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I used to read this book as a child. Loved it. And so I stole my title from it today.

If you didn’t catch that, I had a terrible day.

It started last night, really. It wasn’t anything in particular, but Daddy was distracted and didn’t want to hang out with me. It’s not a huge deal, but I’d just gotten home from therapy, and I have been exploring some new places. Point is, I was feeling a little insecure and then he didn’t want to be there with me, and that made me feel even more insecure. Somehow this translated into these crazy vivid dreams about him leaving me (abandonment issues anyone?) that woke me up at 3:30 in the morning, set me crying and unable to fall back asleep until 10 minutes before my alarm went off.

Of course.

When I caught up with Daddy online this morning it turned out we’d miscommunicated our schedules, and he’d planned to hang with me during a time that I wasn’t available. Again, not a huge thing, but a bummer. And then while he had planned to hang out with me and I couldn’t be there, he told me he was going to talk with this new girl he’s been getting to know on chat. There’s nothing wrong with that – I knew they were talking on and off, but I guess I felt sad that the time I was supposed to get was going to some other girl, even if it wasn’t like he was choosing to hang out with her over me.

Then my car got hit while it was parked at work. Go figure, it’s totally fucked up. And the driver didn’t leave a note, but managed to ruin the entire side of my car and take off one of my sidemirrors. Then I had to drive home like that, and it was scary because I didn’t have the proper mirrors in place, and I was sad because of things not clicking with Daddy, and him hanging out with someone new. And I started thinking how she was going to be more interesting because he doesn’t know her. And he knows everything about me, and I’m probably annoying and boring by now. And I can’t ever be new to him anymore. And I started feeling really lame and inadequate and replaceable, and before I knew it, I was full on sobbing/hyperventilating while trying to drive.

Then I got two phone calls that I didn’t want, and was stuck on the phone with insurance people. All this by about 1pm.

Finally, I just laid on the couch on my belly in my pajamas and cried until I didn’t have anymore tears in me. Then I drank a glass of water, and then I emailed Daddy and asked that if he could please make some time for me, I could really use a little. He squeezed me in for like, 10 minutes, and I started to feel better. But then he had to run, and I felt almost ok, but not quite there.

I tried to be productive after he left (and I wrote some of this post while I was at it). And then I started thinking about why I was so sad about this new girl. Daddy and I have been really switchy for the last few months, and a lot of that time, I’ve been the dom. But in the past week or so, Daddy has been more dommy. And I thought about how subbing really freaks me out sometimes. It’s all wound up in so much of my childhood insecurity and vulnerability. I honestly don’t understand how I subbed for so many years because lately, when I do it, I end up feeling emotional and needy and wrecked and scared and it’s really draining.

So it occurred to me that maybe it was a bad idea to be subbing for Daddy while he was having fun with this new girl. Because  when I can be confident in my radness and what I bring to the table in our relationship, I don’t feel jealous or worried or anything. Then it’s just fun letting Daddy be Daddy: flirty and adorable and seductive the way he was when I first met him. But my super confidence goes away when I get all subby. So I thought I should tell him that maybe while he’s playing with this new girl, I shouldn’t sub.

I did tell him that. And we kinda talked for a minute about it, and god bless him, he was really patient with me, and hung on for a good while. And then I think both of us were frustrated by the over-analyzing, meta level conversation. And all I wanted was to escape my horrible day with him to someplace sexy. And he said he felt gunshy, and didn’t know how to proceed or what would be best, given what I’d just said about subbing.

So, I pushed for a while, trying to tell him that I wanted him to be him. That I’d tell him if he got too close to the scary stuff, and he didn’t have to worry. But he didn’t feel comfortable, and finally, in a last ditch effort to salvage the time we had, we curled up on the couch together. No analyzing. Nothing meta. Barely any words. Just touch and smell and taste and sound and love.

And I swear to god, by the end of that, I felt like my whole day had turned around. I even decided to go running, and I did. And now I’m just home from this beautiful run at sunset at the beach and through Golden Gate Park, and I feel like the luckiest, happiest, confidentest, most peaceful girl in the whole world.

And even though today was rotten, I learned a very important lesson about Daddy and myself. And I wanted to share it because, well, who knows? One of you might have a use for it. But also, because I don’t want to forget: sometimes thinking too much about sex makes the sex go poof. I know that sounds obvious, but we’re both such analytical people that we can easily get caught up in the discussion about sex, and not get to the sexy part. Sometimes we just need to touch and taste and smell and hear and be in love. And that’s what I’m going to try to remember the next time that Daddy and I get off track. Less meta. More fucking.

