without that incredibly powerful connection.  To put it another way, shame is evidence that the connection between two people exists.  (Of course, there are other ways to test and prove the connection.  But, shame is as good a proof as any.)

Even if the players have only just met.  Even if the players do not even know each other's names. Or even if the players have played for fifty years one way and one way only.  "Shame" as a kink is a peculiar kind of connection between two people.  Take, for example, the idea of "insult."

On one hand, if someone I have no connection to, someone I feel completely indifferent to, tells me "You, Anna, are a dog, a low-lying guttersnipe," then I feel more puzzled than anything else.  "I have no idea why you would say such a thing, but I'm not curious to find out.  Goodbye," would be my answer.  In other words, I reject the insult as irrelevant to me.  It does not strike the target.  It does not hit home.  My core is perfectly preserved.

On the other hand, if someone for whom I have great respect, or great longing, or great lust, or great need, or great dependency upon, tells me, "You, Anna, are a dog, a low-lying guttersnipe," then for a moment I actually believe those words.  I admit those words into my core.  Not permanently... but, for a time.  Just to examine them and to see if they are real.

Personally, I do not feel "turned on" by being insulted. I feel emotionally struck when I am insulted by someone I love.  Those words "hit home" with a bulls-eye target if those words come from someone I trust.  Logical or not, I admit those words.  And so it is with shame.  If shame were my kink, I could see how powerful it would feel -- how strong the connection would become in my mind, in my body, in my imagination, in my whole reality -- if the man I worshipped were to look into my eyes and say the words that would make me feel shame.  Or if he were to position my body in the way that would shame me in front of others.  Or if he were to do anything, for that matter.

The connection is the idea.  "Kink" reinforces connection.  Whether it be shame, or cuffs, or dog-collar, or equipment, or words...  Kink reinforces connection.  Shame, like any other part of D/s relationships, requires both parties to participate, both parties to consent.  In fact, consent is half the shame, indeed.

Shame, Part Two

"Kink shame" and "shame as kink" are two different things.  Some people are ashamed of their kinks; and some are turned on as a kink by the idea of shame.

I spent a great deal of my second life (the first time around) dead-ashamed of my kinks.  (I mean, the "G" word.  My first BDSM fantasies were, counter-intuitively, Gorean.  And I'd never even heard of Gor before Second Life, so this was quite an awakening.)  I was not ashamed to live my fantasies of sexual slavery and participate actively -- only ashamed to associate my fantasy self with my real self and to introduce both selves to each other.  Often, it is shame that prevents many people from integrating their first and second lives: the feelings of shame lead to this behaviour of dividing (sometimes with a violence) the two lives.  In extreme cases, it is this shame that prevents the real self from meeting the fantasy self.  Living in the closet is a painful experience: one divides the self and it doesn't feel very good.  I am sure this theory applies to more than just "kink" and Second Life.  I am sure the idea of living in the closet is more common than society would be comfortable admitting.

In my series of interviews around "shame" I met many people who keep a careful array of closets.  Closets for reasons of gender, for reasons of sexual orientation, for reasons of shame and kinks... there are many reasons a person will hide part of oneself from the rest of the world.

I know that in my case, I have struggled in the past with asserting a confident sense of self.  Second Life has really helped me achieve a better (and loveable) sense of self.  I feel more confident saying to people "I need this."  I feel more confident saying to people, "I will not tolerate this."  I know the difference between fantasy and reality: and I know that I do not want one to become the other, but I would like both to have their own special places in my life.  This took quite a bit of time to articulate, finally.  Naturally, I wish that I could go back to the beginning knowing then what I know now.  Knowing that there is no shame (objectively) to wanting and desiring.  Knowing that I have a valid, loveable self that can play nice and contribute fun things.  Knowing that when someone acts like an ass, it's not because of something I did but, rather, that person is quite separately an ass regardless of me.

I'm over my kink-shame in much the same way that I am over my "invalid self" feelings.  I know I have a lot of people to thank for this.  I'm grateful for each and every one of them.

