Don’t Date Your Therapist: A Response

Eris Martinet wrote a manifesto of sorts, and I have a disagreement.

It’s here: Psycho-Sexual Domination and Its Healing Potential

It’s one of the biggest ethical nonos for a professional mental health care provider,  and a pithy piece of good advice for everyone looking at setting boundaries in their relationship in the appropriate level of care to give a partner.

But there’s so little space to love on the perverts or give sex workers a space to speak that I feel like I need to start my disagreement response to Eris Martinet with a disclaimer- this is a “Yes, and…” not a “Fuck no”.

And if you use my participation in a conversation to turn this into a diatribe on realness or anti-sexworker, I will look on you with disdain so severe you can’t even get off on it.

Eris’s true, raw piece about her very valuable career, as something between performance artist and therapist, is a very good way to make a lifestyle femdom real miserable. This is speaking as someone with a pretty serious caretaker kink, who wanders around unzipping boy’s baggage sorting through it with a reflexive talent.

But the dichotomy of broken and healer, while it can make for some powerful chemistry, is one that can only be dipped into not immersed in if you are building a relationship without a pile of (professional or other) distance, and I think female dominants in particular should be aware that the giving urge is particularly tempting to us.

I can’t really know where Eris is coming from regarding the professional side push back particularly on findoms, although the evil puritan gremlins who control the credit system on which all modern finance rests do their busy work implying that hypnosis is a bridge too far. I am not a prodom and I can’t speak for the nuance of culture- I’ve spent the last decade of sexual activity and public writing chasing away men trying to hire me with various levels of politeness.

She is right that we rank against each other too much in a world that casts us all out, with equal scorn. But…

If you are a female dominant and simply trying to date and find lovers, as writers like Ava have noticed, there is one hell of a bad tendency to use you as an outlet. Beyond this, it’s very easy to mistake the relationship of nurturing control for the power that makes you zing. Sadism and empathy are not two opposing forces, it is my observation that if your thing is vulnerable or tormented men, this compliments intensely with loving them and helping them.

But there is the cosmic joke, the one poor old Sacher Masoch teased out in his porn philosophy, when he wasn’t leaving protein stains on his wife’s ermine coat, the situation is all too much not opposite but opposing sexes, and this polarity on a binary fucks a lot up. With the framing of things as weird power dynamics in the vanilla that don’t seem to help anyone but nonetheless exist, everything is messy.

While Eris is pouring hot gold into the fissures of men’s psyches, I am over here slamming the door on a life spent setting myself on fire to keep someone else warm.

Two easy things go wrong- his fractures are actually the roots of his submission, not his nature, and your glue seals your power away, as satisfied, thence goes your heart. Or you exhaust yourself on an endless quest to mend and soothe, addicted to his need to heal. I am inherently a caretaker, and that won’t change, but I am more careful now.

It’s a familiar habit in our blogs- the happy couples are there, but most of the words are still frustrated, still seeking and suffocating under piles and piles of performance and incompatible need.

We break our hearts, over and over again to the point I stopped writing for a while because the world didn’t need another frustrated femdom crying into her keyboard about how nobody actually loves her properly. That it was my lot in life to inherit men who somehow broke under the pressure of the supposedly mirror kinks to mine, that I had to become either an unshakable self promoting pedestal or a deep well of patience to the exploring interest of emotionally stunted survivors, while they got to sulk about having the choice and economic position to buy a skilled professional.

Now perhaps my tone is not entirely fair, because men’s pain in their circumstances are valid, and it is extremely self evident in examining the pile of trope that is femdom that the whole thing has all sorts of pockets of internalized pain pressed into pearls, particularly some of the worst injuries we do to guys in policing them.

But oh hell, boys! I didn’t make that snarl of masculinity you get yourself so tangled up in.  I just want to be loved without being a therapy tool, an outlet or an idol.

And if there is one thing I have learned since I started being sexually active over half my lifetime ago, it’s that it needs to be better.  That I have specifically watched too many dominant women mistake helpless and wounded for something else, as a lifestyle choice.

I guess the other part is it never feels like anyone cares about our pain. Our alienation, disempowerment, and so on. Eris says nobody blinks at a Daddy Dom, but the reality of boundaries on your power as a Mother is one girl children learn from a young age when the first adult decides you should babysit.

