Nov 262007

There are women that I love. They are smart, funny, and exciting. They make me feel like a great Priapic god when they show attention and affection for me. I adore and treasure them and want to be in their celestial orbits. I want to make sweet love to them in the dying of the night.

There are other women. The ones I want to fuck, ride, bend, bind, spank, pinch, overwhelm, and dominate. These women I want to play like instruments; discovering their unique song within and making them sing like they have never sung before. I write their story with paddles, commands and sheer will. I write a story that only works for them using themselves as inspiration and source.

One kind of woman is the kind I can grow old with.

One kind of woman is raw material to be processed, used and consumed.

I want both but it is hard for me to treat a single woman as both. A relationship that starts as the first rarely survives being transformed in the second. A relationship that starts as the second ceases to be exciting for the sub when it transforms into the first. Every book I read and every dom I talk to suggest starting with the first type and moving into the second and I agree in theory. It’s the reality that’s tricky.

I pull my punches as a dom when I love my sub. I have trouble having my sub hate me when I used to flourish under their love. I can’t go for the kill when I lack the heart to be her villain.

A dom has to know that his sub will still love him after he has done wicked things to her. Again, I know this in theory but my anxiety screams that this brilliant wicked thing I have thought of will shut that affection forever. I know it’s a lie, that my own affection for my sub will prevent me from doing anything that would hurt her, but my anxiety says that I make mistakes. My anxiety says that one day she’ll figure out that I am not as strong as I pretend to be.

I think this is why I enjoy writing BDSM so much. I can hurt fictional characters and I will. I can be honest with a character about my desires and the sub’s desires, with no fear of being judged. I can use a character. I enjoy using a character. They are there to be used and since the never loved me and never can, my anxiety never sabotages what they need.

There is a fine line between those that I love and those that I dominate. The truth is that I love them all, I just have troubles loving them well.

  5 Responses to “That Fine Line”

  1. This is what I love about you, Shon. Your vulnerability. Your courage to admit that you’re fallible. I think so many Dom’s won’t even go there. And not just to give the appearance of being unerring, but because they really believe it, when it’s impossible.

    I think it’s just this sensitivity that makes you (and even though I don’t “know” you, I say this with confidence)an excellent and trustworthy Dom.

    Where do you live, again? ;)


  2. I adore it when you allow us to peek into you.

    Thanks for sharing your vulnerabilities.

  3. i think my former Dom had a similar struggle. He could do terribly painful and wonderful things to me until he started seeing me as more than the person who liked the painfully wonderful things. i think it’s manageable with the right person but discovering who that person is well is difficult.

  4. Thanks for the wonderful words and insight.

    It’s funny because I struggle with that too. And I don’t think we’re alone in this as I know at least a couple others who’s BDSM has morphed or fallen apart when this happens.

    First step in dealing with anything is awareness.

  5. The geek 1/2 of our couple here…
    I had such an ingrained whore/Madonna complex that I thought I was incapable of lust towards girls I loved and respected. I wasted my lustful thoughts in private self-loathing torture on girls that really had not the character to hold my interest. The first woman who taught me to mix the too, I thought I would marry. I thought I should marry. I thought I must marry. She used me for sex. In my universe no woman wanted fairly chaste sex enough to do that? Puzzled I wandered on living a life of fantasy that existed in no plane of existence here I am sure. I chanced the odd lustful, guarded thought towards girls of substance character and morals, and lightening failed to strike.

    It was during this dawning realization of what a repressively insane upbringing I had had, that I met my future and present wife. Unavailable, but vulnerable and in need, I rode in on my charger and extracted her.

    I removed her from her situation, set her to right, watched nervously for signs that her evident affection was not mere sub-consious feelings of obligation.

    She guided and nurtured me to strength and dominance that I knew not of its existance, such was the depth of my naivete.

    I married a mandonna in my mind and was thrilled to learn as I went that she is anything but.

    Long winded as I tend to be but what I was aiming for was simply that I married for vanilla love, and rather than me nurturing her servitude, she from the bottom nurtured my inborn dominance that somehow she saw when no one did then or now.

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