Shame, Part One

The reason why it is so easy to associate "shame" with "submission" (and, therefore, one reason why submissive personalities are often so vulnerable to unexpected bullying) is that the idea of shame depends upon the victimization of one's character -- the lowering of a person's self-esteem and the fragmentation of a person's ego.  It strips away the person's self-pride.  When used as a weapon by a bully (or a dominant personality who also happens to be a bully) the potential for long-term damage is enormous.  The submissive is at risk because this imbalance of power resembles power-exchange (in the same way that Cinderella in her ballroom gown resembles her evil sisters in their ballroom gowns).  A person who does not have the critical thinking skills to see this -- that power imbalance is not the same thing as power exchange -- will not see the damage, or the potential for damage, or even the problem in general.

Shame, I have been researching, results in the erasure of the self.  Shame is what makes us go away.  Shame is what makes us turn away.  Shame is what makes us want to remove, erase, eliminate, sever, bury, camouflage and mask something we believe to be wrong for us personally or as a species.  Shame is the button "go" that releases behaviours we cannot otherwise explain.

Shame emerges from the self, or shame is inflicted by a third party onto the self.  I may accept the gift of shame from another just as another accepts the gift of my submission.  In that case, if I accept his shame, then I accept the consequences of his shame.  It is a condition often expected of a submissive and results in many otherwise-inexplicable punishments (according to my interviews).  And because submission resembles victimization in the same way that Dominance resembles victory to the inexperienced and very vulnerable, too often the new submissive gets the foul end of things.

Domination by bullying; the victimization of character and ego; the perceived judgment of others... there are so many reasons why it is a good idea for a submissive (and a Dom, for the love of God) to take a mentor when first exploring the D/s lifestyle.  In Second Life, it is made so simple to do.

Only Connect

The guiding principle behind E. M. Forster's Howard's End, "Only Connect."  I have attended a discussion today about Shelf-Sitting Submissives, a phenomenon whereby a submissive waits (almost interminably) for her dominant to come back and pay attention to her, requiring the underlying assumptions: a) there is no communication about how and when the Dominant will arrive, b) there is no communication about if the Dominant will arrive, c) there is no communication about what kind of waiting is actually required of the submissive i.e. is the submissive allowed to entertain the company of other dominants (chastely or otherwise), and is the submissive allowed to entertain the company of other submissives (to discuss the ways of the world and the mechanics of the D/s lifestyle from peer-perspectives); and/or d) there is no communication about anything else that is terribly important to the feelings, heart, soul, and well-being of both parties in the D/s relationship.  There is no communication, really, and it makes a person feel really low.  Unimportant.  No longer valued.  Not a priority.  Unloved... depending on the self-esteem of the person to begin with.

Only connect.  I am protected by a Dominant who expects me to communicate.  Regularly.  I am protected by a Dominant who has a set, fixed time that I can reasonably expect to meet him in-world.  I am protected by a Dominant who expects me to transparently live in such a way so that he CAN protect me: he knows where I am; he knows what I wish to learn; he knows when and why I am here; and he WANTS to know.  These expectations make me feel loved.  I am protected by a Dominant who says it is incumbent upon HIM to make sure the lines of communication remain open, and to make sure that I obey his expectations about keeping in communication and keeping honest and keeping the energy flow... keeping the power exchange alive.  It's his responsibility; it's my submission; it is our ongoing relationship.  This requires effort and energy on his part.  This requires time invested on his part.  And time invested on my part.  And this time and investment make me feel wanted, make me feel like I'm important.  He protects me, but here's the crux:  his protection is of my feelings.  My feelings are my most vulnerable part of me, and that's what he protects with his protocol of Domination.  He makes sure my feelings are healthy, fine, wanted, and attended to.  This is how he protects me, and this is what protection means.  Only connect -- it's not a secret to a healthy relationship... it is available to everybody.

Jealousy, Part Four

Jealousy is complicated not only by confusing feelings but also by the impetus to behave in ways unnatural to our own core, golden, untouchable self.  Jealousy (the feeling) is complicated by jealousy (the behaviour).  Often, people do not even examine or admit their jealousy (feeling) but, rather, demonstrate jealousy (behaviour) that they believe to be perfectly natural behaviour such as baking a cake (a little too angrily) or shutting a door (so loudly that the windows shatter).  The jealous man who becomes a little more violent towards the woman he cares for (because it's easy to take out his anger on her; she loves him and she won't fight back) is a classic example, one that was taken for granted back in the North American 20th Century.  (In fact, watching any movies from the 1950s and 1960s and 1970s will demonstrate how women slap men's faces in petulance just as often as men slap women down to the floor in a jealous rage... And there was a time when a man's slap on the face of another man signalled a duel to the death.  Obviously, people solve problems by hitting when the maturation process is stalled).

