"Zelophilia," "Stigmatophilia," but no "Obedience"

I spent some time looking at the online resource "BDSM for Dummies."  Essentially it is a glossary of terms.  Presumably, by reading the definitions of these terms, one might get a sense of what one desires when entering the realm of BDSM.

It explains a lot, albeit briefly.  Zelophilia is sexual arousal from jealousy, which I never realized is a thing.  (And of course it must be a thing given how much jealous behaviour there is in the world!) And there's Stigmatophilia, which is sexual arousal from body markings -- tats and piercings and such.  These and many other conditions are in the glossary of BDSM terms, and curiously enough, what's missing?  Obedience!

This is one of the most important words in the BDSM lifestyle, is it not?  Obedience.

Consider words like "control," and "domination," and "mastery," and "sadism."  These words would describe illegal, unconstitutional behaviour without the consenting "obedience" from the other side of that relationship.  Mastery without obedience is just, well, abuse.  Obedience is such an important word!

Consider words like "submission," and "safe words," and "hand cuffs," and "hypophilia" (sexual arousal from breath play):  these words would lack the willing participation of a sub without the inherent desire to obey.  Submission, like obedience, can be forced -- yes it is true.  Forced by another word called "duress" and yet another, "coercion."  However, submission without obedience is the difference between "brat" and "beloved."  Submission without obedience is not how I imagine my submission.  And, obedience without submission is like the Story of O -- obeying a chateau full of men one has not submitted to, intimately and wholly.

Still, the word "obedience" is a crucially-important word: it implies choice.  It says that the submissive has chosen (on some level, even if far removed from the present time and place) to give her power away so that others may use it.  People ask, "Where is the submissive's power? I thought Domination took away all the power."  That power, friends, is in the consent.  Is in the obedience.  Is in the day after day obedience.  Is in the repeated vows of submission that, still, to this day, hold true.  That power is in the consent.  Because without that consent, there is no power surrendered.  Without understanding her dedication to obedience, no Master can dominate the mind and soul and heart of a submissive.

The BDSM glossary has lots of arrows pointed towards sexual stimulation.  I suppose it is a common understanding that the BDSM lifestyle is a sexually-charged lifestyle... but I still maintain that for me it is not.  My submission means other things.

 

Collars, Protectors, Mentors, and Learning

I attended a discussion yesterday that was, ostensibly, about collars but which ended up being more a dissection of the "protector" dynamic in Second Life BDSM (and I suppose also a little bit of real life crept in there too).  It is a very good idea to attend discussions when one is new to the D/s lifestyle because, honestly, there is so much that we take for granted and so much that goes unexamined in our lives -- and this is a very safe place to dissect these things and examine them properly in the presence of a variety of other lifestylers, experts, newbies, and seekers.  Discussions are helpful.  What is even more helpful, I find, is that I must (and WANT to) discuss the learnings now with House Sparta so that we share the experience and digest the points raised, together.  Collars are on my mind, lately, and so it was a timely discussion with some interesting points to make.

What surprised me the most is how problematic the idea of a "protector" is to many in the community -- many people whom I do quite admire, moreover.  The idea of a "protector" role that could be manipulated or taken advantage of was not surprising to them.  The idea that people will abuse the role of protector (or even abuse the role of mentor)  was not surprising to them.  The idea that people will abuse the idea of a protection collar and not just the role itself was also no great surprise to anybody (i.e. perhaps the Dominant will not grant the collar but he still wishes the submissive person to submit totally and wholly; or perhaps the Dominant does grant the collar but then completely ignores the responsibilities associated with it; or perhaps the submissive manipulates the Dominant into being able to wear his collar for purposes of false protection, but now she can boast to other people that she wears his collar completely... these kinds of things).  No great surprise.  Happens all the time.  Yikes, I said to myself.  One girl said in the discussion that the protector is someone who will always be available, forever after; but that the NEED for protection does not last forever.  The purpose of protection is to get the girl out into the world on her own two feet, eventually.  The purpose of protection is to set the girl free, eventually.  The purpose is to teach, to guide, to shield, and to nurture.  And I kind of like that ideal.  (And the girl who said it actually has all that, herself, so obviously it is possible!  And I believe that it is what I have, also.)

