Gulp

Gulp.

I was imagining a nice sedate room with people mingling, drinks in hand. Of course the dress code would be a bit heavy on the leather, and the well dressed might have collars, since I’ve learned that is a feature of bondage and domination, or B ’n D as we in the know like to call it. Tra-la.

Gulp. He just read me the party rules.

They include things about “no ejaculation outside of a condom.”

They include guidelines for negotiating for your turn to use the stocks.

Stocks. Not flowers. Not trade-able shares. Not a generic term for supplies.

Big wooden jobby with holes for your hands and/or feet and/or head. Locks down so you can’t get away. Keeps you nicely bent over. That sort of thing, with variations.

Stocks. Oh yes I know those. A bit retro – popular in the middle ages, weren’t they? But coming back into style just like bell-bottoms and platform heels seem to every other decade. Every well furnished house should have some. Maybe we should get some. Like putting in a bidet, really, but without needing a plumber to come hook up the water. Which room should they go into, I wonder? Come in handy for those hard to hold yoga postures, I’m sure.

Stocks. Got that. What else?

You can buy floggers there (proceeds to animals in distress). How handy.

But must bring your own sex toys.

Naturally.

Anyone in a collar is a slave and may only be approached indirectly through their master. Failure to observe this rule will result in being asked to leave. Oh how interesting. Must remember that then. Isn’t local etiquette twee when travelling abroad.

Isn’t this all so cute and quaint.

I’m not sure which is the strongest urge in me: to throw up, or to start screaming and never stop.

B takes this opportunity to wake and start to fuss. Must run and be a mum, come what may.

Comingggg!

Mother\father/husband\wife, for better, for worse. Add floozie?

It took days of staring at the woman behind my eyes.

I considered being the silently knowing wife. The rest of my life. But as far as I am concerned, that is not what marriage is made of. For better for worse, and trust that in the end even the ‘worse’, when tackled with love and determination and honesty, will turn out for better. That’s my philosophy.

So.

I sat him down when little B was asleep. I told him about the picture still burned into my mind. I asked him what was going on. I even confessed to spying into his profile.

My heart was hammering bile into my throat while I waited for him to meet my eyes and answer.

It took a long time. I waited, and in the silence all I could feel was the soft innocence of our child sleeping in the room next door, his sweet and total trust and love for his daddy. All I wanted, all I want is to keep that real. Whatever it takes. Can I? Is it real? Has it all been a charade?

Eventually MM said Yes, this is something he wants to do. No, he doesn’t think it’s a phase, and no he doesn’t think it’s just a fantasy. He knows I don’t feel the same and he’s been afraid to talk to me about it, because he loves me and doesn’t want to lose me. A woman’s heart can only melt at that. Really. Even if her man is a sick bastard who wants to do weird and horrible things to other women.

He didn’t say much, but he never does. He was really vulnerable, and that touched me. It feels weird because it contradicts the picture of the man who can also want to be so abusive. I can feel that the man I love and that B loves, is real, not a fake. But this other man in MM is real too. How can that be?

I left it at that for the night and went to bed. Next morning I packed little B into his stroller and went to the mall for the morning. I bought little B a toddler juice, and a foil balloon shaped like a cat. (He calls cats ‘mao-mao’ and is mad about them. No we don’t have one. MM is allergic.)

I bought a dozen organic eggs and a punnet of imported blueberries. B and I ate the blueberries while sitting on a public bench in front of the cinema entrance. We watched the children and their moms queuing up for movies.

You are not allowed to take in refreshments unless they have been bought right there. The only things on sale right there are fizzy sugared drinks, sugary sweets and chocolates, popcorn, ready salted. They have only recently started stocking bottles of mineral water, and often run out. Not a single piece of fruit. No oatmeal cookies. I have never questioned this. The mothers we saw also did not question this.

B and I ate the blueberries, unwashed, and watched the strollers and the balloons and the spiderman suits going by.

