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Thursday, November 13, 2008
Darkest Fantasies
I can always tell my life is getting too complicated and stressful when I find myself daydreaming about master/slave relationships. All of the sudden my fantasies turn more towards being subservient- and not only sexually. A peaceful wave sweeps through me to imagine handing over the reigns of my life to someone wise and all-powerful who I trusted, to be delivered from all obligations of thought and especially decisions. An abdication of having to live my life, really.
That's when I start watching "Secretary" yet again, but even more longingly, and wonder if I shouldn't be looking harder for a domme willing to take me up like this. God help me, I was browsing through Fetlife and came upon a beautiful dandy butch profile, and her invitation looking for housegirls and houseboys. The mere thought actually had me sighing wistfully. I like to cook and clean and keep a house- I could take so much joy out of serving in that way. And my domme- male or female or whatever- could plot out a perfect course for me. She'd come home from work and ask me about my classes; there's no chance of procrastination, and I read my chapters while curled up as her human footstool. Then there's the dinner I've cooked us- fragrant, exotic cuisine that's vegan (because, in my fantasy, she's incredibly healthy and helps me give up meat), perhaps perched at her side as she feeds me just the amount I should have. She's my exercise trainer, pushing me hard and regularly (because I wouldn't- and don't- do it on my own now). She puts me to bed early and wakes me up early. She has a strict schedule laid out for me. And she gives me incredible orgasms- opens me up to sensual pleasures of both the soft and the whacking, stinging, shocking kind. There are play parties on the weekends. Training that takes up all of my concentration and consumes me with a single minded drive whose accomplishment gives me incredible pleasure. When she comes home, the house is spotless and I am utterly content.
Except that I know this is all ridiculous.
I am not a sub, or at least, not in the way I described above. I'm a switch and I definitely don't think I have the stamina or the dedication to a 24/7 lifestyle either way. I'm headstrong and I'm sure that within far too short a timespan, I'd buck and chafe at the rules, feel resentment, and want to be in charge of my life again. The dynamic would wear thin, as it does with anyone who doesn't truly take pleasure out of being servile.
I know that it's stupid. And yet they are my fantasies, still faintly erotic but mostly oddly de-sexualized, where I become almost something of a child- without any of the pressures and emotional minefields that constitute adulthood. It's probably the most shameful and guilt-inducing fantasy I have, actually. Rape play, pissing, and incestual orgies fade in comparison to the cheek-flushing confession that I want someone else to take care of it all, to let me run away from my fears and anxieties, to live in some sort of simplified world that only skims the surface. To find freedom and relief in shackles, because if you have no choice, you feel no agony, and if you fail, someone else shares the burden of that failure with you.
It's poetic and pathetic, but whatever. It's 1:30 in the morning and I'm procrastinating on a paper due at 8:00. These are just thoughts running through my head. Sigh.
That's when I start watching "Secretary" yet again, but even more longingly, and wonder if I shouldn't be looking harder for a domme willing to take me up like this. God help me, I was browsing through Fetlife and came upon a beautiful dandy butch profile, and her invitation looking for housegirls and houseboys. The mere thought actually had me sighing wistfully. I like to cook and clean and keep a house- I could take so much joy out of serving in that way. And my domme- male or female or whatever- could plot out a perfect course for me. She'd come home from work and ask me about my classes; there's no chance of procrastination, and I read my chapters while curled up as her human footstool. Then there's the dinner I've cooked us- fragrant, exotic cuisine that's vegan (because, in my fantasy, she's incredibly healthy and helps me give up meat), perhaps perched at her side as she feeds me just the amount I should have. She's my exercise trainer, pushing me hard and regularly (because I wouldn't- and don't- do it on my own now). She puts me to bed early and wakes me up early. She has a strict schedule laid out for me. And she gives me incredible orgasms- opens me up to sensual pleasures of both the soft and the whacking, stinging, shocking kind. There are play parties on the weekends. Training that takes up all of my concentration and consumes me with a single minded drive whose accomplishment gives me incredible pleasure. When she comes home, the house is spotless and I am utterly content.
Except that I know this is all ridiculous.
I am not a sub, or at least, not in the way I described above. I'm a switch and I definitely don't think I have the stamina or the dedication to a 24/7 lifestyle either way. I'm headstrong and I'm sure that within far too short a timespan, I'd buck and chafe at the rules, feel resentment, and want to be in charge of my life again. The dynamic would wear thin, as it does with anyone who doesn't truly take pleasure out of being servile.
I know that it's stupid. And yet they are my fantasies, still faintly erotic but mostly oddly de-sexualized, where I become almost something of a child- without any of the pressures and emotional minefields that constitute adulthood. It's probably the most shameful and guilt-inducing fantasy I have, actually. Rape play, pissing, and incestual orgies fade in comparison to the cheek-flushing confession that I want someone else to take care of it all, to let me run away from my fears and anxieties, to live in some sort of simplified world that only skims the surface. To find freedom and relief in shackles, because if you have no choice, you feel no agony, and if you fail, someone else shares the burden of that failure with you.
It's poetic and pathetic, but whatever. It's 1:30 in the morning and I'm procrastinating on a paper due at 8:00. These are just thoughts running through my head. Sigh.
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