The idea of mentors was a big hit for everybody: people are getting hip to the benefits.  I am so glad.  The idea of a training collar is "a joke" apparently, and I was grateful to see that I am not the only person who thinks so.  (Why groom a girl in conditioning and repetitive tasks and make her learn all your preferences if you're not going to keep her?  It does not make -- and never has made -- any sense to me.)  The idea of a play-collar was a little bit scary to some folks, like the fashion collar and like the protection collar: it gets abused.  One Dom said something interesting:  putting a collar on a submissive, no matter what kind of 'alternative' collar you call it, will create certain expectations (a collar looks like a collar; the protection collar doesn't look any different from a full collar; and a fashion collar looks identical to the real thing too).  It is something to think about.  But the idea that there are "weaker" collars in the world seems to make other people (who have "real" collars) nervous.  Does the idea of a part-time collar lessen the value of the real collar?  Does the idea of a "bedroom submissive" lessen the value of a total-power-exchange slave?  Would a girl in a house feel like her collar were undervalued if her Dominant gave away his collar freely to many other girls in the world?  These are all questions that come up when we discuss collars.  They all have the same answer, though, as far as I can tell:  discuss it with your Dominant.  In my case, discuss it with House Sparta, because my protector and his submissive Klaudia are two of the smartest people I know.

Jealousy, Part Five

Once, during a discussion about jealousy (one of many hundreds I have had since being given the assignment to explore it and figure it out) Klaudia said to me that she felt a good kind of jealousy, a sweet tingle in her tummy, when she thought about her Master.  I was new to this idea, so naturally I kept my distance: "what do you mean there is a good side to jealousy?" I asked myself, loudly.  I thought the whole point of this exercise was to exorcise.  That jealousy is a demonic invasion plague infestation infection thing.  Akin to the zombiepocalypse.  It goes right for the brains and then leaves you for dead, or that is how I thought about it.  "It is like a predator," I came to understand.  "It is like a bully," was also a familiar refrain.  "It compromises safety and sanity, and therefore consent and submission," is my own conclusion.  "It makes my tummy tingle," says Klaudia, and that just turned everything upside down.

I tried very hard to think of a way to make jealousy come from a place of love.  Jealousy gets a bad rap, naturally, and it's difficult to reverse that trend.  But I realized, as I examined an older picture of my mentor that was still in its raw state, and as I imagined all the things that I would do to digitally manipulate and enhance and "make different" and "make new" this picture of my Genny, that I had said to myself, "My Genny."  And I thought, after that, "My Genny, who looks like only I can make her look, when I take her picture."  And then I realized, "Only I see this Genny, my Genny."   When I take the picture and when I show it on display, sure, other people can observe "My Genny" but... only I saw her.  Only I captured her, treated her, polished her, and made her shine like only My Genny can.  And when I look through that lens to shoot My Genny, I do so out of love.  It's a jealousy that comes from Love.  My mentor inspires this.  And Klaudia's tummy-tingles confirm this: it is possible to feel a GOOD kind of jealousy.  The kind that says, "Nobody else can do this for you like I can, you wonderful person whom I love and will never harm."    (And incidentally, I'm not showing the My Genny picture here, because she's mine.  Sorry.)  

The Mini-Devil Abides

The mini-devil rides!  The mini-brat abides!  This one is a special shout-out to Sir Tony and Klaudia.  I took this picture wearing my spiffy new title, "Trouble."   And, since Sir RB once said to me, "I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you on the patio..."  I suppose it's no surprise.  I must be giving the vibe.  I suppose I make people think of trouble when they see me riding and abiding.  I suppose the red horns are a good clue...

Thank you Sir Tony, and also to you Klaudia, for how you have taken me under your wings.  The devil has wings!  And so does his brat!  And they are comfortable places to be.  This mini-devil is very, very grateful.  You both know that I hearty-heart-heart you.  Thank you for this time you give to me.  I am blessed to be mentored by such a fine, fine lady as Genny, to have the shoulder of my excellent friend Sir RB, and to have the solid protection and guidance of Sir Tony and his perfectly elegant girl Klaudia all on my side as I journey ever closer to my submission.  The Journey to Domination and submission sim is the best thing that ever happened to me!  Submissives, if you see this...  I beg you, get a mentor you love.  It changes everything.

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 ........

To know and to love

This is a picture of my journey.  I wish the sim were still open, where I had taken this photograph.  Interesting to note that there was nothing to change about it.  I added a frame, my name, and called it pretty. (Sometimes the photographs that I take in Second Life are just perfect on their own.  Sometimes I feel like a good photographer, not just a good digital artist.)   I have been waiting to see what to do with this image: and now I realize, this is a picture of my submission.  I walk an unfamiliar landscape: unfamiliar, even alien-looking to what I am used to on Earth.  Some of the planks are rickety and old (values that are worn-out and under-examined for their relevance today); and some of the planks are strong and sturdy (lessons, fresh thinking, and small victories along the way that prop up the process).  In the top right quadrant, I wander.  I am in no hurry.  I look at what is around me and I learn.  Bottom right quadrant: the butterflies, the metamorphosis.  The change.  The beauty that awaits.  The bottom left quadrant: green foliage, green space, organic growth that represents life and living and the symbiosis of relationships.  Upper left quadrant:  the elegant, elaborate, carefully-constructed screen that follows me -- blocks my view of certain things, shields me from certain things, protects me from foul winds, or reveals things to me slowly at the right pace.  That shield is valuable.  It is not a hindrance.  That shield is human-constructed and elegant.