Less meta. More fucking.

And I love you, Daddy. With all my heart.

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I’d like to thank everyone that commented and emailed me about my prior post. Naturally, I expected some reaction to it, since it was dark and touchy subject matter. But, I expected to get more judgment and wrath, and I’m very grateful for the lack of it. It’s been a while, but it’s great to remember that my readers are really a smart, thinking, sophisticated bunch (and good looking, too).

I’ve been paying attention when I get myself off at night, trying to pin down what, exactly, I’m fantasizing about. Here’s what I’ve noticed: I generally don’t fantasize about D/s. What I mean is that in my head, I don’t imagine daddy as my consenting adult partner. I don’t imagine myself as his 30 year old consenting adult partner. I think about another me — the child me who really existed once, but doesn’t anymore except in my head — and another version of my daddy who has actually raised me. (Here comes a little tangent.) But what’s interesting/odd is that it’s not the taboo of incest that makes that detail important. It’s the feeling of being completely, 100% known, made, broken, used, abused, loved, kept and created, by and for him. (It’s kinda different when I fantasize about topping – more on that another time.) It’s an impossible relationship in real life (and obviously, the things we do in my fantasies would be child abuse) but that’s what makes it so much fun to fantasize about. In my fantasies, daddy is my god. It’s this magical dynamic that I don’t have, not even with my (awesome, sexy, bestest-ever) daddy. Because the daddy in my head is really just me – he always says the right things, touches me right, whispers exactly the thing that makes me come. And that’s because he’s not real, he’s like a robot that I control. And I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I actually top myself when I get off. For example, I whisper things that I want to hear. Things like “take it, piglet because it’s all your fault. You made me hard, now you’re going to have to lay there and fucking take it.” I literally say these things to myself aloud. So really, I’m sort of topping and bottoming at the same time. And no real person could really engage with me the way I do with myself, and that’s fine. That’s why it’s fantasy. (Ok, end of tangent.)

Returning to the topic at hand, when I fantasize about violence (being hit, hurt, belted, choked, slapped across the mouth, left with a bloody lip, etc.) I likewise don’t fantasize about D/s. Aside from the times that I actually get off remembering something daddy and I have done (which I wouldn’t even call a ‘fantasy’), I get off imagining that violence is actually happening to me.

For example, I keep having this fantasy where my daddy is teaching me that hurting is sex, and he’s teaching me to love it the same way I love sex. He lays me across his lap and spanks me over and over and over with his belt. And when I’m crying and begging him to stop, he talks to me and runs his hands over my hot, pink welts and tells me that this is sex, too. Just like all the other things he does to me. For certain I’m not fantasizing about being beaten as a ‘scene’ in the D/s sense of the word. There’s no safe word, no limits, I have no power to stop it. He owns me. He decides if I live, how I live, where I live. It is absolutely abusive. Absolutely, if our relationship was the way I see it. And it wouldn’t be all that different from what I saw in that video, really. It would be a very real father beating his very real little girl. And that’s the way I want it to be in my fantasies.

Of course when my daddy actually hits me, it’s not abusive. Of course, what we do is D/s and it’s between adults and we’re not related, and we’ve both agreed to do these things together. But it also comes straight out of our fantasies  about real abuse. And when I think about it that way, it makes sense to me that the video caused such a conflicting, sexual reaction. In many ways, it was like the fantasy reel in my head being played back to me. I think that the fact that it’s a video adds to that sense of watching a fantasy. And although I’ve never seen anyone beaten like that in real life, I’m sure I wouldn’t be aroused watching it if it were playing out in front of me between a real father and his daughter, as many of my readers pointed out. I’m sure I would be upset, disturbed, angry, and I would try to stop it. So even though it is a real video of a real life event, the fact that I’m one step removed from the real life violence makes that video more like a fantasy, and less like reality. Which makes sense, and makes me feel better. At least as far as my arousal is concerned.

And I think – no, I’m sure – that I’m ok with it now. So thank you all for letting me sort through this here, and for weighing in with all of your thoughts. It was beyond helpful, and this conversation has alleviated my guilt quite a bit. You all are wonderful, and I’m so lucky to have you here with me.

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I’m nervous about writing this post. In fact, I’ve considered not writing it. Or putting under password protection. Or maybe just emailing it to my daddy and a select few readers. But I try very hard to be honest, willing to analyze myself, and brave enough to share . So, I’m writing it.

