Why Do I Crave It?

This weekend, we had a meeting at work, and the head of our little part of the company made sure to consult me on every issue. Publicly. I remember holding my tongue on one aspect of the debate, and the guy chairing the meeting started to move on, when all of a sudden, the boss said, “Hold up…[B], what are your thoughts?” We discussed it over drinks, later, and he was frank: “I think you’re integral to the company. I respect your opinion on these things, and so does everybody else. You’re one of those guys that everybody looks up to.”

A few days earlier, one of my superiors was telling me that I was the hardest worker they’d had at my level. She was amazed at my work ethic, which is high praise considering the kind of people I work with. And last weekend, a pair of friends had commented that I was simply the nicest person they know — a good friend, patient, intelligent, always there with a kind word. It’s been a positive lovefest.

And so on, and so forth. I’m not perfect — God, I have too many balls in the air right now, for sure, and I feel like I could do a hundred times better if I had the time — but clearly, I’m respected. I’m well-liked. The public persona I live in most of the time is having a bellwether year.

So why is it that I crave being dominated and humiliated? Why is it that on some level — not at work, not out with friends, but somewhere in my life — I need to be owned and diminished and annihilated? To be made small and docile? To be lectured and beaten and controlled? To be a thing? Why is it that my comfort with being the guy I am in public and my public success have skyrocketed since I started being a slave in private?

The weird thing is, it doesn’t bother me. I’ve commented again and again that somehow, the paradoxes inherent in the BDSM lifestyle don’t bother me. Somehow, I can get through the day working hard at being the best, being a leader, being respected, and then come home — or at least visit home — and be humiliated and subjugated and dominated.

During one of our last scenes, my wife made me suck her cock (as usual. I mean, when the strap-on goes on, I can expect to go down on it.) She loves the sight of me trying to take it all in, for her it’s all visual-thrills-and-emotional-and-psychological-pleasure. There are no nerve endings in her cock, but the sight of her husband gagging on a dildo, my eyes staring wide and eager and hoping for some murmur of appreciation, hanging on her every word as she talks me through it — it sends her there. Forget how far back we’re setting feminism, screw what it says about the homophobia in the average American male’s subconscious, we both get off on me, on my knees, drool running down my chin as she fucks my face and I pray and wish that she’ll give me some sign that I’m a good cocksucker.

Cocksucker. Slave. Pet. I get dizzy thinking about her names for me. The feel of the collar on my neck, the little leash we bought a few months ago pulling on it, the way my jaws stretch to accomodate the ball-gag. The sight of her towering over me as I lick her feet or her ass.

Humiliation. At work, I’m strong and driven and successful. At home, I’m a loving husband and father. In private, though, I’m a groveling, sniveling, sex slave. I begged her on the phone the other night to let me drink her piss next time I see her — I hate it, the taste is awful, I want to gag, but it seems so hot, so humiliating, hot because I dislike it, the ultimate expression of her ownership and power and my own subservience. The ultimate expression that I want to not matter. And that’s what gets her off, too — I know that piss is problematic, that she makes me use mouthwash and brush a bunch after I have it in my mouth, that the whole scene stops for us to shower, that she finds the whole thing, on some level, distasteful — but that I also know when I’m there, eyes staring up at her, mouth open, and she unleashes it on me, that she gets off on it to an extreme level.

Is it the secretive nature of the thing that makes it so hot? The double-life? Is it instead, the way I can unwind, unleash my inner-weakness? Why is it that I can smoothly go from being hungry and dominant at work to a sniveling worm in the presence of my Mistress? And why is it that my wife can be publicly quiet and formal and so-so conservative, and then in private she uses me as a sex-toy, an animal, something to be hurt and derided?

It’s hard for me to tell how this works — or should work — from other blogs, because most blogs seem to be written by people who are not-so-into the double life aspect of it. They seem to be cool and relaxed and sexually liberal in their public personas, even if they keep the specifics to a minimum. (This could be a misread on my part.) But we’re literally living a double-life — and the gulf between me-as-powerful-male and me-as-Mistress’-pet seems to be widening. There’s no conflict, but I just marvel — why is it that as my daytime life gets better, and I become more accustomed to being the man I want to be, that the part of me that’s involved in BDSM gets stronger, and craves more and deeper levels of pain and domination?

Or am I just really screwed up?