But what about the jealous woman who does not hit the man she loves?  She feels her jealousy rising: she knows that a woman from his past has resurfaced.  She knows that, in their former relationship, that other woman had no limits to her experimentation process.  She knows that the woman's no-limit ideas about experimentation really turned him on, at the time.  She knows that, being an open-minded man that he is, he might entertain the idea of dining with that woman while she's in town, just to catch up.  She doesn't like that possible scenario, and so she feels like bringing his attention back home.  She puts herself into unfamiliar situations in order to traverse the landscape of the human heart over to where he exists.  She puts herself into unrealistic situations in order to prove that she, too, can experiment.  She puts herself at risk, therefore, straying far from her normal boundaries and behaviour.  She puts herself at risk for his sake, for the sake of keeping him away from the adventurous woman.  It is jealous behaviour.  It is behaviour that arises out of the anxiety over losing him (a fictional worry, of course, since in this case he has no intention of leaving).  It is jealous behaviour arising from jealous motivation.  And it puts herself at risk.

If this woman believes that the Dom she courts still has feelings for an ex-lover, she might find herself involved in a (self-positioned) contest with this invisible ideal -- an ideal that she feels she needs to exceed in order to win his full attention.  "To be as good as, or better than, the other woman," goes the contest.  It's flattering to the Dom to have a girl who tries so hard, obviously.  More to the point, if the Dom can put his ego to one side, it's dangerous if the girl's motivation is not clear.  And, if her motivation isn't clear, and if she's doing something to compromise her safety, then that means her sanity is in question.  She's not behaving like a submissive; she's behaving like a reactionary jealous woman.   And if she's not behaving like a submissive but, rather, a reactionary jealous woman, then can her Dom fully believe in her submission at all?  Or can she, herself?   The reverse also: can a jealous Dom be trusted in his domination if he makes decisions based on jealousy?  Can either Dom or sub conduct a sane relationship without talking about this?

* * *   * * *    * * * 

In other news, I want to call attention to a blog I have just discovered.  Conor's Corner is the name of it, and it is such a pleasure to read.  I enjoy it frequently, the common-sense approach and the great care with explaining ideas that, often, people just take for granted.  This will be another standard entry in my reading list.

Jealousy, Part Two

The fundamental premise of my study of jealousy was that feelings of jealousy contradict feelings of belonging (from a submissive's point of view) and feelings of being the significant voice in the life of a loved one (from a dominant's point of view).  By that I mean to say, the extent to which a person feels like she belongs, or feels like she is the primary influence, is the extent to which a person is not feeling jealous at that moment in time.  Jealousy is defined as an anxiety over the possibility of losing someone (or, from a dominant's perspective, losing someone that we feel a type of ownership over).  The feeling that we will be replaced by someone else, in other words.  The feeling that, even though it hasn't happened (and may never happen), the possibility is undeniably and damnably distracting.

Feelings of jealousy contradict feelings of belonging.  Feelings of jealousy contradict feelings of significance.  Where this leads to is the "imaginary" part of jealousy.  It is an anxiety: if it were a wholesale loss of someone, then the feeling would be properly termed as "grief."  If it were the wholesale deception and adultery proven, then the feeling would be properly termed as "rage."  But it is neither; jealousy exists in the nebulous realm of the imagination, especially if nobody is talking about it.

If jealousy exists in the nebulous realm of the imagination, then it suggests to me a very interesting thing: jealousy also contradicts the three tenets that hold up the D/s lifestyle, those being safety, sanity, and consensual relations.  If the dom or the sub (or the Master or the slave) are in the wrecked throes of a jealous rage, all inside their imagination, it calls "sanity" into question and the mental preparation required to properly command or obey.  It calls "safety" into question and the trust one requires to come face to face with a man with a whip (so to speak).  It calls "consent" into question because, well,  is the person really here and present when she agrees to the scene if she is mentally occupied with sorting out her jealous reactions and stifling her jealous behaviours?  Is her consent valid if she is preoccupied with trying to figure out how to confront you - appropriately -  about her fears and anxieties?  Jealousy begins in the mind, but it ends in behaviour: everyday actions that look like everyday actions (baking, shutting a door) but are, in fact, the body's reaction to what the mind cannot ignore.  The body cries out when the mind is in pain, after all, and the jealous wife who bakes a little more furiously and the jealous husband who slams the door a little too loudly are just begging for some good, heart-to-heart and face-to-face communication of the "please listen" and "please focus on me" variety.