This is also a picture of my journey.   It is a picture of contemplation, experimentation, and tests.  (The toes in the water test like no other test...)  The crossed arms love like no other love.  The reflection in the water shows myself to me.  And I have learned in the last 48 hours to love, love, love the good person looking back.

Most of my journey is intellectual.  A little bit -- more and more -- is emotional.  When I began the journey, I had no idea what scope, what vast acreage of landscape, there would be to learn and explore in the D/s lifestyle.  I had no idea it was more than kneeling, devotion, and prayer that I would "be enough."  I had no idea the fulfillment would be so intense; nor the emptinesses that become more pronounced.  I had no idea that, when I finally asked, I would finally receive.  I've been told -- and it's been proven -- that I'm allowed to ask, and I'm allowed to receive, and that it's more than okay:  it's gratifying.

What is submission?

My very most excellent mentor led a discussion (has been leading a series of discussions, actually, each Tuesday evening) and yesterday was 3 of 4 on The Story of O.  Yesterday's discussion focused on "Domination" in the novel.  Genny kept asking variations on the same question, "Where is the domination?"  Systematically she made her way through every so-called dominant in the story and the behaviour of each one, posing the question:  "Is this domination?"  The quotations she pulled from the story successfully challenge the notions of domination and submission that I have come to learn about (and, given some of the reactions in the group, some of the notions that LOTS of people have come to learn about and hold as true, unshakable, and sacred).  The fundamental principle of "legitimate" D/s is that it is a safe, sane, and consensual practice, and the unspoken assumption in that dynamic is that both Dom and sub have equal voices in determining what is sane, what is safe, and what is consensual.  The complicating dynamic in The Story of O can be seen in this one passage, in part 1, just after Rene tells O that her submission will be obtained "in spite of" her, that her submission will be forced from her:  "O was on the verge of saying that she was his slave and that she bore her bonds cheerfully.  He stopped her."  This one little dynamic -- O's urge to submit herself, which would frustrate the men's intentions of slavery -- complicates the rest of the novel in terms of submission, slavery, and what domination "really" is.

I have long struggled with categorizing O's participation at Roissy:  sometimes the men say she is free to leave, and yet she is chained to her room at night removing any idea of personal freedom.  Conversely, the reader begins to understand that not all chains are visible: privately, we get the impression that there is no way O would prematurely leave Roissy anyway, even if she were unchained, because hers is a kind of love that makes her endure whatever her lover expects of her.  She is so in love with Rene that, regardless of what the men do to liberate or enslave her, her personal code prevents her from leaving Roissy anyway.  To say it another way, it doesn't matter how many chains the Roissy men equip: O would not leave.  It doesn't matter how many men it takes to force her to kneel and service them:  O doesn't require force to obey.  (Can you enslave the willing?)  She will, accordingly, endure whatever the men do to her, no matter how painful and no matter the length of time.  Whatever lines exist between slavery and submission are blurred in this novel, it's true, and speaking as a North American I would say that even the new-world's view of D/s and modern romance are also challenged.  Rene demands that for which it is impossible to consent (he says the very words himself), and yet O insists that she consents, that she loves him, that she would do anything for him.  She is determined to consent (to submit); and the men are determined to objectify and remove consent (to enslave).  The question for me now, in my journey of learning, is whether a woman can submit under those circumstances. Is it logically possible to offer submission to someone who hears (and accepts) something completely different?  Or who doesn't hear or accept at all, for that matter.

