Friday, September 16, 2011

Care and Feeding of Galiana

Too much want
In the probably-forgettable movie Made In Heaven, seen in my impressionable youth, a new soul falls in love with a guy named Mike in heaven, and then, after she's born and grows up, although she doesn't remember him directly, she writes a children's book called "The Care and Feeding of Mike". The sweet little phrase stuck with me, and now when I think of care, I think "The Care and Feeding of..."

Urg. I have so much want.

I want to continue the dialog I entered into with my celebration of male submissives post, reading others' spectacular writings and leaving comments that make me seem like I know what I'm talking about. I want to keep engaging with Fizz and Chaos of Lab Coats & Lingerie, lose myself in the archives of KittyStryker's recently-Janes-Guide-approved PurrVersatility, help Alisa research to fill in the blanks of her archiving efforts at KinkInExile, encourage Tomio to keep writing, and pathetically attempt to keep up with all the insights and research spread by the inspirational maymay, knowledge worker extraordinaire, the one who drew me into this particular dizzying world of rhetoric and ideas to begin with by the brilliantly evocative MaleSubmissionArt...

Maymay, by the way, is also the one who helped me realize the value of contextual linking. I recognize the irony of having no links in that sentence. (trivia: I am always certain I have used the word "irony" incorrectly)

But back to my insatiable want... I want to write more about fairness and negotiation and respect in relationships, BDSM and vanilla. I want to share my observations about community-building from years of church and BDSM groups and playing MMORPGs. I want to start podcasting. I want to release more videos that are like visual podcasts. I want to open an Ask Galiana blog so I can pretend to legitimize my compulsive need to share my perspective.

I want to take series of pictures enjoying my body as I strip out of constrictive clothing to show that I can still celebrate my physicality even though my medicines packed on an extra 15 pounds I didn't intend to gain.

I want to spend every moment with my family for these last couple of weeks while I still live in Houston with them. After 21 years away, it has been soul-nourishing to live in the same town again for 6 months, just barely long enough to develop habits of including each other. I will miss the casual ability to help, and to feel feel caught up.

I want to be spending enough time over the phone with my husband, who is away from our current home, working in the place where I'm moving at the end of the month, to stay emotionally connected to him during this busy time, so we don't get too snappy or resentful.

I want to sort through the crap in my home that we didn't have time to sort through when we moved here in March, and I want to recycle, donate, sell, and throw away as much as possible before we pay by the pound to move it cross-country. I am disturbed by how many belongings we have moved multiple times and never used.

And I want to keep feeding off the energy of my callers, take luscious escapes of fantasy and pleasure, lose myself in the delicious focus of luxuriating in the erotic rhythms of wants and needs and secrets and lusts. I feel useful and sexy and empowered and strong and capable when I spend time having phone sex.

And on the days of the move, I want to be at the top of my game, ready to do whatever needs to be done, strong and willing and able.

Days? What do you mean day? The next 3 weeks include these separate days: hub's last 4-day trip where he has to finish packing everything that is his and sorting everything that is ours, 4 days of paying an underemployed friend to help me pack, movers taking our stuff, my hub driving away with the car and the dogs, my flying up to *static* and him driving me to our new home several hours from there, our stuff arriving at our new place, and a great friend from college arriving to help me unpack for a few days.

Oh, and I'd like to do all that without having any vertigo crashes, please. Because having massive physical limitations is completely inconvenient right now. Could I just not have vertigo for a bit?
Dear Galiana,

Please read The Care and Feeding of Galiana. It goes something like this: Galiana needs, at a minimum: water, food, down-time to let her brain rest, and, separately from the rest, sleep. If you could also work in "having reasonable expectations for herself," that would be peachy.

Love, Galiana
I feel like I'm considering dropping out of a bunch of stuff that just finally got rolling, and I don't want to let any of it go. But that is the thought pattern of people who drive themselves crazy from inexperience, and, for better or worse, I know better.

So I will put my activist urges on a shelf, carefully schedule blocks of time with family, resign myself to still having clutter after we move, watch my days-between-blog-posts climb again, savor the escape with the callers who catch me on the phone, email the ones who let me know they missed me, and do the best I can to get through this as productively as possible.

Jane's Guide Loves Me!

