Tag Archives: society

Bonding over Bitching

I work in an office of women and it’s quite discouraging.  Through the course of a single day, the topics of conversation include: Reality T.V, how much they hate their bodies, celebrities, plastic surgery, cosmetics, and how annoying their kids/boyfriends/husbands are.  I have never had much in common with women, especially the “modern” woman.  Perhaps my lack of appreciation for the modern women stems from my facing constant rejection by many of them due to the way I live my life.  I am openly submissive.  I love my husband and he rarely annoys me.  I enjoy meeting his needs, and I love to take care of him in any way necessary.  I don’t like to be an inconvenience to him and I refuse to be a nag.  Thus, I have a relationship that is relatively free from any resentments or drama, save the occasional squabble over something stupid like him not picking something out for dinner off his bi-weekly menu I make him.  We have a relationship that, I would deem, comes as close to perfection as possible. My relationship and my lifestyle, it would appear, would be the cause of my lack of steady female companionship. I am rarely unhappy with any part of my personal life or myself, so I appear haughty I’m female circles. The perception of haughtiness is threatening and the antithesis to female bonding over bitching.

I also don’t hate my body.  I appreciate my body.  I am happy with the way it looks and feel very comfortable naked.  If I come into a pattern of low self-esteem over something about my body, I’ll make an expeditated move to fix it in whatever manner possible.  If I feel like I’m hanging onto a few extra pounds, I amp up my workouts and cut back on some of the foods that could be holding me back from my goal.  I have nothing against plastic surgery, and may find myself in need of some in the future.  But, I don’t see a need to discuss it at length with other women. How does airing discomfort provide comfort? Can women only dish a complement without the need for one in return if they perceive themselves as equal or better than the person they are paying the compliment to?

How does this fix anything?  How does this make these women feel better?  Perhaps, female comradery is built upon a foundation of self-hate and negativity. Do women have to demean themselves to find acceptance from other women and feel as though they fit in?  Why are the lives of celebrities (or their assumed lives based upon what the media portrays) fascinating enough to cover the span of an hour or more in near constant communication?  Who the fuck cares? Any significant amount of time spent discussing celebrities is an utter waste of time. If each moment brings us closer to our death, I don’t want to spend it discussing the Kardashians for an hour.

My life experience thus far has revealed that to share a relationship of any depth with another woman you must be at least mildly miserable with yourself and your life.  You must enjoy complaining.  Complaining seems to be the very thread essential to the fiber of the female friendship. People within earshot of such pointless, meaningless and seemingly endless jabber should be the newest victims to form a hashtag movement. Are you having to listen to women bonding over bitching and it’s making you miserable? #metoo.


We Shall See…

Another casual, light-hearted update for all you lovelies…

On top of an exceedingly demanding professional life, I am working on a significantly long paper  for a class.  I was *cough, cough* “fortunate” to have an uber-feminist professor in this class, which has resulted in some interesting debates between she and I, as well as some of my other classmates.  I am not anti-feminist, per se, in the sense that I believe equal treatment for equal work.  However, I do believe that men are significantly misrepresented within our present society by a virtual pendulum swing toward feminism in the name of emasculating men.  Ultimately, I believe heavily in evolutionary psychology and cognitive development as it applies to biology.  I believe men are men and women are women for reasons primarily dictated by biology; I believe hormones, physiology, and thus, brain development coincide with our responses toward the environment.  I do believe culture plays a heavy influence as well, akin to adding standards of performance to a basic blank slate:  As if taking a large boulder and carving it into a beautiful sculpture; the beautiful sculpture may represent something upon it’s surface, but at it’s core the subject is simply rock.  Culture carves.

Anyway, my professor has assigned readings for this particular class that I find are bias against men.  If I were a man in this class, I would feel as though I was a pig on a spit, rotating and roasting before a crowd of chanting, spear wielding women.  They would extend their fists vehemently into the air, exposing the hairy pits of rebellion.  They would dance around the rotisserie man with dangling breasts of stretched tissue and “beaver bump” one another in the name of “fem-araderie”.  Roast that man for all his oppression – Men and their penises are to blame for all our problems in the world….