I find myself wondering about MM’s childhood a lot.

Yes his father used to beat him. Back then belts and cattle whips were discipline, only fists and bricks were child abuse.

And yes his mother was an emotional absentee. To this day she thinks love means putting your photo in a heart-shaped frame; family communication equals sending a personalised Christmas card every single year, and forwarding spam.

I guess this urge in MM makes sense. I knew all that about his background before we got married, and I could feel that this kind and intelligent man he turned into in spite of it all, still had scars. But I guess I thought those could all just be healed out with love and gentleness. Apparently not.

Ironically I find myself feeling much more open about the idea of letting him hook up with a playmate than I would have thought. Maybe it’s just that I sense that this is never going to go away until he lets it out, and I sure as hell don’t think I could stay married to him if he ever let it all out on me. A sacrificial victim? I could never do that to another woman – deliver her up to suffer for my sake. But if she really truly honestly wants it? I don’t know. I still find that hard to believe in. But maybe. It would certainly get me off the hook. And maybe even get… that… out of his system.

But what kind of damaged woman wants that done to her? What would such a person wreak if let near my family and home? Pictures of boiling bunnies flash in alternation with her grimacing face, behind my eyes.

Fantasy, Fetish and F(r)iction

Dear commentators:
As for trying things out to see how we find it – at that stage my reactions could have been VERY explosive.

It is my way to discuss things, that’s what works for me. But how to discuss this? I decided first to discuss it with Z the priest. He is about as far from the conventional stereotype of prissy-judgemental platitude dispenser as you can imagine. He helps me feel sane again. And he knows a lot about almost everything.

So Z said most men have these kinds of fantasies, but for most they find the reality isn’t what they imagined. But he did say the kinds of pics my husband is looking at sound more extreme than the usual woman-with-a-whip fantasy stuff. He advised me to keep him busy with ‘juicy treats’ to distract him. I said to him – I don’t think I am equipped with the right kind of juice.

I decided to sit and think a bit longer till something felt right to me.

And just so we are clear, I am writing in the past tense because I am still busy catching you up on what’s been happening. We are not yet on present day. It will be a while till we get there.

And being a toddler mommy with little time to write, life might just keep on being ahead of art.

It was at a certain point in this journey that I decided that I had to start blogging this – I will explain when we get there.

But now deciding to actually start the blog I decided I needed to discuss it with Z too. He said I should add a layer of fiction: firstly, to more totally accomplish the goal I had in starting this blog, – which I will be explaining later (if I continue) -; and secondly to prevent a total invasion of our privacy, since this subject is so personal and delicate, and just using initials instead of names may not be enough – once the web comes looking to find out who you are, he said. That sounds ominous,  says me.

I told him I don’t think anyone I know would ever read a blog like this. If there was a chance they might, I wouldn’t feel so alone right now. He said, don’t count on it.

He’s a hip old geek of a priest, is dear Z.

He said – what if your blog gets popular? Then everyone and their auntie will be reading it. Like Belle de Jour, he said.

So I went to go see who is Belle du Jour. And yes, she has a LOT of readers. And when I started chatting to friends about blogs and mentioned Belle du Jour, and I was rather startled that some of them had read her. Ummm.

Then I also realised that the web is forever, and one day B or his buddy could be surfing it…

So then I went back to chat to Z in a panic and said maybe I should completely fictionalise it.

Then he told me about ‘lonelygirl 15.’ I don’t feel I need to look that up, I get the idea.

Maybe I should just discontinue altogether. But I have my reasons for doing this, and they hold strong.

Z suggested I find a good balance. How the hell do I know what a good balance is, either in blogging or in BDSM? Both are rather new and foreign to me.

So I think I need to take a little break, and think about all this before I write much more.

So for this, too, I need to sit and think a bit longer till something feels right to me.