I was so happy yesterday I was making high-pitched squeaky noises between words as I read the review from Jane's Guide about my blog. I'm thrilled! Here it is, even with my own custom awesome subdomain URL: http://galiana.janesguide.com

How did it happen? I saw that Kitty Stryker's fantastic blog Purrversatility got reviewed by Jane's Guide (Vamp loves her blog too, of course... duh), and I started poking around Jane's Guide, wondering how to get my site reviewed. Turns out, you just submit your site, easy as pie.

The downside of doing so, however, is that from the moment you hit "submit" until the moment you get the email from Jane's Guide saying you've been reviewed, you are intermittently struck with mini-panic-attacks wondering if the reviewer will hate your site.I had paper bags to breathe into in every room.

I mean, I knew I would get "original" because I produce all my own content, any maybe "quality" because it is easy enough to find what you're looking for here, but it's the text that matters - how much enthusiasm (or lack thereof) is conveyed. And it's almost too much to hope that you'd end up as a staff pick... and yet, I am!

In case you can't get to Jane's Guide for some reason, here's the review:
This phone sex site is different, in fact it is so different that the sincerity and openness is bound to shock you. I find it sexy as hell! Galiana uses her own pictures, and has a blog that sounds 100% authentic. She talks about her real life, real turn-ons, and real turn-offs. The site is a very personal act of sharing, and I know that while I read it I felt like I got to know her a bit. In addition to phone sex (rates and such available on Niteflirt rather than on this site), she offers a variety of media for sale. When I visited she had 13 videos, 36 photo sets, and 6 mp3s. All of them have a description and run time listed. All of them are sold through Niteflirt. I especially recommend this curvy temptress to anyone with a robot or Fembot fetish, as she has a sample of her roleplay voice on the site and it is beyond delicious. I know this is a difficult fetish to find skilled partners for, and she has this one down (and even has live action videos). Genuine, creative, sensual, and very exciting. I highly recommend this one! Love, love, love!
When I was putting the title over "Jane's Guide Quality + Original" icon, I thought, "Jane's Guide Loves Me!" and then I thought, "Well, that's stretching it a bit." and then I re-read "Love, love, love!" and convinced myself it was okay to claim it.

Then I spazzed around the living room squealing and freaked my dogs out (why does mommy sound like a leaky balloon?)

In case you haven't been to Jane's Guide, it's like the Consumer Reports of the adult online world: independent reviews, clearly stated criteria for ratings, and staff picks like you saw at video stores and bookstores when you used to go to those.

Plus, I had never noticed before, they have put together one of the finest smut-glossaries I have ever seen: http://janesguide.com/wpmu/janeology/ with all the definitions you wanted to know, but were too afraid to Google. I strongly recommend it to ladies making fetish videos for inspiration!

What a great gift for my birthday week!

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Happy Birthday (soon) Happy 400 (now)

Me, a year ago
This weekend is my 41st birthday (Sunday, the 18th).

Last year, for my 40th birthday, I made a ruckus on my blog, my name was in lights (literally) at the Northwestern-Rice football game, I had a professional photo shoot, and I spoiled and pampered myself all month celebrating.

This year, on the day before I turn 41, my hubby and I are joining my mom in her cozy little living room, where she is renting The Big Chill and buying us pizza. A bit different.

Apparently, my thoughts about turning 41 are, "I don't care about turning 41, but did I do everything I wanted to do while I was 40? You know, I kind of wanted to watch The Big Chill again - it's full of pithy truth about growing up, and how choices have consequences, and how complicated things get when you come to terms with what you can and cannot have simultaneously in your life. I should totally see it while I'm 40."

But since I always love hearing from blog readers and callers and fans, I thought of an idea to test for my birthday weekend: pay-for-text.

Here's how it works:
  1. You spend $25 on me:
    -- through clipvia by this link or
    -- through Amazon Gift Card to galiana@ymail.com
    -- or through kinkbomb by this link
  2. You send me an email with your digits, and let me know if I need to stay safe-for-work happy and flirty, or if I can be NSFW all-out naughty!
  3. I text you from my (temporary, anonymous, internet-based, so don't try to stalk me) number.
  4. Over my birthday weekend (Fri the 16th - Sun the 18th), I will casually* exchange texts with you.
    * Casually exchange texts = I will answer your text when I have a moment in which I would normally answer texts, which may be instantaneous and may be hours. I will not interrupt social activities or sleeping to answer a text, but I will answer every text eventually.
The way it works in my head, everybody wins: you get me a gift, and I get happy, flirty attention!