It began when my daddy sent me a link to the (WARNING: graphic, triggering, disturbing) video of Texas Judge William Adams beating his daughter with a belt. (Side note: yes, that’s a Fox News link, and yes I hate them, but YouTube keeps removing the footage and Fox seems to have a working link.) If you haven’t watched it, or don’t want to watch it, I’ll sum it up for you briefly.

The video was shot in 2004, by the daughter. She hid the video camera so she could capture her father on tape. She just posted it online in early November, and it started a whole debate about what constitutes legitimate child discipline and what differentiates that from child abuse. The tape is about 8 minutes of her father beating her with a doubled-over belt. When she won’t lay on her stomach to take the spanking, he swings it, wildly and with a full arm, at her legs, her thighs, her stomach (she’s dressed) and at one point, he threatens to spank her face if she doesn’t turn over. When she eventually does, the girl’s mother administers one hard slap of the belt to her behind, and then the father starts in again, claiming that he hadn’t gotten his “lick” in. At this point, she is crying hysterically, slides to the floor, and he continues to swing the belt at her for not laying on her stomach for him, claiming he’s going to beat her into submission. When he’s done, he threatens to “wear her ass out with his belt” if she so much as looks at him wrong, and tells her she doesn’t deserve to live in his house.

Unquestioningly, I felt that I was watching abuse on that tape, not legitimate parental discipline. His complete lack of physical or emotional control is what cemented my opinion. I was never spanked as a child (with one awful exception). I don’t believe that I would spank my (nonexistent) children. But I recognize that in some families, there is a place for corporal punishment, and I cannot impose my opinions on others. If, however, an adult is administering physical discipline, it seems to me it should be delivered calmly and in a controlled manner, not in the heat of rage, but rather with level emotions and a didactic undertone.

What I see in that tape is fury, uncontrolled. What I see in that tape is violence, and of  course, it’s nonconsensual violence. I don’t like what I see, and I know it’s horrible and wrong. And yet I am immensely, horribly, shamefully aroused by it.

I watched the video with my mouth agape. And when it was over, I cried. And while I was crying, I masturbated thinking about the way that man swung that belt at her, and then I cried even harder because I felt like the world’s worst, most fucked up human being. And then I told my daddy what I had done, and his response was something along the lines of “of course you did.” He’d known how I’d react when he sent it because he knows me and my erotic imagination inside and out. And so, I’m left with this disturbing pile of emotions.

I think that man is awful, and I don’t agree with what he did. And, let me be clear, there is NOTHING D/s about it. What he did was nonconsensual, abusive, wrong. And I have to admit those are the things that arouse me most about the whole damn video. It was real. Really real. And even though I know that kind of violence is out there, I’ve never experienced it so intimately or so explicitly.

So that’s my confession. And yet, I can’t help but wonder what about this particular masturbatory fantasy makes me feel so badly. I mean, I write online about a lot of crazy, nonconsensual, kinky, taboo, button-pushing fantasies. But I don’t know if I’ve ever written about the way I’ve eroticized pure violence and victimization. And that’s where I’m going with this series of posts. Essentially, violence and sex are intertwined in my mind. And probably in many of your minds. And obviously, in our culture. But why do I feel so much guiltier about sexualizing this particular video than I have about, say, sexualizing a real life rape account? Why am I so much more comfortable with violent sex than I am with sexual violence? Why does violence arouse me at all? How did those wires get crossed, and am I really so unusual for crossing them?

I hope you’ll bear with me as I sort through this, and please, feel free to contribute to the discussion publicly in the comments, or privately via email. You can find mine in the link at the top of the right hand column.

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Hello to those of you that still come by here! Yes, I’m alive and well and living in San Francisco. Yes, I’m still with my daddy, still married, still kinky, and still mostly exploring the domme side. Yes, I’m going to start writing here again.

Because I’m terrible at self-motivation, and because I do better if I have a deadline or a goal, I think I’ll post a blogging agenda here, publicly. This way, I’ll feel responsible for publishing the various pieces I’ve promised, and for publishing them on time.

What else can I tell you about me, lately?

1. I’ve been writing quite a bit, just not for free on the interwebz. I joined a writing group, and to my surprise, a number of the participants write about sex, and specifically, kinky sex. I suppose I might have anticipated that because it’s for sexually open-minded bay area folks. But still. It’s been an interesting experience to hear other women read, openly, explicitly bdsm-themed writing. I’ve had this urge to “out” myself a number of times, to tell them that I’m kinky. Or just to mention my blog and see if there’s any recognition. So far, I’ve resisted. But I’m not sure for how much longer that will be the case.