Jealousy, Part One

I've spent so much time working on this assignment, and it's nowhere near finished.  Instalment one will be turned in, though, on Tuesday morning.  It's a lot of information.  I have so many people to thank for helping me accumulate all this good information; but I have Klaudia and Sir Tony to thank for helping me process all this information.  The process has been gorgeous.  The process is as enlightening as the subject matter.  I feel the caring; and as I get to the source, I feel it even more.  So, besides jealousy arising from an anxiety over the possibility of losing someone, regardless of whether it is a feeling, a motivation, or a behaviour all of its own, I have separated nine traits so far that help characterize jealousy when it is in action.  Sometimes the behaviour of jealousy cannot be distinguished from other feelings and other scenarios; sometimes the mask is very clever indeed.  But as I study it, the separation of traits becomes a fascinating study.  And it is a study that I wish to capture in photograph, and so I have been doing so.  The first trait I captured was silence.  Jealousy is a dangerous form of silence.  The picture of a woman with her back turned to the camera, with her body language and not her words declaring, "I will not tell you why I am angry."  This is the biggest dilemma because, ultimately, communication will be the antidote to feelings of jealousy: and so, to withhold communication is to pour fuel into the already-blazing flames of jealousy.  She turns her back and will not say what made her angry; but it was only a tiny little detail.  A very small thing, possibly: the kind of detail that topples geographical boundaries.  But she is in pain and surrounded by shadows; and the wounded retreat to solitude, in nature.

Another trait: loneliness.  It comes from the solitude of retreat, sometimes, but also it is important to realize that jealousy contradicts feelings of belonging.  This contributes to loneliness.  Those who feel as though they belong do not feel the pangs of jealousy.  (Those who feel like they belong in a group, or belong to a special lover, or belong to their one and only... etc.)  And it is tragic to imagine how those who feel the jealousy in the first place are those who are already self-alienated.  The jealous one is already lonely, in other words, regardless of whether she is invited to belong.  The jealous one already does not belong in her own mind, regardless of whether her lovers or her friends claim or disown her.  Persuading her that she belongs is not the antidote to jealous feelings: such persuasion is easily denied and easily proven to be false.  It takes a lot of understanding and a lot of care to figure out that the argument flows deeper -- has a source more profound -- than what is immediately visible.  The antidote to loneliness is not company, and the antidote to jealousy is not persuasion.  The source is darker, more mysterious, and was dug long before the lover looked askance the first time.  The antidote will, eventually, be long, difficult communication, increasing comfort zones and defining clear boundaries concerning acceptable behaviours and tolerable limits.  But it will work for the long term only if ........

I want to take you for granted

I sat back today and considered a few things.  There are words that we speak but people do not understand them.  Or, people put their own spin on them.  Or, people mis-hear them.  Or, people forget that we spoke them.  Or a hundred other ways that people may mis-communicate.  And it occurs to me that a solid relationship is not just about finding someone whose interests match, whose temper matches, whose sense of humour (or sense of the macabre!) matches.  It's also about finding someone who communicates in the same way -- and who understands communication in the same way.  I think about all the different ways a person can understand the term, "to take for granted" and I shudder at all the different ways such a phrase can turn sour.  "To take as granted," or "to feel as though it is simply granted, no waiting, no request," or "to take without asking," or "to assume based on a history of past decisions."  When I think about You, I imagine the sentence as the latter definition.  A history of past decisions, of past consistencies, of past agreements, of past affirmations, of past pleasures, of past anticipations, that history between us makes me take You for granted.  Makes You able to take me for granted.  Willingly.

