October 20, 2014

Take Me to Church

by MissH213

I’ve always been drawn to songs, poems, or books that speak of love as a painful addiction, something that we are compelled to do despite knowing better. Jack White’s Love Interruption is a beautiful example of this.

Hozier, an Irish musician, has recently been brought to my attention, and I’ve been mesmerized ever since. His song Take Me To Church captures that sense of haunted compulsion that comes with love at its most raw. Some of the lyrics remind me of us, my fellow Kinksters, and the push/pull so many of us feel as we engage in things that the outside world abhors. Even years after learning to accept and embrace who we are and what we enjoy, I know that, for some, there are still tinges of fear – that what our partners are only feigning acceptance; coworkers or family may discover our deep, dark secrets; or we’ll be outed as freaks.

I’m about as sex positive as they come, so I’m aware that what I’m writing today can be construed as hating on the kink community. I’m not, though. For me, what I’m into wouldn’t be as exciting if it was openly accepted in all settings. Of all the things that make my sex life fun and exciting, the danger and the secrecy can’t be ignored. Sissy’s brand of humiliation underscores this; if he were accepted as he is, he wouldn’t be humiliated by it, and then he’d lose the thing that gets him off so much.

This is a quick blog post after a long absence, on a topic that warrants lots of words and contemplation. My whole point, really, was to get you here – the lyrics from Take Me to Church that have captivated me, wrapping me in a cloak of threat and fear and a passionate love that swells until it overtakes me:

My Church offers no absolutes.
She tells me, ‘Worship in the bedroom.’
The only heaven I’ll be sent to
Is when I’m alone with you—

I was born sick,
But I love it
Command me to be well
Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen.

Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life

Let’s make this one interactive… What songs or poetry hit you in the right spot? Does Take Me to Church get into your soul the way it gets into mine? What do you think about my premise that what we do is heightened by the “danger” of it, whatever “danger” may mean to you? For me, “danger” isn’t the physical risk of some of the more extreme types of play, but more of an emotional danger; maybe “danger” means something else to you, though. Give us your thoughts!

March 23, 2014

new adventure ahead

by MissH213

Sissy has some fantasies. The problem is, she has desires to be humiliated to a degree and in ways that her loving wife (me) has trouble fulfilling, whereas a person – a man – who is more or less a stranger, will be less inhibited.

I’ve taken a few first steps to make her fantasies come true. If you’d asked me 5 years ago what I thought the chances were that I’d be seeking men to use and abuse my husband sexually, I’d have asked if you were smoking crack. Even when we started talking about it 2 or 3 years ago, it was purely for dirty talk.

Today, though, it’s much more than dirty talk or fantasies whispered in the dark. I’m ready to take these steps. I guess we’ll see if she really is.

December 7, 2013

an explanation without an answer

by MissH213

I stopped blogging nearly six months ago, not because I didn’t like doing it, but because I felt the only thing I had to write about was negative, and who wants to read (or write) that?

C and I remain interested in the FLR, the cock cage, the kink, but we never really seem to get things off the ground and running. Mostly, we don’t have sex at all. There are plenty of excuses (work, schedules, health), but they’re all bullshit, really. When we do have a night of kink, it’s one night out of a thousand misconnects, and I wake feeling that I’ve failed him by not going extreme enough. I assume he’s left feeling a underwhelmed.

I don’t think it works to have very little sexual contact or reference and then be expected to turn on a hairpin, running 100 mpr with the kink. It feels weird. We get hesitant and embarrassed and we don’t talk about it with each other. Then everything gets fucked up.

There are things that I feel I’m missing for myself, but what is my responsibility in all of this? Certainly, my libido has dropped. I’ve gained weight and feel terrible, emotionally and physically. I have a lot of guilt attached to that, which makes things worse. Also, I’ve taken a big hit to my career, which has put me in a tailspin. I think it’s time to talk to someone about depression. My not addressing what’s going on is my failure to do what I should to keep our marriage happy.

Guilt, self-medicate unhealthfully, increase problem, guilt. Rinse and repeat.

I don’t feel sexy. I don’t feel powerful. I don’t feel like Miss H, and it isn’t because I don’t like the kinky stuff we’re into. It’s me. I don’t like me.

We had something this morning. A fight? A discussion? An airing of grievances? A meaningless listing of what’s wrong? Nothing came of it. Nothing resolved. We ended the conversation because we had no ideas. We both need to do better. Communicate more. Internalize less. Turn off the fucking tv. Give up the excuses. We’ve had this conversation 10 times. We love each other. He’s sure I’m going to confess one day that I’ve never enjoyed the kink or his dressing. I’m sure that I can’t meet his desires and so I fail him. In the end, I let him leave the room this morning because neither of us knows what to say or do and he was only standing there because I didn’t want to end without a resolution.

I left to pick up some lunch. He was asleep by the time I got back. We’ve spent no time together this afternoon, nothing to soften out the hard edges of this morning. He might wake up having shaken it off, or at least able to put this morning behind him. I’m a ruminater. I worry.  We won’t connect again on this problem, at least until the next time, and eventually well be ok. At least until the next time.

