They're here

I imagine that the hands that built them had no idea of the power the raw materials they used to craft them would possess. They were simply cutting along the lines of the pattern they had by now memorized, sending them off to the room filled with whirring sewing machines, to be stitched and shaped. To all the hands who had held them so far, they were just objects, articles of clothing - weird, even unnatural certainly - but simple garments nonetheless. Out of the factory, onto the truck that would carry them to the distribution center, these shiny assassins lay in domicility within their long, white cardboard box.

They still, at this point, were well over a month away from arriving into my hands. Final negotiations with the saucy supplier over which method of payment, followed by shipping preferences were to take place. And then, they would make their long journey from way down under, eventually, gradually, aggravatingly slowly to my door.

I conjur up a storyline that says somewhere along their voyage to me they were momentarily re-routed, landing themselves in the darkened lair of a malevolent sorcerer. In his hands, he would slowly dip them into some black magic liquid, chanting ancient, mysterious words, fully possessing them with a demonic spirit that would be unleashed upon the mortal in whose hands they would eventually land. This is the only way i can believe that they would have so much power over me once they finally did arrive.

I'd come home from work, having finished a very, long day, looking for some peaceful quiet with my girl. To my surprise, there, awaiting my arrival was the long, white box. I knew immediately what lay inside. My hands burned as i held the box and made the ascent to our apartment. I may not have noticed at the time, but slowly, a pool of saliva had begun to collect in my mouth. Even through their case, their power seeped, ultimately corrupting my mind. By the time i put the key in the door, my skin was tingling, my ears buzzing, my blood coursing. I quickly shut the door behind me so as to keep discreet the immense erection that had expanded in my suit pants.

Boy training

A commenter on this post made an excellent suggestion that someone tackle the lazies of the male persuasion. Honestly, i just love getting suggestions for posts, and couldn't pass this one up.

Without further ado:

I feel for the most part that this entire site, despite its nomenclature of "transformher", has been dedicated to the ways a man can become a better man. I speak frequently about the need for restraint. I celebrate the virtue and necessity of patience. I subscribe to the notion that what is done here, what i speak of is more than just about sex, but about finding an inner peace and connection with my partner.

But ultimately, the matter that sits at the core of my entire psyche is the unceasing creation of beauty. I know this word automatically has feminine inferences woven into it. Rare is it that someone would say "that man is beautiful" and even if they do, it is something that causes you to take express notice. Additionally, for my sake, beauty is not just physical attractiveness. In fact, we limit the power and prevalence of beauty if we only use physical characteristics as its ingredients.

How does one contribute beauty to the world? With the list of things i chose to highlight in my other post, you'd think offering something beautiful was arduous (you mean i have to wear high heels in order to contribute positively to the world?). Actually, it's quite simple. Just care. That's all you need to do. Care about other people, care about your loved ones, but most importantly, care about yourself.

I'm surrounded by men who have no problem oggling some cute thing fluttering by in her little mini skirt and wedges, all the while their potbellies pour onto the table from where they stuff their mouths with the worst, nutrient-deficient, fat-laden food on the planet. They demand that their women look a specific way - tiny, thin, attractive - yet they give no thought to how they themselves look. They dress like the clothes they own were as inconvenient a formality as the wrapper on their greasy cheeseburger. They take no pride in their appearance, whether it is how little attention they pay to their grooming habits (i have seen some collosally awful haircuts that men seem to care very little about) or how homogenized they've made their outfits (can anyone tell the difference between what a guy wore on Monday to what he wore on a Thursday?).

Let me provide a little background information to round out the context to where i'm coming from. I was raised on a ranch. My father did not wear bespoke clothing. His regular outfit was a plaid button down and some heavily-worn jeans. And that suited his vocation. However, whenever he found himself attending some public function, he made a point to be dressed as nicely and handsomely as possible. He never once was found at a social event not dressing or looking his best. Doing so spoke about the welfare of his family, but also provided other folks with a charming, dashing gentleman to occupy their visual sampling. He knew that there was a bigger purpose than all of us. And i remember giving him a great deal of grief as a boy on Sundays, when i couldn't understand his insistence that i wear my navy suit to "dumb ole church". His simple answer was stolen straight out of a J.D. Salinger story (a fact i didn't learn until years later, on my own, reading "Franny and Zooey").

"Do it for the Fat Lady."

As men, we ask a lot of our women. We ask them to be seductive co-eds. We ask them to be blushing brides. We ask them to be strong, pregnant ladies. We ask them to be diligent partners, and impeccable mothers to our children. All of this is fine and warranted, only if we ask of ourselves on magnitudes much, much higher. We are not under the same pressure that women are to look, act and dress a certain way.