And there is a glory in the traditional tools of womanhood- I have come to respect that perhaps I do not think femdom must look like maledom (perhaps the latter should aspire more the other way sometimes). I will not cast away the metaphorical spindle as a shackle, nor douse the hearth/home my ancestors-in-sex tended.

But, though I will spin a rope to bind him before tending to his pain, I will snip those threads when they become a barrier to the whole person. And I think my life has too often mistaken prior damage for enthusiastic surrender.

And I do recognize that I don’t think this is going to be a popular position, since people are bigger on sentiment and big declarations that if you care about the broken are reassuring. We are all a little shattered, and sub guys are intimately aware something is askew.

But there Eris and I part company- for I love where there is the perception of good surrender, but where she has the distance to mend the shards herself, I know that it will cut us, very deeply if we let a pretty broken thing be held to us the wrong way.

So take in a man whose body or his psyche is a map of scars, for that is beautiful to me and that may be your passion as well. I know I love and have loved such. But, beware the imbalances of energy and space to be whole yourself, you, my sister in kink who may be reading, and guard for the easy way you can fall into the breaks in him at your expense.

Eating Ayn Rand

He is an eager puppy, and everything I do is wonderful. I am not particularly surprised; this has been the nature of my interaction with the opposite sex, at least since nerdy boys discovered nerdy girls. They become stunned and impressed that someone else simply exists as she does.

I cut my teeth on boys like that, and I could call them chew toys, but that doesn’t really get across their nuanced feeling, because it isn’t contempt. I perceive them as humans with inherent worth and dignity and yadda, yadda.

But sometimes that is the enthusiasm in the proper consent to abuse them in a way that you both want.

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New Year, New Me, New Rules

My break up is not something I will particularly touch on, other than to say we wanted different things, and I wish Brick the best in future. Me, I have been processing it as a series of feelings, largely as an immense amount of vulnerability, a bit of cumulative damage to my self esteem, and a few conclusions.

Whether or not I actually make use of these lessons is an experiment in free will versus disaster planning, but whatever.

One of these is that I absa-posa-lutely should not do any more rushing in anything, regardless of whatever my heart decides for me. Several choices over the course of my life have been made on the hinge of the closing door of my last relationship. These choices seemed temporary and laced with hedonism, only to morph very quickly into responsibility. That is a kind of love, but one where you end up singing Joanie Mitchell songs about Clouds.

Here is the gut truth, over several relationships: I seem to like high strung men, and the nurturing is a part of my attachment. I do not think I can change my type there. It does, however, cause certain trends that repeat over the last decade.

I am going to make a slightly more selfish and self contained path in the next six months. No relationships, lots of exploration. That isn’t to say I table the idea of settling down forever, but I want to experience being single.

Even if my heart attaches itself, as it is wont to do, nothing worth it requires me to cast off all balance to claim it. Dates, dance classes, flirting, fun. Busy, but aware.

And more writing please. I miss doing that.

New Years Eve, A Sub & A (First) Kiss

Finding another kind of fireworks with a submissive's first time

Silver sits, stiffly, in a chair in a circle of the first comers to the party, and stands between the protection of a tall fan, and the edge of the television, his back to the wall. He is immersing himself in the gathering like a too hot bath, with the lure of my presence to bait him out and across the long drive over the border.

I promised him his first ever, real kiss, for New Years Eve. I wasn’t planning on moving that fast, still covered in Brick dust, still reeling from by what at turns was ripping off a bandaid and putting a kitten down, but when you find out that you have a perplexing puzzle box of a guy who is at once about the same level of perversity as you, has pursued it, and… has made it four decades without a kiss on the mouth, the Aesthetic demands sacrifice.

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How to Get a Woman to Dominate You: a Search Review.

I believe you can tell a lot about the quality of the information available to community by how searchable it is and right now that exact phrase “How to Get a Woman to Dominate You” turns up a disaster as far as results.

About 50% of humans seem to be at least vaguely kinky, with submissive fantasies being very common in all genders. Despite that, it’s an oft remarked comment of femdoms that the quality of the come ons we get and the education of our potential partners is more often than not, appalling. Guys who think we don’t exist. Guys who don’t know how to approach us. Guys who think we are weird fetish unicorns.

Why, with the sheer banality of the desire to be dominated, is this a thing?