Something in other news, related only by language:
I read today some passages about erotic humiliation.  No reason; I simply wished to see how the other half lives, I suppose.  It amused me to see, "Require permission to do anything" as listed in the erotic humiliation category.  And then I had to sit back and start considering a few things, which spawned this post.  "Derogatory words like slut and whore" and "use as a piece of furniture" are erotic humiliation just as is "requiring permission to do anything."  Then it exploded like a giant, fiery dawn at the break of day:  so many of the online BDSM attitudes in Second Life involve the erotic humiliation of submissives, whether they wish it or not.  Even beyond BDSM, the Gorean enslavement of women online is predicated upon this theory (i.e a Gorean slave is trained to ask permission for every minute thing, feel comfortable wearing the title "slut" and feel comfortable serving as furniture without the respect due humans-- a sexy enough fantasy with the right practitioners).  No wonder there is such confusion and lack of clarity in the world: people take it for granted that this one way is the established way, never question it or interrogate it or challenge it (because it goes against erotic humiliation for a submissive to exercise a challenge function) and the online community of BDSM continues to be full of libraries that propagate erotic humiliation of submissives -- whether the submissive wants it or not.  It was quite a eureka, this idea of what we take for granted.  What we want to take for granted.  What we do take for granted without even realizing it.  I'm not sure I need to ask permission for every single thing.  And, I'm not sure I need humiliating words like "slut" and "whore" to feel stimulated into arousal.  That's just me, though.  The "place him or her in a cage" part of erotic humiliation most definitely has a place in my vocabulary, under the right circumstances.  And, well, "naked in public" feeds more than a simple desire for display that I am, apparently, cultivating.

Re-mystifying Submission

I experienced something today that drove the point home entirely:  submission is in the mind.  It sounds phoney and insubstantial: but submission is in the mind.  I met a man and we traded a brief private conversation in the middle of a public gathering, and it was enlightening in ways I don't get to feel every day.  He wasn't trying to teach me anything either.  All he did was present me with a conundrum upon which to meditate.   I didn't even particularly understand the conundrum, to be honest.  I felt slightly foolish.  (Hooray for the hanged fool of the tarot!  Once again, I honour thee!)  I understood the picture that came with the conundrum... a bound woman, blindfolded, readied.  I understood the words of the conundrum: imagine a man who knows what to do with such a woman, and who will be unpredictable, and who will be in control, and who (being her dominant) has already established her safety and his sanity.  He's got into my mind and he's making me do things!  The fun isn't lost on me.

"To steepen the learning curve," he said to me, I would have to consider these things.  To consider theoretically, to imagine the conditions, to picture in my mind.  I'm sure all he wanted was for me to acclimatize myself to the possibility of "him", as it were.  It's a nice line.  It's a fun and romantic twist on the meeting of someone new.  "How about it, baby, you and me on a beach far away... picture the possibilities!"  A man could do worse for an opening gambit, especially if he's willing and able to deliver on the temptation.  But nevermind all that:  I have learned something extraordinary.  All of my imagining, all of my steepening, all of my considering, and all of my picturing have fulfilled in one afternoon what legions of men have been unable to accomplish in months of knowing me.  I have chastely, intelligently, experimentally experienced a perfect idea of submission -- a Platonically perfect idea of submission -- in my own mind.  The conundrum:  "How do I make this real?"  And the simple solution:  "It already is."

Demystifying Submission

I never get tired of consulting A Master's Viewpoint by Mr Najee.  Today's point of interest: the process of submission.  At a discussion not so long ago, I listened with interest as a lady posed a question to the Domme who was speaking.  "At what point," she asked, "is it a good idea for me to agree to wear someone's collar?"   This, incidentally, is why I haven't ventured into facilitating discussions of my own... How on earth does a person begin to approach a question like that?   I would have asked more questions until the core question framed itself (or until I beat it into a shape that could be considered meaningfully!), but that might have taken hours.  I'm still not sure what question the journeyer was asking.  "How will I know if he really loves me?"  or, "I'm not sure if I'm submissive, so when is it okay to wear a collar to try to find out?"  or, "Is there a set time, in your fantasy world that I'd like to play in, for people to agree to court before broaching the subject of collars?"  or, "I know that I'm submissive; I am simply not sure if he's dominant. Should I still go through with this?  Is there a safe way out?"   My busy mind hears so many questions embedded in that one vague question, and I'm really not sure which is being asked.  (I was not privy to the answer, either, so I cannot comment further.)