The element of the novel that challenged my preconceptions the most (last night, at the discussion, thanks entirely to my mentor) is this very idea of submission in the face of slavery.  The tension in the novel between consent and the wholesale absence of rights and freedoms* was once to me an interesting plot device, but as of last night it is now an all-engaging thought process that occupies me concerning the very nature of submission.  I wrote in this blog two days ago that I had surrendered "even though you are not here."  The idea of submission, to me, changes with that statement:  I know that it is possible to submit -- that it is possible for me to do my half of the job -- even if I'm the only person in the room.  I know that it is possible for me to make that agreement in my mind:  "When you speak, I will obey; I will surrender control; I will yield to you; I want to yield; I need to yield; whenever you speak, I will yield and I am so grateful."  I know that it is possible for me to make this agreement and to not know the answer from "him", whether or not he will accept and act upon my submission.  What if he doesn't accept and act upon it? Does it invalidate my statement that I would yield?  No, he's a free-thinking man with his own definitions of safe, sane, and consensual:  and I am a free-thinking woman with my own definitions of safe, sane, and consensual.  Whether or not he accepts my submission, I have given it.  It is a cake in a box beside strewn flowers on the porch of the one who might enjoy it.  If he's home, and if he answers the door, and if he is hungry, and if he is pleased, then we are in synch!  If he's not home, OR if he refuses to answer the door, OR if he's simply not hungry, then there is no synchronicity to what we have to offer each other (and there are so many variables to determine synchronicity that it's amazing anybody ever gets it right).  None of this changes my surrender.  If he leaves his house and goes on vacation, never even noticing the cake and strewn flowers upon his porch, it would be a bit of a waste, this gift I offer, to say the least -- physically, anyway.  But it doesn't change my offering it.  And it's not a waste to me, emotionally.  Logically.  And I do not take back the offer, petulantly, if he rejects it.  It was offered.  It is offered.  It remains.  I am there with it.  And, naturally, I have surrendered to every possible future, accordingly.

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*Quoted from the novel:  "you are not free but fettered."  She is not free: she is enslaved, objectively.  Once the men pronounce that, it becomes objective fact.  And yet, she consents to be there, subjectively.  What if this is not simply a plot device but, rather, O's free-will determining her own submission even in the face of those who would enslave her?  What if this is the touchstone to understanding submission on a grand scale?


From Part 1: The Lovers of Roissy.  "[...] Your hands are not your own, nor are your breasts, nor, most especially, any of your bodily orifices, which we may explore or penetrate at will. You will remember at all times - or as constantly as possible - that you have lost all right to privacy or concealment, and as a reminder of this fact, in our presence you will never close your lips completely, or cross your legs, or press your knees together (you may recall you were forbidden to do this the minute you arrived). This will serve as a constant reminder, to you as well as to use, that your mouth, your belly, and your backside are open to us. You will never touch your breasts in our presence: the bodice raises them toward us, that they may be ours. During the day you will therefore be dressed, and if anyone should order you to lift your skirt, you will lift it; if anyone desires to use you in any manner whatsoever, he will use you, unmasked, but with this one reservation: the whip. The whip will be used only between dusk and dawn. But besides the whipping you receive from whoever may want to whip you, you will also be flogged in the evening, as punishment for any infractions of the rules committed during the day: for having been slow to oblige, for having raised your eyes and looked at the person addressing you or taking you - you must never look any of us in the face. If the costume we wear in the evening - the one I am now wearing - leaves our sex exposed, it is not for the sake of convenience, for it would be just as convenient the other way, but for the sake of insolence, so that your eyes will be directed there upon it and nowhere else, so that you may learn that there resides your master, for whom, above all else, your lips are intended. During the day, when we are dressed in normal attire and you are clothed as you are now, the same rules will apply, except that when requested you will open your clothes, and then close them again when we have finished with you. Another thing: at night you will have only your lips with which to honor us - and your wide-spread thighs - for your hands will be tied behind your back and you will be naked, as you were a short while ago. You will be blindfolded only to be maltreated and, now that you have seen how you are whipped, to be flogged. And yes, by the way: while it is perfectly all right for you to grow accustomed to being whipped - since you are going to be every day throughout your stay - this is less for our pleasure than for your enlightenment. How true this is may be shown by the fact that on those nights when no one desires you, you will wait until the valet whose job it is comes to your solitary cell and administers what you are due to receive but we are not in the mood to mete out. Actually, both this flogging and the chain - which when attached to the ring of your collar keeps you more or less closely confined to your bed several hours a day - are intended less to make you suffer, scream, or shed tears than to make you feel, through this suffering, that you are not free but fettered, and to teach you that you are totally dedicated to something outside yourself. When you leave here, you will be wearing on your third finger an iron ring, which will identify you. Bu then you will have learned to obey those who wear the same insignia, and when they see it they will know that beneath your skirt you are constantly naked, however comely or commonplace your clothes may be, and that this nakedness is for them. Should anyone find you in the least intractable, he will return you here. Now you will be shown to your cell."  [...]  The more he surrendered her, the more he would hold her dear. The fact that he gave her was to him a proof, and ought to be one for her as well that she belonged to him: one can only give what belongs to you. He gave her only to reclaim her immediately, to reclaim her enriched in his eyes, like some common object which had been used for some divine purpose and has thus been consecrated. For a long time he had wanted to prostitute her, and he was delighted to feel that the pleasure he was deriving was even greater than he had hoped, and that it bound him to her all the more, as it bound her to him, all the more so because, through it, she would be more humiliated and ravaged. Since she loved him, she could not help loving whatever derived from him. O listened and trembled with happiness, because he loved her, all acquiescent she trembled. He doubtless guessed it, for he went on:

"It's because it's easy for you to consent that I want from you what it will be impossible for you to consent to, even if you agree ahead of time, even if you say yes now and imagine yourself capable of submitting. You won't be able not to revolt. Your submission will be obtained in spite of you, not only for the inimitable pleasure that I and others will derive from it, but also that you will be made aware of what has been done to you."  O was on the verge of saying that she was his slave and that she bore her bonds cheerfully. He stopped her.  "Yesterday you were told that as long as you are in the château you are not to look a man in the face of speak to him. The same applies to me as well: with me you shall remain silent and obey. I love you. Now get up. From now on the only times that you will open your mouth here in the presence of a man will be to cry out or to caress."

Protected Precious Belongs, Today

When at the Journey to Domination and Submission sim, I wear a group tag.  (Second Life residents know about group tags.  When you are a member of any kind of community, chances are there is a group to join for membership, and that group will give you a special tag that affords special privileges.)  My J2D tag says, "Protected Precious."  It is the tag given to submissives.  "Seeker" is the tag given to Dominants.  Genny, my mentor and the owner of the sim, wears a tag that says "Traveler."  I confess, when I first got this "Protected Precious" status, my immediate reaction was privately negative.  I was fairly ashamed to wear this tag.  It felt princessy. I have never considered myself either protected or precious.  It felt, therefore, like a phoney tag that was meant for a hundred other girls that weren't me.  I did ask, though, a Dominant and a Master whom I respect probably above all others.  "I am not really so very precious, come on?"  And his answer was, "You bet your sweet ass you are."  This little mini-conversation took place several months ago, but it has stayed with me and replayed over and over like a song that is determined to become the year's favorite.  From time to time, it was drowned out by feelings of alienation and separation; feelings of being different; feelings of being so far removed from the groups I long to take part in.  I am reminded, almost cruelly sometimes, of how differently I present myself.  It makes me feel like a freak.  That's my issue, I know.

Then, later on, when I had repeated the conversation to that same Dominant and Master, I had misquoted him.  I had said something like, "You bet your ass," and he corrected me.  "Anna, I believe I said 'sweet ass'."

This is a blog post about self-esteem.  When I showed another Dominant a picture of what I was wearing today, he complimented me and said that it was an enjoyable look.  It took me almost half an hour to finally say "thank you" for the compliment.  I'm not sure why I find it difficult to accept a compliment sooner and genuinely.  I'm not sure why, months ago, I found "sweet" difficult to add when referencing "my ass".  I'm not sure why, months ago, I resisted being known as one who is "protected" and one who is "precious".  I have come to a decision, though.  While I examine these personal foibles of mine privately, I will embrace their opposites publicly.  Time for affirmations!  I am Anna, geisha name Choji, and my sweet ass is protected and precious.  My sweet ass is protected, precious, and proud of it.  My sweet ass is protected, precious, proud of it, and in the mood to say so.  My sweet ass is intelligent, thoughtful, and very often in need of protecting given how precious it is.  My sweet ass gives a wiggle and a can-can-kick or two.  My sweet ass sits on a throne of trust supported by balloons of hope sailing over the hammock of aftercare, waving at the amazing Dominant and Master who taught me, months ago, that it's not because I'm any different from anybody else -- it's actually because I am special like everybody else, that I am as precious as everybody else, and just as protected.  Today I feel like I belong.  Today is a good day.

Idealism

"As individuals," says Mistress Steele, "each being is unique with her own viewpoint, personal limitations and provisions within any interactive agreement. [...] Each person can submit to ideals, concepts, thoughts and desires as well as to any person of her choice. The nature of her submission need not be agreeable to anyone outside of that submission, nor should she be subjected to judgment by others who consider her submission unacceptable, or not within what 'they' consider to be 'proper' to the term."   I quote from this article from F. R. R. Mallory and now hold on to it in my learning journal.  It makes me consider idealism: the ideal version of myself; the ideal version of the person who will master me.

I have not met that ideal in the flesh, it is true.  I do have exceptional standards, it is also true.  And thankfully it doesn't take me very long to see through a person's first impression to the core weakness.  (We all have a weakness.  But some people shroud theirs thicker than others; and sometimes the weakness, when revealed, is rather damaging to the species as a whole.  Those species-damagers are the ones to watch out for.)
I learned something this week (thankfully just before I really needed it!) from an exercise with my mentor.  I learned that my own submission is unique and peculiar to me, and that it cannot be taken away from me by anyone.  It is a part of me as surely as are my hopes, or even my ambition.  It is mine; no harsh words from another could erase my submission or my submissive ideals.  I learned that even with no man in the picture, I am no less submissive in heart and spirit.  I learned that there is a way to trust but still to self-preserve: that trust is earned in measured doses, and sip-by-sip one may give to drink from that chalice but, also, one my remove the chalice altogether when necessary -- without breaking the chalice or the mind's eye.