June 30, 2013

move your god damned laundry

by MissH213

We have an ongoing issue with C leaving his laundry basket in the washer/dryer area, which, in essence, results in him leaving a basket full of clean-but-not-folded clothes right in front of the kitchen door. It’s one of those things that drives me insane. Fold your clothes, don’t fold your clothes, I could give a shit, but get the fucking basket out of my way. Our twice-a-week argument about this was getting heated yesterday.

C: Why are you so mad at me? I just got home from work and you’re yelling at me already!! Jeez!
Me: Ya know what, the first time you can watch the bitches on “Bridezillas” and not get a hard on, that’s when I’ll let up about the fucking laundry.
C: [makes a face acknowledging that I got 'im]

When you Google “humiliation porn laundry,” this photo comes up. Ben & Jason are hot, so I’m keepin’ it.

As a lifetime conflict avoider, marrying a man whose submissive nature extends outside the bedroom has turned out to be incredibly cathartic. Outside of this relationship, I’ve often been afraid to assert myself too aggressively, because I don’t like for people to be unhappy with me. Unfortunately, that’s led me to either pussying out when I’m 100% in the right, or holding back to the breaking point until I go scorched earth on a motherfucker. This FLR thing, where I get to push past the point I would usually stop for fear of angering the other person, it’s fucking awesome.

He moved the laundry.

June 29, 2013

still here

by MissH213

Shame on me; bad blogger! I knew I hadn’t posted for awhile, but I was absolutely shocked to come back today and discover it’s been more than six months. I haven’t blogged because there’s been nothing relevant to blog about.  The dresses, canes, strap on, and cock cage have been tucked away on their shelves for a long time.

The decline started with C’s epididymitis about a year ago. That condition has never fully gone away, and once orgasm denial became a health issue, everything else pretty much fell away.

There’s a good blog post in there somewhere, about everything depending on the release of some semen, power exchange depending on it, maybe the world would be different if we just examine the importance of the male orgasm, how if we just controlled this one little thing – the penis – the whole fucking world could be different… I don’t have the energy or research to write it, but it does make my daydreams more interesting.

Once the kinky sex quieted, the vanilla sex became nonexistent, and that is how C and I found ourselves going the last two months without having any sex, of any kind (let’s remember, intercourse is but one form of sex). We weren’t fighting or anything, we just haven’t made sex a priority (or even an option). We have plenty of things keeping us busy or tired, but all couples have things that keep them busy and tired, so that’s a really lame excuse.

C grew a beard. He’s cute with a beard, but I don’t like how it scratches my face (never mind scratching my thighs; until last night, he hadn’t been between my thighs in ages). Then I noticed that he’d stopped shaving the rest of his body, too. He’d always shaved his arms, legs, and chest, partly because he doesn’t like body hair (his own) and partly because he (and I) prefer how he looks dressed when he’s clean shaven. Seeing the hair grow on his legs and arms made me sad; it meant Christie was far away, and for the foreseeable future.


When you Google "bearded man in a dress,"  a photo of Donald Sutherland (not pictured) - not in a dress - comes up.

When you Google “bearded man in a dress,” a photo of Donald Sutherland (not pictured) – not in a dress – comes up.

The one thing I refuse to lose hold of is the FLR. He hates it when I assert it, but that’s part of it, anyway, so I don’t care. There are many reasons, both sexual and non, kinky and  vanilla, that an FLR is what suits us best. For starters, there are things in our relationship that throw off the balance of power and equality in his favor, and the FLR helps even the scales. So, I hold onto the FLR, even if it’s not nearly as pronounced as it once was.

Naturally, I began to worry about why we weren’t gettin’ it on. I know that long-term relationships have dips in sexual activity, but we’ve only been together four and a half years and only married for eight months. I didn’t expect a total dry spell this soon. What could it all mean? I’ve put on weight since last fall and I feel like shit (which is one reason my libido has taken a vacation), but he’s attracted to fat chicks… I don’t know. My mind went places, that’s all I’m saying.

Last night, though, perhaps the mystery was solved. C shared with me that he’s been masturbating and orgasming. When we were hot and heavy into things, he was forbidden to masturbate. As things waned, I told him to just ask for permission. My intention was that we would at least have that little moment of connecting sexually – that his pleasure was still at my will, and his continuing to ask would signal his participation in working with me to keep things going, however minimal.

If we hadn’t established orgasm denial and male submission as defining our sex life, I wouldn’t care that he’s masturbating without me. I don’t think masturbation is cheating or that it’s a sign he’s not interested in me or any of the other things that some women freak out about. But, this is different. This is the gradual and now-complete death of the express agreement we had about our relationship.

Remember that thing I said about the power of the male orgasm? I know my C. This blog is full of posts of my examining the direct relationship between his orgasming and his willingness to submit to me. The simple fact is, C has been coming without me, so fighting through the busy-ness and tiredness and general “life gets in the way” bullshit to get the energy to prioritize sex with me isn’t even on the radar.

I’m disappointed, but not mad. I share the blame, because I’ve neglected our sex life, too. All I know for sure is that I love C in a way that isn’t conditioned on sex. We will be fine and this too shall pass.

I just want to get naked with my husband a few times a week. If he’s in a dress at the time, that’s just a bonus.

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