A pretty common refrain is that men just don’t care to educate themselves, because sexism, but I don’t think that’s the entire picture. Although it’s easy to dwell on porn or poor social skills, the evidence is of a lot worse problem. The information just isn’t there to be found.

Lets say you are a an average straight-ish guy with a smart phone. You want to get femdom sexings, maybe with a partner,  or maybe you just want ot know how it works. Just as you check everything from the directions to your doctors appointment and how to make a pot roast to if you have cancer or where to find latex strapon videos, you probably google that shit.

So I did, and here’s the first 10 results. It wasn’t pretty.

  1. The first hit is Goodlookingloser, a A MRA/PUA site, telling you that women just don’t find being dominant inherently hot. their tip is to trick her, PUA style y offering your individual fetishes as things you want because you find them sexy, to which he inherent desire to be sexy will cause her to reciprocate. Direct quote “Girls are not naturally dominant.
  2. Then an Ask Men click -through article that is low on details and orphaned from anything BDSM community shaped.
  3. Then a guide to dominating women. >:(
  4. Then a guide *for* women on bustle, asking a man to dominate you.
  5. Then a Bad Girls Bible article for women telling them how to lead into a dominant role that is… actually not half bad.
  6. Back to dominating women. More text about how she will really want you if you do, a re-occurring theme.
  7. Then a Quora hit. It’s a specific scenario about trying to make femdom more appealing- not really a helpful answer but an honest one that not everyone’s going to be into your kinks, and a bit of explanation of “service topping”.
  8. Then we are back to another hit about dominating women from a wedding website.
  9. And another hit talking about dominating women and how it is what they really want.
  10. Finally, Stoya, over on the Verge, answers an agony aunt style sex question.  Unfortunately the net nanny “over 18” is broken and wouldn’t let me pass through.

According to everything Google tells us about the monopoly provided by their service, the first page of search is usually the only one people every visit, and most people usually only click the first link or maybe the first couple of links.  This means that Google thinks, algorithmically, the most useful search hit to a person looking for “How to Get a Woman to Dominate You” is in fact the following: “They don’t like to be because they no longer feel feminine and sexy.” and “Girls like to get fucked by a dominant, alpha male.

Can you imagine how much that is fucking with sub men to read that?

As a femdom, it’s infuriating, because obviously I exist and I am over here buffing my muffin to precisely the shit the author thinks won’t glaze a wick on its own merits. But if you were a sub guy… soul crushing. Follow that with dead ends and a litany of reminders how much women want to be dominated and no wonder I am getting a trickle of people who sound like they met a mermaid-unicorn or can’t fathom that I have my own needs or desires.

We need to do better than that. While we are getting utterly slaughtered by the side effects of FOSTA/SESTA and the #Pornapocalypse, we are largely erased from the narrative by lack of searchability. For all that articles like my 33 things every submissive man should know or femdom stuff to make him do while you figure stuff out have gamed SEO a bit to get actually useful information out there, I can’t find any of my blogger friends easily and that’s a problem.

So do me a favour and throw your favourite advice articles and blog posts in the comments and I’ll try to get them carried out a little further.

 

 

 

 

On Missing Stairs, Zak Smith, Libertines, Pimps, BDSM and Roleplaying

missing stair and bdsm and gamingLet’s talk about Zak Smith (aka Zak Sabbath, Zak S).

No, not the being terrible person thing, lots of people know about that already. Rather, lets talk about a particularly noxious kind of person who attaches themselves to libertine communities and pleasure parties: the pimp, and how he embodies a particular part of The Problem.

A Background: Who is this random guy and why should you, the reader of a porn blog, care?

Recently my various worlds collided. I’ve intimated before I do super nerdy stuff like roleplaying. That doesn’t make me shocking- venn diagram between kink and LARP is almost a perfect circle. Therefore I won’t delve too much into telling you what roleplaying is. I will warn that if you were here to get your rocks off, a better fit would still be my archive of femdom stories, as this way lies spicy feminism.

Still with me so far?

If you are involved in roleplaying enough to poke your head out into the larger online community, you’re probably aware of a new suite of allegations against a games writer, Zak Smith (sometimes called Zak Sabbath).