This post talks about what it's like when submission meets its proper domination, and vice versa.  "Finally," Mr. Najee writes, "the couple gets to the point where they decide they are going to be together.  I find that the submission process happens naturally.  There is no one moment in time when she offers it and he accepts it.  Instead, it is something that they move toward on a daily basis (with the occasional moving away from when pitfalls are encountered).  The people involved in the relationship, due to their communication, know what is happening."   For the most part, I dig that passage.  Especially how the submission process happens naturally.  The whole article explains what even vanilla relationships undergo in the process of development and intensifying.  Two people talk a lot.  Two people get to know each other.  Whether or not they have a submissive or a dominant character, their own personalities must mesh first and foremost.   (A submissive won't submit to just any dom.  A dominant won't accept the submission of every single sub that kneels at his feet.  It's impossible.  We have to gel.  We have to fit.  It's not a contest, nor a competition... it's just meeting someone you want to be with, in the quirky kind of structure that you dream of inhabiting, and finding that person wants the same thing.)  When we fit, when we gel, when we have talked so much that we know we just need to keep talking, and keep touching, and keep working for the other, it's a foregone conclusion that the relationship will continue on the forward trajectory.  Submission and domination have happened already because nature wanted it so.

"The answer is to interact like a human being," says our Mr Najee.  It's as if he had heard the question!  But seriously... now that I think about it, that's a good answer to many questions.  "How will I know that he really loves me?"  The answer is to interact like a human being.  "How will I know that my submission is what he's looking for?"  The answer is to interact like a human being.  "How will I know that when I reach out, he will reach for me also?"  The answer is to interact like a human being.  "How will I know that it's alright to trust this person, that he won't try to abuse me or take advantage of me?"  The answer is to interact like a human being.  "How will I know that he is competent enough to dominate me?"  The answer is to interact like a human being.  "How will I know that he has the self-esteem I expect in a dom?"  The answer is to interact like a human being.  "What happens when I am overcome with need and it feels like my need will overpower everything and everybody?"  The answer is to interact like a human being.

"Submission" and "Stupidity"

Submissive doesn't mean stupid.  Unfortunately, it often means "eager to please".  And sometimes "eager to please" means doing things a person wouldn't do otherwise, such as second-guessing oneself.  Or putting oneself in harm's way.  Or surrendering something one wouldn't otherwise.  So, even though the word "submissive" doesn't equate linguistically with "stupid", there is still the possibility that the two may co-exist in the behaviour of a submissive when dealing with a compelling dominant.  And, wow, some dominants are compelling as hell.  They can make you spend money.  They can make you compromise your limits.  They can make you laugh as easily as they can make you cry.  They can make you stretch and fold and bend and snap back into position, depending on how eager you are to please.  Depending on  your level of approval-seeking.  Depending on how much you want to show how submissive you really are.  Because, sometimes it's just so easy to forget how intelligent you are when the strong voice of a compelling dom says, "wear my collar and I'll show you things" when... wait... when did the submission actually take place?  Where was the negotiation of power exchange?  When were limits discussed?  Now you are collared.  It was pretty simple for the dom to achieve.  The rest is cake.

I enjoy a "protected" status (as I've mentioned a few times) as a submissive at Journey to Domination and submission.  Well, the whole truth: protected AND precious.  I bet my sweet ass.  I have not forgotten, Sir Tony!  This status means that I recognize my eager-to-please-ness; that I recognize my not-quite-ready-to-decide-without-some-help-ness; that I recognize I am too vulnerable on my own without a mentor to help guide me in big decisions.  And by "vulnerable" I mean not the good kind.  The good kind is whole, transparent exposure to the eyes of the right dominant.  Whole, transparent exposure to the ears, heart, hands, penis, legs, liver, toys... anything the right dominant uses to enjoy his submissive.  That's good vulnerability.  Bad vulnerability is the feeling of exposure and deception in the presence of the wrong dominant.  The dominant who uses your approval-seeking against you in order to accomplish false or temporary or incomplete mastery.  The dominant who tries to sneak the collar around your neck without negotiating the strings attached, the responsibilities associated, the promises and the pledges.  The dominant who will use you, in other words, instead of helping you grow, and who will not make you a priority in his life that he can talk about openly.

