Brief Followup…

A couple days ago, I talked a bit about professional dominants. There was an interesting thought spurred on by the comments section in that post that I put down in writing down there (in response to BBW Switch, who always gives me a lot to think about) and which I want to follow up on here.

Fundamentally, I’m submissive. I know this. Right now, I’m just playing at being a dominant to please my wife. It makes me happy, it makes her happy, but deep inside, I know what I am. Dominance is role-playing for me.

And what lies at the heart of this — the reason why submission and dominance are different for me, the reason why the latter is roleplaying and the former is my real self, is because I need, on some deep, abiding level, to be compromised. To be wrenched open and exposed and to be fucked with in the head and abused in the flesh.

I don’t know that I could ever trust a pro — hell, ever trust anyone but my wife — to compromise me like that. I don’t know if I have the strength to just let anyone inside my psyche to push buttons and pull levers. I know that the emotional reaction I get to submission is the strongest feeling in my life, outside of the love I have for my wife and daughter. The only thing more powerful than my desire to be a good boy, to be a slave, to be annihilated in the presence of a greater will, is my love for my family and my desire to protect and provide for them.

And that’s why dominance is mere dress-up, on some level, no matter how good it is for me. Because I cannot get my head open, I cannot make that emotional — no, spiritual — connection with the other party in the dominant role. My wife can — she enters a glorious headspace when she hurts me and dominates me. But me…it’s not there. I can’t reach out and touch the other person. I cannot open myself up. I’m alone. Isolated. Still having fun, but not where I need to be.

Whereas, when I’m dominated, my God, I’m opened up whether I want it or not — I’m literally torn open and swept away by her power. I’m a leaf in a hurricane. And I’ve never felt closer to anyone than I do in those moments.

Threesome Fancies

There is one thing on my list of things to do before I die that is completely out of my hands: a threesome. Two beautiful girls, one of whom is my wife, and I, playing around. Drunk on fun, goofy sex. I want this rather pedestrian — in this day and age — fantasy to come true, but the deciding vote is, of course, my wife. Luckily, a long time ago she said that if ever in our travels, I meet someone who meets her standards of “clean” and “trustworthy,” she’s game.

Yes, this is a plain old, vanilla, nothing-to-write-home-about fantasy. It’s married-for-a-decade fodder.