 

An artist and games creator, pornographer and promoter of adult arts in games media, Zak Smith has been the repeated subject of blown whistles. This time, when a number of his partners came forward and called him out, it seems to have stuck better than two years ago, when a games company, Whitewolf, decided to publically come out and say they didn’t find any truth to the allegation that he liked to harass people online.

Zak Smith likes to harass people online.

The page where Whitewolf defended him is mysteriously 404’d, but their parent company has since put them under greater restriction after a few other oopsies.

At almost a year to people loudly yelling at Whitewolf the games company for employing a known hazard, Zak Smith’s former romantic partners came out and said he abused the fuck out of them, and indeed used them to benefit his internet slap fight habit to help re-enforce his ability to harass people.

And as Zak Smith has publicly bragged about, the reason why this is germane to you, the reader, is that this famous dude also wears his kink membership hat with pride. We’ve given him a platform for us a bunch without telling him not to.

As is the way of online media, Zak Smith has, historically, been a bit of a lifestyle brand, wearing his wife and her adult entertainment work, as well as the bodies of other women attached to him as extensions of that identity. Although also famous for his work for Dungeons and Dragons, he’s particularly attached to the famous World of Darkness games franchise (it’s larp, tabletop, computer games, card games- you name it!)

(note bene: WoD is a ‘mature’ cousin to Dungeons and Dragons with lots of bdsm and fetishy stuff in the materials, both through a goth aesthetic and the subject matter largely focusing on their flagship franchise “Vampire”, a game about power dynamics)

 

Right, you say, I’ve burned my copy of Lamentations of the Flame Princess and vowed to never buy his tat again. But other than being same old same old, what makes this case stand out?

So here’s the accusation: the behaviour Zak Smith exhibited is textbook Objectification.

The best archetype I can use to describe Zak Smith is a pimp. Not in the oogie boogie woo woo sex traffickers gonna getcha horror stories, but in the sense that matters, a parasite that exploits the objectification of women while adding back nothing.

He didn’t even make his crap – “I hit is with my ax” and other creative endeavors showing adult film actresses gaming to their benefit, it was another chance to show it off to other straight white men that they could game with their fantasies. He was the Hooters of gaming podcasts, not because the women he worked with weren’t interesting, funny and had valid things to contribute, but because he cheapened all that shit to promote the person he actually cared about (himself) to raise his street cred with straight male nerds.

The problem with pimps, even in the classic sense, is not sexy art and sex for money, it’s that comparatively advantaged people attach themselves to marginalized communities, make it all about them and what they want, and use the fuck out of women, queerness, etc…

Much pixel-type is being laid about people’s feelings on the subject, largely affirming that it past due.  People are doing a good job of Believing the Victim, which is good- means that #metoo business gained a little traction. Normally all this would warrant from me is a few tweets agreeing that Mandy Morbid, Viv Vivid, etc… deserve respect and protection.

But I will add this:

You probably know a Zak Smith or two in your local kink community. Whether the self promoting creepy rope top who leers at anything female; the braying ass who uses being poly to collect humans for coup counting; or the starry eyed munch babbler who thinks that he is a more enlightened being by dint of where he goes to get a hard dick, all these people are particularly notable by the way they dress themselves up in the struggles of other while largely being straight white dudes.

This is not to say being a slutty man is not indeed, valid, wonderful and your right, or that men can’t be organizers or contributors. It’s that tendency in which others, usually women, become subverted into objects. Not artists or workers. Porn stars make art, sex workers work with their bodies. The distinction here is the people who cannot separate the person from the product.

For Zak Smith, BDSM and poly (unicorn poly, natch) provided a convenient smoke screen to own, abuse and modify women to his hearts content. And then turn around and cry sexism and prudery at anyone who disagreed with him. In the case of the Mandy Morbid (and other persons) anecdote we’re lucky enough that she decided to give us her testimony on the way out, he even flat out used her name and social media accounts to write, pretending to be her, because he could hide behind the very real shit she had to deal with because of her artwork.

While he, lets be honest, could slap hot naked goth chicks onto things all day long and merely make a few people who weren’t buying the product anyway harumph. That was a large part of it, and notable in his visual arts, that he depended on naked alt girls and blurred what he could claim (his technical skill) with deciding their voice for them.

Precisely because of his desire to smush together sex and gaming, as well as selling something people wanted, he’s long benefited from being able to call his critics prude or sex negative or even sexist. It’s a complexity that I think my readers are familiar with- the desire to have sexy art that is also ethical.

