I find some of my most productive discussions with my girl regarding our power exchange tend to occur during our morning routine of breakfast. It could be that we've had nothing of the real world actively pressing on us for the duration of our slumber, thus freeing our minds to comfortably explore the topic. It could be the soft light of the morning that spills into our dining foyer that eases the conversation along, like the first incubating warmth of a mother hen as she sits on her darling little eggs. Or perhaps it's the act of breaking our fast, the comfort of being once again part of the collective waking that happens around this city - all over a cup of coffee and some toast.
Whatever factors play into this phenomenon, i look forward to the real progress her and i tend to make during these conversations. A few weeks back, a discussion that has often come up, dribbled back into the porous but sound foundation of our power exchange. We'd prattled in a playful way about how corset season was rapidly approaching. The weather was slowly releasing its grip on its romance with the tropics, giving way to a crisper peel in the air, and i had indicated that it was starting to be time where she would need to lace everyday. She objected, citing the still high level of humidity, which despite the air temperature, makes binding a thick corset around one's mid-section akin to a localized trip to the tropics. I chided her, asking where my resilient girl had gone and who was this easily discouraged creature in her place. She rebutted my efforts at cajolery with a simple oral intake of her upper lip, sucking on it between her teeth.
Now, as the dominant, it is my job (one of many) to push, challenge, and expand the frontiers of our intimate connection. I have many tools i can use to perform this role. But, this is not a simple-minded role, one made without reflection, study or observation. I'm not merely pushing a round stone to the edge of an embankment, searching for that final point right before it tilts its weight into a freefall below. A thousand factors differentiate my girl from a boulder. I must account for these, or risk pushing too far by simply being an ass.
"You know, Cathie Jung laces every day."
She looked at me, with her chin on the back of her hand, blinking one long drawn out shutter of her eyes. I saw i hadn't been effective. Further, i had to push further.
"I've no doubt that Dita would tough it out."
I didn't even need to check to see if my attempt had successfully motivated her. I could tell by the sensation of daggers at my throat that came from her icy stare what she thought of that remark. I looked anyway. Yep, i'd gone too far.
My girl is incredibly competitive, insisting on many avenues at being the best and most accomplished. Parading into our discussion two icons in the field of tightlacing who have the resources and daily accoutrements to comfortably tackle their goal squeezed the last bit of playfulness out of our exchange. I saw what i'd done. But, i hadn't anticipated the turn the dialogue would take.
She remained in her seat, but i could tell that only her body was present. Her mind had lifted her torso up and walked into the other room out of pride. The specter of silence hovered in the air above us, holding still all objects that would seem to move autonomously on their own: the sunbeams arching in through the window, the hands of the wall clock hanging in the living room. I asked her for her thoughts.
"Why do you insist on us being unequal?"
Excuse me? I had expected a complaint about my stubborn views regarding her intolerance of a swampy torso, but this was deeper than i had even envisioned. But, immediately, i saw what she was after. In absorbing my egotistical push for as much as i could get, she'd found herself examining what she felt was a disparity in our exchange. I ask, i shove, i demand...where does she ever get to exact this same toll?
This theme has come up many times in my life. They will struggle with the unending give they are asked for, seeing the direction in the vector that passes between us, and perceive that it is only one way. I've discussed this with my girl many times, when she encounters concerns that her behavior indicates weakness, and even ineptitude. Because this is not a new topic, testing the quality of our power exchange, i employ a tactic not previously considered.
"Do you want a cock?"
I'm not asking her if she craves the sensation of her various orifices filled with my male anatomy. I'm asking if she wants a large penetrating member hanging down between her legs instead of the beautiful petals that blossom there now.
"No. Of course not."
"Then why ask for equality?"
I say this with two things in mind. The first being that equality, as it is being defined here, is largely impossible. Secondly, why is equality so important?
I'll address the first notion, that equality cannot fit in a power exchange, and i'll do so by examining the pure physicality of this arrangement. I have often seen my manifestation in this exchange as the plug, and she as the outlet. I implant my prongs into her slots, and she provides the energy that powers our mechanism. What is equal about that? Without her, the flow never initiates, yet it cannot occur without me penetrating her, somehow, some way. What goes often overlooked is the natural anatomy (and what in the early days of my venture into SM that had me convinced that all girls are submissive) that exists between the two of us. In order for us to copulate, i must enter her, she must accept me, take me in. Regardless of how you choose to look at this, equality can never be established. Which leads me to my second point.
What is so great about equality? Simply, i choose to treat my girl whenever i can. I never look for her to catch up with me. Whenever we are out on a shopping venture (not as common an activity as it may seem), i can assure you that 80% or more of that is dedicated to perfecting her wardrobe or getting something that either one or both of us are obsessed with her having.
I understand what her message is. She struggles sometimes with the notion that her whole life she has chosen for herself how to live, look and act and now finds herself in a situation where a large percentage of that is decided for her. She sometimes feels guilty that she is betraying the morals and standards she feels she was raised with, and other times experiences remorse that she's able to live a life she'd always fantasized about.
For me, i'm too busy enjoying myself to really evaluate who is ahead and who is behind.