I learned that even though submission is the desired end, and submissive is my desired state, these are impossible to achieve with the wrong partner. It is no surprise that many men interact with me and fail to detect the genuine sub "halo" that glows around my brains: with some people I'm just naturally unemotional and there's no need to change that.  (Why waste valuable resources on the wrong ones?)  With the person who incites my submissive instincts, there will be no doubt. It will be obvious, and it will be right.  I learned that I'm ok, and my perspective is sane and sound.  It's not my world that shakes; it is the world of other people that shakes, those who try to change me to fit their ideals, and that has nothing whatsoever to do with my submissive abilities.  That's a whole different problem which, thankfully, is not mine to solve.

I have learned that (some!) men will try to change me to fit their ideal:  more than once I have been told that I would look better with a smaller nose or a different colour hair.  I confess, I do appear at first to be an easy mark...  a young avatar, new and learning, I do not presume to know better than anybody else. But, day by day I learn the types.  Then there is the, "I am difficult to please, try harder,"  sentiment I run into, frequently.  There is also the, "I know better than you do, relax" attitude that tries to wash away all of a woman's very valid concerns, day by day chipping away at her until she doubts every thought in her own head.  Or the type who solves problems with the "Just rub your clit," command, which is another way of saying "Stop talking, I am busy with someone else."  I have seen, too, the old "I list what I expect in my profile, so read it or don't bother me."  I see, I watch, I observe and examine... and I come to my own conclusions.  My values are not theirs.  If I try to insinuate myself into their worlds, they will try to change me.  And, I am not a lonely person willing to sacrifice so much.  I don't mind being on my own, wandering along the private road I walk.  I will face the light, wearing what I want to wear, looking how I want to look, saying the words I wish to say, displaying my art how I wish to display it, learning my lessons at my own pace, and being the most genuine self I know how to be.  I have spoken to many who have achieved their own private version of the ideal, too.  It is possible!

But what can I give?

"Explain her submission," the assignment begins.  This task is a special one, for me, on many levels.  The basic level:  my mentor gave me this assignment conspicuously close to a declaration I made, which means she can hear me and she understands my quiet terrors.  I understand submission in the general sense; my logical mind can parse a sentence and process the meaning of words.  But my gooey mind still suffered (at the time) from a destabilizing conversation I'd had with someone who kept asking me, philosophically, "Why?  Why submit?  Why dominate?  What's in it for me?  What's in it for you?"  (Let me emphasize, it was a philosophical discussion, not crisis or grief.)

Which was fine, at the beginning.  But afterwards, I began to wonder, myself.  Why?  And then, as is my wont, I doubted myself, my gifts, whatever it is I have to offer a Dominant when the time comes to offer to him.  Why would he want me?  What could I give?I begin as a plain girl.  I begin as a girl who dreams of something beyond what I have.  What I have is good; what I have is polished and fine in the real world.  But it is insufficient.  What I have means I can take care of the basic needs of survival in my life: it means I can feed and clothe myself, nurture myself, strengthen myself with experience and learning, discipline myself with chore and duty.  I have and know love.   I have these things.  I know these things.  I practice these things as a matter of regular, vanilla ritual and living.  I know who I am in real life.  I know where I'm going in real life.  I know where I've been in real life.  I'm even beginning to know what it is I want from my fantasies; what my needs are.  And how I can best express them.  I begin to transform; I begin to learn.

In my dreams I am more.  In my dreams, I see more; and I feel more.  I interrogate what I have always known as certainty until there are no more certainties, and it is destabilizing and thrilling and... insecure-making.  I used to believe that pain was to be feared, avoided.  Now, my skin itches to feel something rough against it.  Something sharp strike it.  Something virile push it.  In my dreams, there is a world of experience that I cannot begin to imagine without the guiding hand of a careful man who understands the difference between a hard limit and an inexperienced barrier composed of fear.  Who understands the role of a Master, not just a Dominant.  Who understands the ideal and the real, and the concept of striving.  There is a world to explore on my knees, and I need to know those dreams and explorations.  I began as a plain girl; and I emerge as a dreamer under a very careful mentorship at the moment.  This is why I recommend being mentored in the beginning:

Because when I feel insecure and confused, and I honestly state what it is that shakes my foundations, my mentor gives me a task that answers my anxieties with my own words and my own thinking.  "What do I have to give, after all?" I ask in despair, and my mentor's answer is "Look at the picture of the girl, and explain to me her submission."  And then I explain it.   And my own words come.  And the assignment shapes as it will, and that's very gratifying...  But the crux:  I begin to understand that what I have to give is an excruciatingly-tender heart that never forgets beauty.  I forget the ache of agony and loneliness and waste; but I remember beauty.  I hold up a mirror to Your face, a mirror that is my eyes, and I show You Yourself as the exquisite apparition, the bright and blinding Divine light as You appear to me.  I find beauty.  I find it, and I keep it, and I protect it, and I give it to You when You demand.  It is why I collect songs and stories; musical instruments; images perfected by my own hands; jewels and trinkets of adornment.  I collect; I keep; I then adorn and display for You, so that You are transported from the muck of this world into a realm of my own making to be enjoyed only by You.  Because, in my eyes, You are the most important being there ever has been.  And my God, how important it is not to give this away to just anybody.  It must be to You, when You come.  To none other.

This is what submission looks like to me.  And when You come, finally, I am going to savour, for a long long time, explaining my submission to You.

The Fool, Part 2

You can give away only what you own.  It's a principle at play in "The Story of O" and it is a principle I was reminded of by my mentor this weekend.  You can give away only what you own:  and if you don't own yourself (and know yourself, and understand yourself, and take stock of yourself, and regularly prepare yourself) then you can't submit your true self to a powerful and creative dominating force.

Reading "Fifty Shades of Grey" drives home, really, what it means for a woman to submit to a man: the man (Mr. Grey) wishes to provide for Ana, in every sense of the word.  Provide shelter; provide attention; provide food; provide physical fitness; provide physical maintenance; provide intellectual stimulation; provide for all the basic needs for survival, in short, as well as the luxuries that will maintain and increase her beauty.  (The tension in the novel arises from her need for, rather, love.)  The novel drives home, however, what dangers lurk for a young submissive, inexperienced and unsure.  The greatest danger is in how (and whether) the submissive thinks.
Does the submissive have the nerve to negotiate her own terms?  Does the submissive intend to have all her thinking done for her by the Dominant, or will she continue to formulate her own opinions, ask questions, and explore her world with her own eyes as well as with those of her Dominant?  How she thinks is pretty important: her self-esteem is on the line.  To surrender yourself is to expose your ego to shaping, refinement, an external force molding (and sometimes re-creating) parts of you.  If you have surrendered yourself to someone who does not know how to articulate honesty, complex issues, or even simple issues so that you can understand what is at stake, beware.

A woman sometimes wants to be re-shaped: maybe something was molded badly, before, and maybe there is someone in the world who knows how to fix that.  Over time; with careful mastery.  Over lots of time, after much trust, and with delicate skill.  Maybe there is someone in the world who knows how to remove that jarring shard without leaving nerve-damage in the wake.  That someone is, truly, a Master who can turn something beautiful into something even more beautiful.

When the Fool's card appears in the tarot spread, the seeker must ask oneself if the path has been obscured.  The seeker must understand whether significant change is on the horizon or whether it is simply time to strip down to the heart's core and, now, examine.  The seeker mimics the fool's journey as the spread reveals trial and test; and only at the end of the journey does the fool finally know, reunited with that almighty string-Master who has controlled fortune from the very beginning.  Oh to You, in the future, You who makes me breathe, Oh!  I learn for You, and I strive for You, and my aim is where You look.

May your April Fools be gentle in their mischief!

Needs, Part Four

I need my mentor.  I don't mean "I'm in crisis; I need someone immediately."  What I mean is, in my journey towards self-enlightenment and as I grow more and more to know myself, I discover that what I've been missing for all this time is a good mentor.  A good one.  She is kind and loving, but she's not crazy-clingy-invested in me as if her life will fall apart if I say something wrong.  She is smart and knowledgable, but she's not crazy-know-it-all force-feeding me stuff that I can't digest.  I don't know what heavenly gang of deities decided to fashion this lovely lady, but the end result is, "Anna grows."  I look up to her.  Her name is Genny Clary, and she runs the Journey to Domination and Submission (J2D) sim that I just love to be a part of.  She also runs this blog that I love to read.  I won't always "need" Genny; but right now I need her.  And I didn't know how much I needed her until I met her.