Zak Smith has not behaved ethically, indeed if you read Mandy’s account you will see him trying to wield her marginalized status like a sword to his, and not her advantage. Likewise he’s not LGBT ally, as her bisexuality was bragging rights and access to more women to him to use and control.  And there in is the stick that I want you, the reader, to note.

It’s a pointy stick, jutting out there, pretty obvious, in pretty much every community, but more notable in the arts and sex communities like kink where this has the most room to overlap. A kinky guy with access to porn stars and roleplayers, of which a fair percentage of them see the terrifying train wreck of abuse that was his life as living the dream? Wow, is he everything that’s wrong with sexy art.

Obviously I am not anti-sex, or even anti people who identify as male (although if this post gets any traction I can bet there are a few motherfuckers in duck and cover position screaming they are tired of being lectured for being men) but precisely because I make porn and get my literal and metaphorical tits out upon occasion, I like to try to be responsible and warn to beware of pimps.

Exploitation and identitySo how do we enjoy sex (and sexy art) and keep the pimps out?

It’s a challenge, the line between painting flesh vases for your dick flowers versus a celebration of humanity in every wrinkle and pothole of human experience. That is also the line in which the concept of ‘attractive’  vacillates between a restriction and a pleasing popular aesthetic. But if this longform blog post gives you any useful take aways, look to who is profiting from the sexy.

Zak Smith, a pretty garden variety creep in many respects, got particular power by not just fucking with the women in his life, but using them as a sales thing for his brand.

Breaking down the conventional sexy paradigm is not enough. No identity or role is so specific and obscure that there is not some man out there who believes he is doing a favour by being sexually attracted to it. Fat women, bi women, pale women, femdoms, women with physical disabilities- it’s not at all harmful someone gets off on that, but the point of harm is as per usual, when some asshole with his dick out wants a cookie in his non-wanking hand and screams like a small child when he isn’t show exactly what keeps the stimulation going.

If you want to keep objectification significantly reduced you need to turn a pretty heavy level of scrutiny on all that lovely porn and lovely porn adjacent sexiness and ask who it is meant for and who, ultimately benefits.

And if the answer is a troll of a man living a dream that pretty much all popular media uses as comedic shorthand for “lucky bastard” but he is wailing about oppression or claiming to be part of a secret society promising a liberal life  better for everyone, welp, poke it hard and weed for pimps.

 

[Signal Boosting: Weird & Wonderful has feelings about Zak Smith.  Ettin64 read Zak S’s rebuttal, poor thing.]

Life Updates Again

I am thinking about the particulars of self-care. Not fairy lights and lush bath bars, but the immense amount of effort it takes to keep one overly ambitious adult woman ambulatory.

Since I started a lovely, bland, immensely important straight job, which, cards played right, I will do until I exit clutching a pension, life has stopped being an uncertain jumble of hope and turned into a semi obscured singular path, I have time to look at other stuff.

One of them is the knowledge that I will always need to focus on a certain amount of time to keep my shit together.

I feel odd talking about my health, in the least because I am aware that non-normative perversion includes a certain pressure to show it gets better, and that we aren’t all mad. Unfortunately having a health problem is a hobby on its own and I am rather unfortunately derailed into an activity I would much rather not be doing but must do to keep certain baseline function.

But writing this blog, properly, has been an act of self care because it is a big raw candid dump of erotic and neurotic, and I have to admit, a demand that I am worthy of love as I am.

Paraphilias, on the scheme of afflictions, particularly something as pedestrian as BDSM, are not a heavy cross to carry compared to say, being racialized or having a chronic illness, but they do a number on your self-esteem when your options are freakish, objectified or ignored.

My sexuality isn’t going away, it demands at least personal fulfilment, and this blog remains my message-in-a-bottle launching point: here I am, are you there?

Lately I have been feeling particularly unlovely. Not physically, but like my sexuality is a nuisance. It blew up things with Wildcard (although we had other incompatibility issues) and it complicates dating anyone else.

I end up frazzled “here is 7 years of writing, about my fantasies and vulnerability, can you please work with this?” so far has been a bit more fitful and spotty in practice.

Brick, for example, has no idea what to make of 3/4 of it. I think I have a knack for helping other people find themselves in my writing because I have spent my whole life aggressively trying to make myself comprehensible.