Of course, a gift card without the pay-for-text option would be lovely as well, especially Amazon, in any amount. Little things always come up after a move, and every bit helps!

Oh, hey, non-sequitor: This is my 400th blog post. /partyhorn

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Pretending I Help, Part II

Helping makes me happyCallers have told me that I have helped them, most often by helping them fall asleep after they climax. As someone who is genuinely, deeply concerned about sleep-deprivation for many of my friends and loved ones, I value "phone sex as a sleep aid" more than most people probably do, and I'm happy to help in that way.

But back in late 2010 / early 2011, I was active on reddit for a while. I had to quit; it ended up being too dizzying to keep up with the amount of scrolling required. But I enjoyed reading people's questions, and offering pithy and/or amusing answers, imagining that one day I could develop a following and become the phone-sex-girl equivalent of Dan Savage (gay male sex and relationship advice columnist who shares many of my thoughts about being, as he calls it, "monogam-ish").

Today, I followed a link in Twitter to reddit and saw my "unread email" light was on, which is weird since I haven't posted for months. Here's what I found:
Last January (5-6 months ago, but it feels like a different world) I posted about "getting over" the fact that I had a "needle-dick" and enjoying my sex life. Something you said really stuck with me - long story short you told me to develop a positive mantra . I did, begrudgingly so, because I really had nowhere to go but up at that point.
(note: some of what I actually said: The idea of using mantra to help change your mental state is a time-honored one. "I will enjoy sex" or whatever, but don't have a negative mantra (ex: I won't let my needle dick bother me, which only reinforces "needle dick" and "bothers me"). I think everyone should enjoy sex regardless of their physiology - it is only one part of who you are, and I wish you much luck in "getting over it")
Within two months my cock insecurity was completely gone. And here's the thing - I found out that I actually have a fairly large penis. It literally started to look bigger to me. I don't need to get into specifics but it's well above average in length and above average in girth. But that's irrelevant.

Your suggestion helped me to realize I had some kind of body dismorphic disorder combined with a crippling case of mental self-sabatoge. Looking back, almost every girl I've slept with has orgasmed from penetration alone, and some had told me my dick was big (no prodding on my part) But I literally erased these memories from my mind, replacing them with negative ones (some of which I only imagined). Your suggestion was the chink in the armor of my crippling insecurity, and once it started to fall, it fell hard. I'm the happiest I've ever been, and in and out of the bedroom my life has never been more fulfilling. Sure, I'm still one crazy and weird motherfucker, but you helped me absolutely ruin my insecurity and the negative way that I viewed myself.

Thank you so much.
Clearly, I was only one tiny push in one tiny step in this man's long journey to heal himself. He had the courage to post to reddit that he wanted to "get over" the size of his penis and learn to enjoy sex, so he was on the very brink of his own healing before he met me.

But seriously. How awesome is that?

While we're on the subject of cock size and body dysmorphia and shit I know that may help someone, here are some hand-to-heart truths:

I will play cock-size humiliation games with someone upon request, but it's all bullshit. I care thousands times more what size your heart is than what size your cock is. If you make me laugh, I will want to make out with you before I know what's in your pants. If you make me feel sexy, I will want to share orgasms with you, regardless of the delivery mechanisms.

Some of my favorite lovers have had erectile dysfunctions of various types (difficulty reaching orgasm, difficulty developing and/or sustaining erections, etc). Many of my favorite sexual memories involve sex toys, fingers, tongues, and/or women without a cock or strap-on in sight.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I love me some cock. Mmmmm cock. But an erect penis of any size is no more necessary for my sexual fulfillment than any other method which brings me great pleasure.

My personal little theory (unproven and perhaps unprovable) is that erectile dysfunctions are so common among smart men over 30 (especially men with tendencies on the autism / asperger / obsessive-compulsive spectra), because they have so many damn thoughts bouncing around in their smart brains that they find it difficult to focus on their pleasure. It took a while for me to believe that my partner could enjoy sex if he didn't get off. Once I let go of that worry, I learned to love the freedom of it.

For what it's worth, I've heard anecdotal evidence that meditation and tantric practices can help quiet your overly-speedy brain, as can prescription anti-anxiety medicines, as can other forms of chemically induced mellowness. However, please be careful when messing with your brain chemistry.