But if i could slow things down, for just a moment, let me speak solely to my very, small male audience.

Do better.

Do and be better. Don't let fatigue allow you to let things slide. Don't let laziness be your calling card. Don't let busyness interrupt your ability to offer more.

If you need encouragement from a bigger force, know for certain that the world benefits when you take the time to care and acknowledge that your contribution on this day is to a much larger and spiritually fulfilling effort.

Lead the Way

Writing for Deity’s site is rather unlike writing for my own (as he pointed out when ensnaring me to this task on short notice). When I write for my blog, a thought will enter my head, or an event has occurred, and I write it down. It is that simple. But, over here, I want to write differently. I want to be true to the soul of a blog belonging to a dominant man, a sadist displaying a deep honesty and integrity that is rare and ambitious.

Originally, I thought three fun posts over the week would be good; good for me and good for you. But, I have been pulled into the lion’s den. With limited time, I needed immediate inspiration. I began to re-read Deity’s words. I found what I was looking for in Restraining Order. It is a fabulous post, as relevant to his life today, I believe, as it was then; as relevant to him as it is to me, or you. I say this because I believe that as strong and capable as we are in this space, we are fragile, often only a moment away from causing our relationship harm.

Both the dominant and the submissive must display in equal measure, all the virtues. To be consistently open, honest and obedient to another person is no easy task. To take responsibility for another, either in a scene, or for life, is not a role to be taken lightly. To get, one has to give, and to give, one gets. We all know this, but it is the accomplishment and potential failure of that noble deed that I speak of here.

In a partnership, a partnership that potentially spans until one’s dying day, mistakes will be made. Feelings will be hurt; one or both team players will be taken to the brink of despair. It’s just life. None of us can stay up in the clouds forever. The rain soaks us all, and we must wait for the sun to shine again. We must give our apologies, declare our love, and try harder to breach the void that can exist between two souls from time to time. We must, ultimately, accept that we are all flawed; all of us. Knowing this, we must accept, and then embrace those flaws, in our partners. To live, and to love another for a long time, is to understand that it can never be perfect, not always.

In ‘Restraining Order’ Deity writes,

“I believe patience is not a virtue. It is a requirement...There will be thrashing, stuttering, doubting, and even contemplation of quitting. Having the ability to calmly slow the knee-jerk reaction to these responses will exponentially benefit both.”

Whilst I have the good fortune to correspond with a few dominant men, I have had less opportunity to talk person to person with submissive females. Thus, I can only speak for myself really. Patience is critical to my relationship with my dominant. I’ve thrashed, stuttered, doubted and contemplated quitting. I have knee-jerked my way through many situations. In spite of my most valiant attempts to be steady, I sometimes thrash about the D/s high seas; uncertain, insecure, searching for the lifebuoy, sinking, lost. At times, the sense of despair is complete and all momentum, gone.

When I look into this abyss, I am unable to see that it is the same black hole that I visited before. I forget that there is a way out of the black hole, and too weak to even cry out ‘Help!’ my survival instincts betray me. Either I am rescued, or I cease to exist. My husband is my dominant; and an anomaly. The children and I love him profoundly; he is as steady, as strong, as unsinkable as a ship; always there to guide the way. Prone to drama, emotional, even tempestuous, his strength and stalwart navigational skills to show us the way through to calmer seas, can be relied on. His sense of the dramatic, his sometimes overbearing nature can overwhelm me, but when I flounder, it is his unnerving way through the storm that always speaks to me. The clouds part, the sun shines weakly, and I begin to wonder if I have the strength after all, perhaps, to get up and try climbing out of the hole. He assures me with his words, his persistence and resolve that we will get through this together, and I begin to feel the warmth on my back. I smile. He infuriates me, but he believes in me. I need him. And, thus we go on, again, hand in hand, with him leading the way.

Over at my blog, I called one of my posts, Light the Way. Long ago, long before we said our marital vows, my husband and I took a shine to a saying, ‘I don’t know where I am going, but I am on my way.’ Some days, I don’t know where I am going, and some days I think maybe he does not know either. But, he convinces me that he does know, and thus we go forward together, him leading the way. Perhaps there will be the odd dead end, but we will retrace our steps, and go on. He will ‘light the way’. All you have to do is believe; be patient, do what comes naturally and you’ll get there in the end; together, with one right behind the other. That’s our way.