2. I still post on my tumblrs, although really, my daddy is much better at being consistent there than I am. I still look at tumblr almost every day for a little bit of time. I still find the images to be, mostly, jumping off points for my erotic imagination. Meaning, I rarely (never?) get off to an image by itself. I find the ones that tell me stories, and then I write the story (either with daddy or in my head) and then it’s the story that ultimately makes me come. #randomfact.

3. I am still losing weight. I’ve lost 65 lbs since my original starting weight, and 75 lbs from my heaviest weight ever. I’m happily weighing in at 135 this morning, only 5 lbs to go until my current goal weight. The plan is that at 130, daddy and I will evaluate my body and decide what/where/whether we’d like to see changes. And I’ll work from there. For the curious, this past year (since January 2011), I’ve been using Weight Watchers online, and I have to say, I really love it for the most part. Feel free to email me if you’re interested in some “after” pics, although they’re not really “afters” because as I mentioned, I’m not really done. But there’s that update.

4. I’m really looking forward to writing here again, and hopefully, feeling that sense of community. I look forward to catching up on the blogs I’ve missed (looking at you, people in my sidebar), and hopefully becoming part of the sexblogging interwebz once again.

Now that I’ve told you what I’m up to, here’s the promised list of things I’d like to write about in the coming weeks:

1. I want to write about sexualizing violence and abuse.

2. I want to write about the vulnerability of topping.

3.  I want to write about some of my latest topping experiences with both daddy and one of my favorites girl friends.

4. I want to write about body image/kinking on dieting.

Those are some pretty broad topics, and I’m sure I’ll have multiple posts for more than one of them. But anyway, I’m just gonna stick this list here, and try to bang out one of these pieces every Friday or so.

Thanks for your continuing support, interest and readership. It really does feel like coming home.

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About a year ago, he betrayed my trust profoundly, and I was angry. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him, and I certainly couldn’t allow myself to be vulnerable to him. At that point, we decided I should take control of our relationship, so I could feel secure in it again. To the extent that we label ourselves, we both identify as switches, so me being “in charge” wasn’t as strange as it might sound. I’d been in charge (meaning, the top) in our relationship before, but it had been in smaller doses (read: a day, a few hours, a scene). This time, I was going to be the top for as long as I wanted to be.

Those first months were really hard in some ways. I wasn’t sure I knew how to top anyone, let alone the person who’d just spent 6 months dominating me. (Although I identify as a switch, 99% of my D/s experience was as a sub. And he’s the opposite, having been the dominant partner for the majority of his D/s past.) He gave me lots of advice, but it took time and patience and really learning to trust myself. And eventually, I did find things that I wanted, liked, and felt I could demand. But, my feeling that he “deserved” this, made topping him a little easier.

Of course, I eventually forgave him. My anger got washed away by his sweetness and dedication. I lost that righteous feeling, and had to learn to top him from a place of love instead. And I did. And I grew. And now, our dynamic has morphed from one with a very clear hierarchy into one without. Some days, I want to be in control, and some days I don’t. Some days, I want to just be sweet and in love, and I don’t want anyone topping. And of course, his moods change, too. He enjoys bottoming, but we’ve learned that his craving for it has triggers and limits. And I’ve learned to be flexible and to stand on my own two feet. I don’t need him to tell me what to eat or how to be every day of my life to feel connected; I am confident that we are.

All this flexibility and switching helped me notice the emotional difference, for me, between being on top and being on the bottom. Submission, as I pointed out in my prior post, pushes on the places where I’m bruised. Dominance, on the other hand, seems to bring out my inner superstar badass. Where submission makes me cry, dominance makes me strut. (And I don’t mean I put-on a strut. I mean that when I’m all the way in domme space, I notice myself walking around with this other rhythm and posture. I don’t know how else to describe it.) If submission makes me feel empty, dominance fills me up. When I settle in there, it’s some kind of magic. I float through my day with this solid sense of inner kickassness that doesn’t falter. Except, that is, when our dynamic does.

Once again, the solution seems obvious: I should just stay in domme space. It makes me feel good about myself, and it’s helping me build a genuine sense of confidence that I’ve needed. But of course, it isn’t that simple. I think there are three big reasons why we haven’t settled into a permanent F/m dynamic: my lapses in confidence, his fluctuating desire, and the history we have as an M/f couple. Plus, we both genuinely enjoy switching.