So. Here's the deal: If you squeeze my heart, I will love fucking you, even if "fucking you" involves no penis-vagina penetration whatsoever, or even if the penis doing the penetration is shallow or thin or both. It's what you make me feel in my emotional guts that counts, far more than my physical ones.

(note to callers who have told me I have helped you: if you want a blog post in the "Pretending I Help" series, now that it apparently wants to be a series, feel free to email me your at-least-somewhat-concise version of how I've helped you, in your words, and I'll publish a version of Pretending I Help for you, too... eventually... although, you know how unreliable I am about when I publish which blog posts. Also, that run-on non-sentence was not a good example of how to be concise.)

Thursday, September 8, 2011

My First YouTube Video: First Thoughts on Control

I just posted my first YouTube video!

The title is "First Thoughts on Control - Recognizing Abuse and Encouraging Negotiation" and it's aimed at people interested in control play in the bedroom. I do not think I have necessarily original thoughts on BDSM subjects, but I believe that every voice helps when it comes to encouraging safety and sanity, even in the context of for-pay BDSM over the phone.

I have more a generic intro "Hello World" video that I should post first, but upon re-watching it, I need to add one significant thought to it before I post it, and I've already stalled on posting these long enough (I recorded it 10 days ago). So I pulled on my big girl panties and pretended like it's okay to do things out of sequence.

(That screaming you hear? Several of my more particular Inner Voices throwing fits about posting things out of sequence...)

If it gets yanked from YouTube for being adult content, that's fine, I'll upload it elsewhere and re-do the link here, but for now, this embedded player should work (fingers crossed...):



If the embedded player doesn't work, here's the link instead: First Thoughts on Control - Recognizing Abuse and Encouraging Negotiation

Although the video does not reflect me in phone-sex / sexy-time mode, it does reflect me being all reflective and thoughtful, so for those of you who get turned on smart thoughts from smart people, you're welcome!

(many thanks to Domme Kyaa for posting her Philosophy of a Fem Domme series, which was the original inspiration for me to do these - I can't find the original links anymore, but the one linked is representative of her work)

Kiwi Candy, the Crossover

Candy and Galiana

The Hollywood-gorgeous Kiwi Candy and I were chatting today about callers we've shared in the nine months since she has skyrocketed to NiteFlirt fame. Background: she found my blog when she was first starting out, and at first I mentored her a bit, but we became friends as she kicked my ass in the ratings, and now I ask her advice as often as she does with me.

It's easy to bond in that vulnerable time of night that is made for fucking, that 10pm-2am window when both our defenses are a little lower and our minds are both set in sexy mode. We often keep each other company between calls.

She's as genuine as I am: she really loves phone sex, she really wants to please her callers, and she really is that adorable. But more important to me than her beauty and cuteness, she has the thing I require in my truest of friends: she genuinely cares about doing the right thing. Hell, if you generalize further, it's still true: she genuinely cares. She gives a shit. She's good people. I feel fortunate to know her.

Candy and I have never met in person, although I'm certain we will some day. (You'll get videos of us doing naughty things with each other if you fly me to her! Not kidding!) But we recommend each other a lot on our blogs and on our calls, which has led to us having 15 or 20 callers in common.

So today, we were talking about some of the Candy+Galiana fantasies our callers have played out with us, and we decided to do crossover blog posts about them. Because we're both giant dorks who amuse ourselves a lot. And this sounded fun, so we're doing it.

The Maid: He and I are married, and Candy is our maid, who probably never actually cleans anything other than my pussy with her tongue, while I'm guiding her head with my hands, and he's fucking her from behind. Oh, and my juices off his cock after he fucks me while Candy and I 69 with me on top. But not so much with the *dusting*, really.

Fembot Assembly: The Candy-bot makes a superb to help assemble a brand new Galiana-bot to test her pleasure thresholds. How does one test a new Galiana-bot? Have the Candy-bot lick and finger it when she is being fucked from behind, of course! Gosh. All the good technicians know that.

The Fembot Cat Fight: The handy thing about androids is that you can always wipe their memories and repair them, and they're as good as new! So, y'know, if the Candy-droid and Galiana-droid had their jealousy levels increased, we could rip each other to pieces... literally. It's obvious her chest panel is more delicate than mine, it's not my fault she can't function without this handful of wires. Oh, well, maybe it is. Oops. But what do I care? That'll keep her away from my man!