But, as I find my feet in a new city, stabilized into sensible bland work, at least I find that once again I can write. So there is that.

Reader Letter: “Femdom Housewife?”

I recently got this rather sweet letter from a long term reader, so I’m glad to get a chance to answer for everyone. It’s a topic I’ve talked about before- the awkward relationship between gender roles and power, but if people are still asking about if you can be a femdom housewife, it deserves another mention.

Inquisitive writes…

O Miss Pearl,

I am a bit-more-than-occasional reader of your blog. Recently, a thought has been egging my curiosity.
I was wondering that whether its possible for a male and female in a Femdom relationship (with said relationship being applicable in the bedroom and to a certain, not-discernible-to-others extent, outside the bedroom too … just to provide context) to still have traditional roles with regards to division of labor in the household. That is, man is breadwinner who is career oriented (or has certain ambitions in life) and engages majority of the week’s time in bread winning, career making and training etc. while the woman is in-charge of the household (and maybe has a small side business too in her spare time). A Goddess-of-the-Hearth, so to speak.
Just to be clear, I’m not at all trying to imply that that is “how things should be”. People should do what they choose to do, whether its career-making or home-making, and people whose choices are mutually compatible should come together. Also, I’m the last person in the world to “look down” on the role of a homemaker. I’ve seen first hand how invaluable the contribution of a homemaker can be that s/he provides in exchange for their upkeep.
My query is that, in your opinion, is such a domestic understanding/arrangement even practically possible in the context of this kind of relationship. And if it is possible, just how likely is it to find a woman genuinely into femdom who’d be willing for such an arrangement in life?
Looking forward to your response.
Thanking you,
Yours faithfully,
Inquisitive
Dear Inquisitive,

Of course homemaking is a fine calling for a femdom! I’m glad you asked and gave me a chance to talk about it. Although gainfully employed, I have already talked about being a domestic dominant. I personally find it fulfilling. It’s a part of my assigned gender I like.

Contemporary feminism reminds us that household domestic work is still work, and although not compensated financially, is no less useful. Indeed, there is a push to have measures like the GDP recognize this unpaid labour as well, to truly reflect the productivity of a nation.  Housework is work, and it is largely misogyny that it is devalued in the first place.
Criticism of “traditional” roles relate not to the labour itself, but to a lack of options that often accompany the pressure to do it, or stereotypes that demand other behaviours along with the universal mundanity of making meals and removing the dirt from the living space. No matter the railings of reactionary ninnies like “Above Rubies” or the emotional self stunting of the “Surrendered Wife”, if everyone in the relationship is freely choosing things to be so, then all is as it should be- and there is nothing about domesticity that implies submission.
Indeed, domestic discipline, with it’s spoon and hairbrush wielding matrons, is, in itself a fetish.  The imagery of a fashionable mid-century woman is just as likely to be put on like a costume by a dominatrix as an evangelical, and both do so because it armors them in a kind of power we are inherently aware of.  You see it even in would be secular reactionaries like Red Pill Women, or the assertions of the #tradwife brigade, that once they take it outside the context of a consensual kink, they can bray all they want about submission, but these women are, functionally, in charge.
Once you aren’t bound into a role, everything else is set dressing and personal choice.
Even excluding the wealth of pornography that blends so called traditional domestic imagery with femdom, to be a dominant is an act of desire that doesn’t stick itself to any gender or social class.  Women and men have always, sometimes, wanted female led relationships, regardless of the particular background noise of their culture, and simple, pat separation of feminine = submissive, domestic = drudge is ahistorical, revisionism, trying to make a narrative that was never as fixed as we seem to try to teach, where woman in her natural state is a slave.
(Ok, ironically for most of human history, human labour for all genders was primarily everyone subsitance farming, but even then, femdom is not new. Even when your biggest concern was spinning enough wool to not have your fingers freeze off while stockpiling turnips, there had to have at least been a few women who took the laundry paddle in from the wash house and filled their smokey wattle and daub hut with squeals and giggles. It ain’t like modern doms of any gender are all high powered CEO rocket scientists)  
And the truth is, even unpacking traditional roles, femininity often includes expectations of power and management, from deciding family spending to directing the entirety of the life choices of the family as a unit. When women protest exhaustion or frustration with their gender, is is not the work itself (although it can be hard), but the sensation of being taken for granted, or when their leadership is undermined. When women control their own finances, bodies and destinies, well, if you have the shared wealth that one of you can concentrate their labour indoors, while the other works outside the home, go nuts.
So in parting, have your femdom housewife life. As long as you are listening to her and affirming her power, you should be fine.
Love,
Miss Pearl
More posts on the subject include a post on the limits of caretaking and another more detailed riff on The Darker Side of Caretaking