Sometimes, in the middle of my topping streak, I lose my confidence. We haven’t figured out why yet, although I wrote about some of my struggles recently, and I got some wonderful advice. (Seriously, if you haven’t read the comments, you should.) But of course, I’m not perfect and I continue to overthink things (who, me?) and question my instincts, and just generally spiral myself into a tizzy of “oh noes, what should I do?” And once I start down that road of doubting my decisions, I tend to keep going.

His desire is a separate issue. Obviously, this is a two person dynamic. He has to be a willing, enthusiastic partner for anything to work (that’s true for any couple, no matter what). And just like I sometimes lose my topping confidence, he sometimes loses his bottoming desire. We’re pretty sure about what triggers it (orgasms) but it’s not an option for him to live completely chastely. And it isn’t every orgasm, every time. But when he loses his desire, it causes chaos that our dynamic sometimes recovers from, and sometimes doesn’t. Of course, if you know me, you know I kink on non-consent and forced submission. But actually forcing him back where I want him isn’t easy; most of the time it’s impossible. (I should note that even my “forcing” him is truly consensual.) I’m not sure how else to explain it except that when he loses his desire, I feel like I’m being asked to move a giant boulder. And I just can’t. Or maybe I just don’t want to. Boulder-moving doesn’t seem to turn me on or make me happy. And he’s stubborn and heavy as hell when he wants to be.

That brings me to my last point. We both have so much experience in a M/f dynamic. Our relationship started that way, and it suits us sexually so well. It is easy for both of us to slip there when other places get hard. We’re comfortable; it fits like a favorite pair of jeans. But it takes an emotional toll.

And so, I’m left without a real sense of what’s best for me, for him, for us. I know that as we keep playing with it, the F/m dynamic gets stronger and more comfortable. On one hand, it’s a rather silly sounding problem with a simple solution: it’s only sex, and we should do what’s fun. And so far that’s been our solution. On the other hand, neither of us are sure that my submission is healthy for me, even though we both enjoy it. So even if it’s fun, we’re not sure we should play with it. But we can’t seem to keep me permanently on top. And neither of us wants to give up D/s entirely.

I’m looking for a perfect solution but maybe there isn’t one.

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I can’t help but notice that my two recent posts reflect a topic I’ve been wanting to address: The difference in my emotional state when I’m submissive, in contrast to when I’m dominant. I’ve been wanting to analyze this, and so I’ll tackle submission first.

Although I didn’t always know this, my work in therapy and my relationship with my Daddy have helped me uncover something important: My submission is tied to my trauma, pain, abuse and neglect. Submission always ends up bringing out the places where I hurt and feel unlovable. It tugs on the places where I feel abandoned for being imperfect, and where I’d do anything, anything, anything to be loved. It can be a very sad, very needy place.

It seems obvious now, but I used to wonder why submission almost always lead me to crying. Imagine how awful it was in my first D/s stumblings. I’d have these really intense experiences and feelings with my then-Dom, and want to deal with them. But he had been clear from the beginning that he didn’t want any emotional involvement. He had said he’d stop seeing me if I couldn’t handle it. So I’d smush all that hurt away, only to break apart when he walked out the door. It was horrible.

I had figured out that I needed to find a Dom who could handle a lot of big emotion right before I met my Daddy. I told him that if I were to let him top me, I’d need a lot of emotional aftercare. I warned him that submission brought up things I couldn’t handle on my own, pain I couldn’t bear, and lots and lots of tears. He promised that I could always, always tell him my feelings, and had me promise not to hide them. He told me he could handle all of it. And so far, he really has. In fact, he doesn’t just handle my emotions, he encourages them. He celebrates them. He sees close to everything I feel now: the pretty, the ugly, the sad. And he loves it. Truly. It’s been amazing to have someone love me like that for the first time in my life.

As it turns out, crying is also a major turn-on for both me and my Daddy. I had never had a sexual partner that enjoyed my crying. It’s always been something I had to hide. But now I get to lay my head against his chest, and have him hold me and let me cry. He never tells me to stop, and that’s really nice. Admittedly, lots of times things turn sexual at some point because we are both so turned on by crying. One of my favorite things that we share is the ability to embrace my hurting, and make it something pleasurable together. I love that he loves the broken little girl that my submission brings out. I love that she makes him crazy with love and lust and longing. It’s good for her to be loved like that. It’s wonderful to be able to feel and be seen.