I have been so used, along my journey, and a key learning for me is that I had the power (whether I remembered or not) to get myself out of it, or question it, or interrogate it, or examine it out loud, before it got too bad.  And, I did do these things, actually.  I wish I had done so sooner, but at least I did eventually.  Another key learning in general when in Second Life is that there are folks who will completely disregard what is written in one's profile (even if it's a hard limit)  and they will deliberately flout those boundaries (in the name of healthy pushing which subs must also be mindful of... especially when it comes to core values being broken).  A submissive will have to say, out loud, in no uncertain terms, "No, thank you, I do not wish it."   Unfortunately, a submissive tends to think that, having written it down in her profile, it spares her from having to say the words out loud (because speaking them can be difficult).  When talking to a compelling dom, "no" is not always easy to verbalize.  And unscrupulous doms rely upon its difficulty, for how else would they get what they want?  But it is a very important sentence for a submissive to believe she is entitled to say.  "No, thank you, I do not wish it."  It is incumbent upon the submissive to know she can say it.  A submissive is entitled to say these words, but most of all a submissive is EXPECTED to say these words:  how else can "safe, sane, consensual" be enforced?  MOST ESPECIALLY with a dominant who is not her master, owner, well-known confidant of many years.

Little Submissions

I have stumbled upon a blog that has quickly become my favorite read in all BDSM-dom.  It is called Little Submissions and it is simply genius.  It's a collection of little "shorts" (and some shorter than others); little stories that depict the life and times of a Domme and her submissive.  Normally my interest wanes after but a moment when confronted with stories about submissive men and their Dommes.  But these little vignettes do more than entertain.  These little vignettes burst with ripe juice; they educate; they illuminate; they show the way.  The impact of the learning  makes me shudder with intellectual gratification.  (The writer should be lauded and celebrated.  Regularly.)  They are written so well.  They're great stories.

What has affected me so, about Little Submissions?  The wordplay, first of all.  Getting the words right.  That there is an owner in the world who will do that; who will reinforce the importance of words, whether at play or in all seriousness.  That there is even the idea of getting the words right.   I was thinking about this today because I attended two discussions (in one day!) and both times the frustration of le mot juste compromised some very key feelings.  (Not mine; other people's.)  It struck me, soundly, that there are people in the world who cannot articulate their realities.  There are people in the world who cannot say what they want to say -- or, rather, who want to articulate something but they do not know the word for it.  They don't know that there is a word for what they want, and when they eventually get that right word, their complex feelings that they feel so awkward trying to express will actually become legitimized.  Because they suffer, they do, trying to legitimize feelings that they don't believe they're even entitled to.  When one increases one's vocabulary, one increases one's ability to process one's world.  To legitimize one's feelings.  To stand firmly upon one's principles.  Hell, to articulate one's principles.  Anyway, getting the words right is huge.  I love the word-play in Little Submissions.

What else affected me?  Cause and effect.  The structure; the anticipation; the expectation; the playfulness.  That there is the talk, the banter, the play.  That there is laughter.  That there is learning.  That there is ongoing amazement and joy.  It feels like joy.  I read the back and forth, and I think to myself, "That is how I wish it could be.  That is how I would love for it to be.  But, between me and a man who loves me as much as that woman loves her sub."

What else affected me?  I begin to understand a little more what a dominant personality "gets out of it."  I find it difficult to empathize, and I have been trying to empathize: I have been trying very hard to figure out what it is about domination that tops feel so attracted to and yearn for.  I now see, a little bit more anyway, the subtle celebrations of her personality every time she dominates.  At every intersection of her domination and his pleasured submission.  And there are wonderful, sundry little points of intersection.  Domination is not just one mindset; one job; one state; one long pathway of never-ending sameness.  Domination, when I observe the woman in Little Submissions, entails an enormous garden of endless variety.  It is never boring to tend one single garden for a long, long time.  Every day the garden yields more.  I do not dream of domination; I dream wholly and eagerly of submission.  But I'm beginning to see, now, why You (when someday You come) might want me.  Someday.

Today was a day of eurekas.  And good pictures.  I have entered one or two photography contests.  Someday, maybe You might be proud of my artistic accomplishments, just one of the many petals that bloom for You.