Anti-erotic Life Updates

Pleasant lashings of Vancouver rain beat down on the new city I call home, while I ineptly put together homemade pancakes (got the texture wrong because I eyeballed it and experimented with cake flour) and my long suffering roomie wrestles with their cold on sick day number two.

My body is a disgusting PMS mess, dry and oily and swollen, over sensitive and blotchy. Although, in theory, I see Brick this weekend I feel as erotic as a mud filled pinata. My mood, due to stuff not related to sex, is ok, but mostly I am just looking in the mirror and seeing one breast a D and the other a perky E, and feeling more prickle than warmth in my cunt.

Of course, dear reader, that was more honesty than titillation, and were this a viable commercial endeavor rather than a collection of curated truths and writing exercises, my supervisor would be having a talk right now.

Luckily for me, I am allowed to be honest, so you get bloated and itchy femdom eating flaccid (but surprisingly tastey) pancakes. That is probably someone’s fetish?

Life has been, largely, not about sex. It involves career chasing, and learning my new home and worrying about sickly family and adjusting to a climate where the air is mountain dry and ocean wet at the same time. Most of the commentary I have is how much I like the misty temperate parts, despite everyone warning me how challenging the endless rains of the North West are.

Assuming I don’t plunge into a cold, I will go to the US to spend time with my boyfriend, and we will probably not have especially good sex, because my body is being more concerned with a tantrum over my lack of pregnancy than getting more dick up in my cavities.

Retrospective 2018 On My Femdom Life

Blisters from my sexual journey.Let’s look at the metaphoric hiking blisters and holiday snaps from my sexual journey, shall we? 😛

This blog has seen me through four relationships, and a significant part of my adult life, almost a third of it, actually. It was started as an effort to put content out there that resonated with me, in a world that did precious little, for various reasons, to cater to my niche. I knew, for example, when I saw a scene in a movie where an attractive man was tortured I got very alert and excited, but there was a distinct lack of stuff explicitly made for my gaze and desire.

I started chasing this in 2008, with my move to Montreal. I slipped from turgid sex chats and online role playing to visiting munches, getting a fetlife account and playing with real boys (and real girls and then real nbs). The blog grew out of fetlife- it wasn’t my first foray into autobiographical writing or fiction online, but a very successful effort, cataloging my exploits, fantasies and trying to be a representation of femdom life.

I got semi niche famous. I’m still a leading luminary, albeit never the most important. The blog doesn’t really turn a profit, but book sales almost cover hosting and the odd freelance writing gig gained through it sort of balance it out. I imagine if I decided to put more dedicated effort into content churn, particularly ramping up the spank bank material we’d be a better business.

Now, about a decade of exploration later, I get to look back on what precisely what the hell all this means in the context of the now.

I am thirty two. A little thinner than my youth, with more grey hair and a few permanent scars on my skin and psyche and a few hard won pieces of confidence and honed skills. My writing is better through raw practice and editing.  I tackled some truly awful people in the local community of Montreal, battled all sorts of bad theory (Karma Sutra still has me blocked), ran a successful munch until I basically aged out, and can largely be happy with much of it even if I chafe that I am now what passes for an elder-mentor when I still feel like a hot mess. I think that’s a millennial thing- we’re all adults in a world where the meaning of adulthood exploded.

I don’t regret my kink explorations but I also remain wistful that one thing I wanted remains very much out of reach, long term sexual satisfaction in a loving, respectful relationship. I of course, always attract and prefer commitment oriented partners. I’m in a relationship and happy with him, but I’m still fighting to explain what I am and feel I am being understood and more importantly, cherished for it.

I’m still feeling like a freakish femdom unicorn.

I want things to be better.