She asks the right questions.  She makes me think about myself, for myself, but in the context of other people as well.  She did something that I haven't felt in a long time: she set me "free", so to speak.  When I started to think about, meditate upon, and then articulate my needs, I felt like a huge weight lifted from me.  I have needs.  Yes, I've always known that I have wants.  I have always known that I hunger or thirst for certain cravings that come and go.  I have always flirted with the many wants that flavour my palate.  But beyond those, I actually have needs.  And now I articulate my needs.  And now I am not ashamed of having needs.  And now, even though I'm still wandering around blindly in the dark cave of my soul, still trying to figure out how to work my lantern, at least I know that I'm in the right cave.  At least I know that, whatever is in this cave, I want it to be there.   I'm in my playroom now.  A nice white room aching for decoration the way I want it to be.  Embellished, ornamental, fabric or stone... I decide.  I have needs.

When I walk, I swing my hands freely now.  When I stand, my arms move weightless, gentle wrist-circles and air-drawings like butterflies.  I do not stand still.  I wander and explore and talk to strangers.  I immerse myself in art and photography, literature and cinema.  And I do so with joy, not pain or longing.  I do so with a strong, full heart; no fear.  My voice is a little clearer. My footfall a little more gentle.  I have nothing but commendations for the J2D sim and the people who make it work.  I feel better than I have in half a year, for sure, and it is the direct result of intense, and very kind, introspection guided by a skilled mentor.  And it needs saying... I have met some fine people in Second Life who make having a second life worthwhile.  I took these pictures in the "Spirit" art display by Claudia222 Jewell (a truly gifted artist) on the Art Screamer sim.  I felt a kinship to this beautiful lady when she explained to me the circumstances (grief) under which she created this glorious work of art.  I go back often, amazed each time that the art still stands.  I kiss your cheeks, Claudia.  And yours, Sir Tony, for making me decide to have a first-class mentor.  And yours, Sir RB, for introducing me to Genny's group in the first place, at that very first discussion.  Obviously I was born, this time, under lucky stars and beautiful dreams.

Needs, Part Two

I quote my mentor:  "It is my trust, my submission that I give."   When I put conditions on my expectations of someone else's behaviour before I give anything, she explains in her blog, "I set myself up for failure."

I know why I'm not real: it has to do with the way that I trust.  I have spent a lot of time trying not to be vulnerable, when it is that vulnerability that defines submission to a powerful and creative force.  I'm not real because I do not trust someone else to protect my feelings as well as I can.  Meanwhile, without that trust, I will not form the unique bond that I seek wherein I believe in someone's protection of my feelings.

The logic is as simple as can be.

Needs part two:  I need to stop approval-seeking.  Approval and intimacy are not the same thing, and I have mistaken them.  Approval-seeking is destructive; it erodes a person's sense of self.

Needs part two:  I need to stop being afraid of intimacy, mistaking it for carrying approval's baggage.  Intimacy is  different, and it is not approval's bitch.

Approval is a circus full of freaks and a different ring-leader every day who may or may not be in the mood for your style of entertainment, or who may feel like laughing you right out of the tent.  Intimacy is a little table in a quiet corner of a busy restaurant; the table has only what you need upon it, and there is not much separating you and your partner.  You speak if you want to, or just gaze if you wish to remain silent.  Sad words, happy words, anxious words, loving words, the table has heard it all, and the table is still there, and so are you and your partner.

Needs, Part One

"Unless you know your needs," my mentor says, "you can never surrender them to anyone."  It sounds so simple; and it is precisely what I am missing.  An accurate picture in my mind, translated into words, of what comprises my needs.  "I have needs," I say to myself almost every day, "and they aren't met."  But what are they?  I can't even speak them aloud, I am so blocked.  I am blinded by "haves" that I can't even begin to sift through them to see the "needs" that wait.  They used to wait patiently.  Now, they creep.  Unseen, but I can hear them.  They are in the walls.

A list of needs.  Unanalyzed.  Just jotted down.  I begin now.

I need passion.
I need romance.
I need to feel special.
I need clean air.
I need walls around me.
I need someone to tell me it will be okay.
I need someone to tell me that I do not know everything and that there are things in the world stronger, longer-lasting, larger, and more potent than I.
I need someone to prove it to me.
I need to feel what it's like to have someone slap me really hard, just once, just to see what it's like.
I need to feel what it's like to have someone throw me down to the floor, just once, just to see what it's like.
I need someone to take care of me, just once, just to see what it's like.
I need to be left alone more than I am because I need some space to breathe.
I need to start all over again.
I need help.
I need to be treated like an adult and not coddled.
I need to be shielded from the most unlikely people, people you'd think would be nice to me but are not.
I need to learn how to stop seeking shelter, eventually.
I need to feel like a real person.
I need to be able to say all this out loud.
I need to speak without stuttering, to stop being ashamed of my voice.
I need, at the moment, more than anything, to stop crying.