But as my recent post suggests, bringing all that out isn’t just about pleasure. Bringing my submission out still causes tremendous, unmanageable pain. It doesn’t always end with me in a tailspin, but to avoid one, the timing has to be perfect. If Daddy gets me into that place, and can’t be with me, I break apart. That little girl is terrified of abandonment, and she doesn’t want to be left alone, not even for a second. Being left alone for days is unbearable. It’s like her world is ending. It feels like something is dying inside me.

The obvious solution is that we shouldn’t bring my submission out except when there’s time to make things alright. And mostly, we’ve learned to stay away when he’s too busy. Except life doesn’t always stick to our plans. When Daddy and I have been toying with my submission, and his time unexpectedly becomes limited? It’s the perfect storm for me to spiral into that awful dark place I wrote about.

Daddy has asked me lots of times if we should even continue to play with my submission. He’s worried that it’s bad for me, and that it’s doing more emotional harm than good.

I don’t know the answer. I know that I hurt like crazy sometimes in the aftermath. But, I know that it also turns me on, makes me float and feel beautiful and vulnerable. Submission is a part of my identity that I cannot imagine losing. But I also know that it stimulates the very places that I’m trying to heal. And I don’t know if accessing those places is helpful, or if it’s more like picking at a wound.

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I wrote a while back about my blossoming domme-ness. It’s continued to bloom since then, or at least, the thoughts and desires have. My realtime experiences have been…limited. Which is putting it generously.

I find this lack of experience disconcerting. Much more than I ever did as a submissive. There’s something about being in control of a man* that challenges me in a way that D/s has never challenged me before. I know I have a largely M/f audience, but I’d love some advice, feedback or suggestions from anyone who’s willing to share, either in the comments or by email.

The problem I encounter is this: Dominant fantasies have become a rather regular and accessible thing for me. I have no issue getting off thinking about being the dominant partner when I’m on my own. And most of the time, I am on my own. But when I’ve had the chance to actually *be* the dominant partner, in person? I find myself suffering what could only be described as a bit of stage fright.

This puzzles me for a couple of reasons. First, I never get stage fright. Not ever. I’ve spent about half my life performing, and my current job is consists primarily of talking in front of people for long periods of time. Nothing about people watching me bothers me in other settings. But there’s something about being in charge in private that makes me feel like I’m being watched, studied, criticized and judged. It makes me self-conscious, which isn’t a great place to start when you’re trying to feel like you’re confident and in charge.

Second, I have never ever had this stage fright problem as a submissive. Submission comes so so easily. If I were a little less thoughtful, I might decide that this proves I’m a “natural submissive” and write off this whole domme thing as a lark. But I’m me, and that means I’ve over-analyzed this to bits and pieces, and I’m sure I don’t think it’s because of any “natural” submissiveness. (Can you tell I’m not a huge fan of that terminology?) I think it’s cultural, learned submissiveness. And I think that it’s holding me back from experiencing the top side in the way I truly want to experience it. And that frustrates me. And it makes me mad.

I realized fairly recently that I have never been the initiator of sexual contact. Or contact at all in sexual relationships. It’s not that I don’t have desires in the bedroom. I obviously have very specific ones. It’s that thus far, I’ve figured out how to manipulate my male partners into giving me what I want, without me having to ask for it, or direct them.

This “skill,” if you could call it that, is also a very bad habit. I don’t want you to think I’m the type of lover that just lies there. Quite the contrary. But I tend to look to my male partner for direction, and I tend to let him direct the action. When I want something, I’m really comfortable in getting him to think it’s his idea and then “going along with it.”

Clearly, this all comes from cultural conditioning: Good girls aren’t supposed to want sex, and they’re certainly not supposed to direct it. Men don’t find aggressive women attactive. Blah, blah, blah. I don’t believe a word of that drivel, but I seem to have subconsciously absorbed a lot of it. And that frustrates me. And it makes me mad.

Finally, I note that submission is inherently somewhat passive. What I mean is that while submissives do a lot, it’s almost always at the behest of the dominant partner. That means the dominant has to have a gameplan and a sense of direction and be ready to make demands. The submissive, of course, responds to all of that, but isn’t expected to come in with anything but the desire to do as they’re told.

So I’d love some help or some direction here. It’s something I’d like to get over, and soon. Because there are a whole lot of things that I daydream about doing to boys, and it sure would be nice if I could actually, you know, do them sometime.

*Note that I’m specifically writing about my interactions with male partners. With females, I don’t seem to run into this problem.