It is still very hard to find a contextual niche about femdom that doesn’t cater specifically to being an object of male desire. This supposition is either that your power is based on limitless male longing, or that you are working within a selection of specific fetishes held by a male partner. The Mistress Manual is one of the better books about this (the New Topping Book is the inverse option that presupposes no gender and a buffet approach) , but the former’s premise is shit for a female dominant doing things for her own sake. (And fabulous for when he is the kinky one).

Sites like Femmedomme Society and Elise Sutton  now have enough practical adults willing to call out the fantasy nonsense for what it is, but the norms of the work, one where female dominance is somehow all powerful through pent up male horniness, still lingers, with the consumer model omnipresent. People still try to hire me as a service provider, or offer me porn inspired activities as “service” despite being perfect strangers (and my hoary old age in no way deters them).

The censorship of FOSTA and SESTA and crack downs on global social media ranging from twitter to instagram, and the perennial shittiness of the monopoly of credit card providers on what is acceptable sex-art will be a problem into the next decade.

It’s not all a bleak, joyless sex dystopia, however.

Shoulders are tits for people who like make bodies.Ava Ex Machina and Ferns continue the good fight in the field of femdom life blogging. The tumblr user curated porn remains excellent, and there are deep strides among the young folks through the niche called “Gentle Femdom” to pull people away from the client and dominatrix model of how this works. There’s a pile of male bloggers and writers plugging away with dynamics that function, and of course Dreams Made Flesh launched .

On a larger porn front, women are now actively being recognized as consumers. We dominate (snrk) the erotica market, as both consumers and creators, and happily consume all sorts of other porn.  Women write, read, watch and aggressively pursue sex in a way that was just not a thing in the previous century. It’s getting better.

I am actually confident that if I buy femdom porn I won’t necessarily come away insulted, disgusted and alienated. Performers like Lance Hart, much like the male sub bloggers, go further in breaking down the implicit external power dynamics of classic femdom porn. Sweet artists like GracyGimp or the flat out wonderful Yumine bring a certain lively coziness to what was previously more than a little cold. BDSM, thanks largely to the work of submissive women advocating on their own behalf, is mainstream.

But I am still having a crap time getting a partner to actually give me what I want.

There, I said it, that in large part pursuit of sexual satisfaction has been the fulcrum that moved me from various relationships, first out of one that was destroying me as a person, then into an interlude with Strong that notably petered out when the fetish fun times did, then with Wildcard, much more painfully, for he had a lot to recommend him. With Brick, it is no wonder I am fixated on trying to get it right, because my actions tell me this is clearly something that matters to me a lot.

My relationship, at the moment, has a huge pile of pressure to perform on him because a decade of experimentation and poking leaves some impatience.  I like to invest heavily in my partners- I would describe I am moderate-maintenance, but thrive when I can nurture my partner. He’s pretty and fun and smart and our hobbies that line up, but the figurative elephant in the room is my feelings around sex.

And it is really sucking to try to talk about what I am into with the absolute expectation of getting my needs met, because I keep second guessing that any communication fuck up is my fault. Now some of this is the gulf between fantasy and reality, for example there is no such thing as limitless submission or universal sexual chemistry.

Writing out that I am sexually unsatisfied, however, is an exercise in anxiety. What if my partners think I am judging them?  What if I destroy the hope my readers have? What if the collective judgement uses this as an excuse why being a female dominant is a condition we need curing from? What if, indeed the problem is me?

Heady stuff, in a world that isn’t sure if it needs to send you money and semen or off to jail by way of a psyche ward. I’ve made it my work to talk about the personal and a lot of why there has been a hiatus is that I did not think that the world needed more sad femdoms. Bitter girl blog is all well and good, but just like there is a relative shortage of our porn, there’s a wealth of female dominants in anger, misery and crotchety despair.

Then again, Fuck Fear.

I have to trust that if I put myself out there, a partner I can be happy with will understand me. This isn’t really what I wanted- I’ve been basically trying to “settle down” for the entirety of my femdom exploits, and the hard lesson, repeatedly taught is that settling down domestically with a person cannot be subsuming my own happiness to the enterprise, in the broken idea that this will make me happier. Unfortunately it’s probably living your own authentic self to accept that with age must come honesty, and the next fifty years are probably even more tactless.

I love, and will love, but I will also love my femdom self and above all things be honest, because if I cannot do that with myself, what hope might I have that others can?

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