I cannot stand this course.  Such potential in the material to be squandered away by personal bias.  Anyway, I digress…

After numerous debates, I have decided to compose my final paper on cultural dynamics as it effects aspects of BDSM culture and alternative relationships.  Ah, yes.  Imagine the joy I will have once I receive a poor grade in this course due to the fact that I will discuss being a female sub to my male Dominant.  My professor is notorious for grading according to personal opinion and perspective.  Undoubtedly, my close-minded professor will know little about the lifestyle, as she will see it as another way culture oppresses women.  To expose that fallacy, I plan to discuss the role of dominance and submission, as it pertains to the individual and not the gender of the person.  Ultimately, I plan to show the BDSM culture as a place where gender is an illusion; a place where a person is accepted as an “individual” and not as culture would define him/her or his/her chromosomal make-up.  She likely has read Fifty Shades of Grey and was repulsed by that pathetic depiction of the community – even though she likely masturbated to images of being dominated by a man.  Typical.  I’m going to blow the top off of this bitch, and I am looking forward to it.

Again, I can’t wait to write a substantial piece for pleasure, for a change.  Presently, my language has been reduced to legalities and formalities, and I am feeling creatively handicapped.

I also was nominated for the “Bad Girl Blogger Award” from the lovely Whispering Girl, which has brought me great joy!  I am incredibly flattered.  Thank you for such lovely words of recognition.  I am chomping at the bit to assume my more creative pursuits, I just have to get through the next week or two.


Random Reflection

I realized today that my commitment to being submissive to my delicious D/Husband holds more weight than my commitment to being “married”.  Admittedly, I have not been a fan of marriage and see very little point in it.  The only marriage I have ever given a shit about is the one I currently share with my D/Husband; before that, I left a slew of groveling men in my wake.  If I tell you I’m in love with someone else, you ask me to marry you anyway, and I end up leaving you because I am ultimately unhappy…Well, you had it coming as far as I’m concerned.  If I had a dollar for every time a man said, “I thought you would change…” I wouldn’t be sitting here pretending to work at a job that I currently dislike with “Holy Moley (see post ‘Fuck You’)” sitting across from me accompanied by her Disney character figurines.

“He didn’t change me; with his chains, he freed me”

My previous divorces were no different than childhood breakups, just a little more financially complicated.  I believe our society has turned marriage into a joke.  Marriage is a drug laced with false sense of security; people smoke it up and conjure delusions of a monogamous “forever”, escaping into a naïve alternate nirvana, and meanwhile paying no attention to their present reality.  In the real world, the man has not had a blowjob in over a month because she’s completely preoccupied with asserting her feminism and watching reality t.v shows.  He’s miserable, but she feel secure with her “Prince Charming” in her delusional matrimonial haze; because he said “I do”, and therefore, relinquishing his soul and sexual liberation – FOREVER.  I can hear them whining in my head now, “But…He promised me forever…”

Stop with this nonsense. 

My commitment of submission to my D/Husband, however:  Solidified beyond anything that I have ever experienced nor been capable of.  I have never been so certain of my role, my place in a partnership, or more present in my daily life than while in service to Him.  There is a distinctive difference between my choice to submit to Him and aligning with societal norms by getting married.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that my marriage means nothing to me – that’s not the case.  I’m simply stating that it was shocking how easily and emphatically I identify with my rules and regulations as my D/Husband’s sub, and rebelled against anything associated with marital “rules and regulations”.

The ring did not rein me in; but, His reign does.


Fuck your “Box”

I think the most interesting people operate two sides of very different worlds.  They have the complexity to traverse between those interdependent realms with ease, pulling off either role seamlessly.  I often think about how heavily we judge people based on what we see through our own eyes, and the socially obstructed veil that ever looms before them.