But my commitment is to post every Sunday, so that I will do, next week, come what may.

picture of a woman tied up

I am staring at a picture of a woman in pain. Her head is bent back, she has a gag in her mouth. Her hands are tied and, for that matter so is just about everything else. Apart from the ropes, she is naked. She is hanging from the ceiling. Every muscle in her body must be aching with the strain. The ropes are clearly biting into her flesh in a way that will leave welts and bruises for weeks. Angry red stripes lace across her buttocks and legs.

There is no way in all hell that she consented to this.

Is there?

I feel like I want to throw up.

The picture is not on the wall, in a magazine, or even on a computer screen. It is on the inside of my eyelids, every time I close them. I can no more escape it than she can wriggle out of her bonds. And I didn’t consent to this either. Did I?

I knew he was looking at internet porn. I am a broad-minded woman who knows that most men need variety. I’d rather he looks lots and doesn’t touch. Rather internet porn to let off a little steam than blowing a gasket with pent up pressure at the office party, right?

I also believe that a wife who plays alongside her man stays alongside her man. Most men I know would be over the moon if their wives offered to look at porn with them. I assumed mine was just shy. Wheedle and cajole as I did, he would only sometimes admit to it, and even then, never show me.

Until the morning when he phoned from work needing me to look up a file on his computer at home. And I opened the wrong recent document.

I have since learned that the technical term is ‘hog tied’ and that the mafia used it as an execution technique. Go figure. This woman had been subjected to the non-lethal version. But she looked none too comfortable. It’s her image that’s still burned into the backs of my eyes.

I followed some links and found a website. I know all his usual passwords, it wasn’t hard to find his profile. Bless him. He had himself listed as ‘married, monogamous, not looking to play. Just here to learn and chat.”

Learn? How to ‘hog tie’?

And to my astonishment I found that there are women on that site who ask for that. Literally. Never mind consenting: they want it!

I was rather jumpy the rest of the day.

Here is my problem – I would never, never, never ever allow that kind of thing to be done to me. But what if that is all he really wants? I don’t want to lose him. How long can he last without getting what he needs? How long will he heroically list himself as ‘not looking to play’?

Introducing me

Don’t know what to call this blog – “whipping fields” comes to mind. Guess for now that will do.

So – Introducing me and mine:

ME – Wife and Mother.

Mother of toddler. Toddler here referred to as B for Baby.

Wife of My Man – MM – who wants to tie girls up and whip them, he reckons.

Z is a very zen priest I have consulted on the issue. He reckons MM’s fantasies will probably disappoint him in reality. MM reckons we will have to see about that.

BDSM. Not exactly ballads, ditties, songs and monologues – with which I’d be quite comfortable. BDSM stands for Bondage, Domination, Sadism and Masochism. OR, in ordinary language – some people tying other people up and whipping them – but everyone enjoys it.

HOKAY. I don’t mind a little tying up and the odd spank, as long as it’s consensual and leaves no more than a slight sting. A marriage is a long time, and a bit of spice is a good thing, after all. But.

I’ve been finding out a lot more about this lately, for obvious reasons. There’s a lot more variety to it than the good ol’ whip ‘n tie. You can tie, suspend, shackle, cage, restrain, karada, hog tie, put them in stocks or even in a sleep sack…. You can whip, spank, beat, slap, cane, stripe, flagellate, … and… deep breath…. punch, pinch, bite, spit, pull hair, apply abrasion, cut, burn… okay I’ll stop there. TMI. (Too Much Information – a feeling I have quite often these days.) You can also clip, clamp and dilate all sorts of anatomical bits with all sorts of nasty metal thingies that most of us pale at when we spy them in the corner at the gynae. All this and lots, lots more!

Unless your wife says “NO!”

And my beloved MM, the wonderful father of my beautiful child, is really, really hoping that I won’t say

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I will commit to post once a week, every Sunday night, and in between as I can, but that’s the night to check in if you are following.