I was thinking about this the other day when wondering about what people think when they read my blog.  I wonder if any homely woman stops by my page and subsequently renders me a slut.  I wondered if they read me speak of affairs openly, understanding instead of condemning, perhaps even congratulating people on harnessing their own happiness.  I have been the recipient of so many insults aimed directly at my sexuality; they seem to bounce off my thick skin without much thought.  Further yet, I wondered how many people judge me specifically on the basis that I am passionate about being in a 24/7, monogamous, marital, M/s relationship.  The thought of my taboo sex life complicating any other information or solid advice I bestow in my writing.  How many people even bother to read it as soon as they see “BDSM” in the category cloud to the right.  I’m sure you’re asking, “Why do you care?”  You’re right.  I don’t necessarily care for the approval, but I care from the standpoint of analysis and principle:  Why do some people follow the socialistic patterns they were taught?  Is there truly some people that have not a single part of them inclined to understand what lurks behind the unopened door?

“If all I did was stare at polka dots, my eyes would starve for stripes”

I know people see me and believe I desperately hang from the outstretched hand of my financially savvy husband.  You see me in my body hugging, cleverly revealing, yet professional sheath dresses and think I have a library full of beauty magazines.  You assume I obsess over dieting, refrain from eating carbs, spend my entire life on a treadmill, or get plastic surgery.  Perhaps you see me strutting through the grocery store in one of my many pair of 6 inch stiletto heels, and assume I carelessly sling them over the shoulders of men for enjoyment.  A tasteful amount of cleavage escapes the v-neck of my sweater and you assume these beautiful, full breasts are fake; again, you assume they are probably a purchase that my meal ticket husband or my affair partner bought me.  I place a high value on physical appearance; I choose to never leave the house without being “done up”, so I must be under-educated and compensating for my miserable intellect.  I carry myself with poise, so I must be a conceited bitch.  You see me with my kids and assume I’m their biological mother as you watch them hold my hand, tell me they love me, and scurry beside me in their splendor.  You assume I listen to Carrie Underwood, ask my husband to make sweet love to me, grace a pew every Sunday, and obsess over the next episode of some popular reality T.V.  Oh my…

I am financially independent and always have been.  I have maintained my professional career throughout several personal setbacks.  I fully embrace my sexuality, to all degrees possible.  I haven’t touched a beauty magazine since my early 20’s, and don’t define myself by any standard other than that of my approval and that of my Dom.  I have an intense passion for cooking; therefore, I possess an even greater passion for eating.  I don’t deny myself anything that brings me pleasure, nor make myself feel guilty for embracing the pleasures in life.  I sling my 6 in heels over the muscular, mountainous shoulders of my husband, my Dom.  My favorite necklace is a collar.  I am well educated.  I am high maintenance; preferring my husband to parade me about as his trophy wife than walk 10 steps ahead of me while I trudge along in my tattered sweat pants.  I am confident, powerful, and outspoken.  I would still wear my 6 inch stiletto heels while stomping the heads of zombies, should I ever need to do that sort of thing.  I choose to be my husband’s full time submissive, because I have never met a man who can handle me until him.  They were small in spirit.  They were insignificant in presence.  They were boring in entirety.  I wait on my husband hand and foot; I make his meals, plate his food, wash his body, fold his clothing and carry his cum inside me with equal pride.  I serve him and his every request, relentlessly.  We blast NIN, Rob Zombie, Deftones, Massive Attack, Portishead, Tool, Puscifer, A Perfect Circle (yes, they deserve to be listed separately as I have an obsession with Maynard).  I fucking hate Carrie Underwood and her male bashing, spiteful “bitch in a pair of cowboy boots”, country bumpkin, lyrically trite, bullshit example of “music”.  Oh, and those kids…They are my step-children.  I love them as if I’d birthed them.  I love them with a power so great, it instills a fear of jealousy so vile in their mother that feels it’s necessary to punish them for saying my name.  We raise them with confidence, strength; provide them with an example of what love, appreciation, adoration and respect looks like in a marriage.  We eat family dinners together at the table, insist they use their impeccable manners, and share all the pleasurable tales of simplicity of their day.  We look forward to family game night, weekly.  I don’t pray to God, but openly worship my God (my D/Husband).  I am agnostic; but, possess a deep regard for souls, energy, and the possibility at previous lives.  My breasts and every part of this glorious body, often dressed so beautifully in the knot work of my D, are 100% authentic.

Try to place me in a box now…