The Struggling Submissive: Since she admitted she's capable of having an orgasm without touching her pussy if the mental / visual stimulus is strong enough (as am I), he could tie her into an X and make her watch while he fucks me, and she can be released when she comes that way ... maybe twice ... if he's feeling generous ...

The Two-Girl Blowjob: The guy with the 11" cock (seriously, we've both seen him on cam, and he's not exaggerating) wants us both to slide our tongues and lips over him. Good, because I'm not sure either of us could take care of that thing on our own!

The Exhibitionists: Two different callers want to masturbate in front of us, as we're watching them, and possibly playing with each other, but the important part is that we're both watching him masturbate. We both honestly, genuinely love watching men stroke themselves, and we feel like we learn new techniques. We both especially like watching that guy in California with the full beard who does that overhand squeeze thing ...

The Strap-On: He wants to feel her pounding me with a strap-on because it shoves his cock deeper into my throat. Or me pounding him with a strap-on while he has his lips wrapped around her clit. Or one of us fucking him while he's fucking the other one. Or...

Oh good grief almighty, now I can't think straight. Surely someone has plane fare to spare, don't you? Pretty please?

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Tell Me You Love Me

I just realized, just this moment, that there is a phrase I utter in my fantasies, in my mind, all the time, that I can hear echoing in my head as the prelude to almost any self-arousal, and as an essential part of any masturbation, but I have never uttered it during phone sex:
tell me you love me
Late at night, when I start getting sleepy and snuggly, and I take a deep breath and listen to my body, those words echo through my mind before I know where they will lead, but they set the stage.
tell me you love me
I worry about being manipulative, even though I know sometimes I am, by the nature of the business. But I have lines I try to draw: I never ask anyone to refill their account after the one-minute warning (except for the one guy who asks me if I want you to come back, and I know you do it because you like to hear me beg). If I hear the one-minute warning and I know you're close, I'll push instead of slowing down, even knowing that if you climax, you're more likely to hang up and send me a thank-you note than you are to refill your account.
tell me you love me
Over the weekend, I built a ridiculously intense connection with a caller and told him it sounded like he was telling me he loved me, but there were a million ways for him to sluff off my comment, and I knew he was smart enough to navigate beyond that if he chose to.
tell me you love me
But it's different than the phrase I hear in my head. That one, it is direct, unsluffable. It's needy. It's desperate. It's manipulative. I could never say those words to someone unless I trusted them deeply to hold their own power, emotionally, to not let me coerce them, to only tell me if it's the truth.
tell me you love me
Sometimes the emotion behind someone else's words can hit me square in the chest, or in the gut, or make my head spin, or make my mouth water. It is irrational that I would crave for someone to tell me they love me when I logically find the word to be meaningless without further definition. And yet, the origins of a thousand orgasms are in these words for me:
tell me you love me
... and I don't know why. I've started writing probably a dozen stories with that as the first line, and I get lost in them, unfinished, because they never seem worthy enough to fill in the possibilities the phrase creates.

I won't do it. I won't say those words to you. Not over the phone, not when you're paying for the call. You're there for your pleasure and entertainment, I couldn't ask that of you.

But if you tell me to say them, tell me I can, I will,
Tell me you love me.
But if those words tumble out of my mouth, and you respond, I'll warn you now, I don't know what my response will be, other than ... intense.

 

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Summer Fling

I Heart Summer Flings
I started my non-mainstream sexual explorations as a submissive, and have morphed into a switch-leaning-dominant. This week, I invested a tremendous amount of energy and passion in my femdom identity, defending and celebrating male submissives not only on my blog, but also on comments on other blogs that were apparently intelligent enough to be requoted.

So what was the perhaps inevitable response of the universe to ensure my life remains in balance? I had one of the craziest, most intense whirlwinds ever with ... wait for it ... a new dominant male caller.

Everyone who saw that coming, raise your hand. Hmmm, everybody, huh? In retrospect, the only surprise is that I was surprised.

The day we met, he called me twice, for a total of (never remind 'em how much they've spent on you) minutes. He greeted me warmly enough, but when his voice changed to tell me what to do, I felt my Inner Submissive shove her way to the front of the bus to drive, giggling and clapping like a lunatic.

He asked me if I can come without touching myself. When I groaned and laughed a little, he asked what I meant by that, clearly intrigued.

Me: Because if I tell you I can, you'll make me do that, but I really want to be touching myself already, but I haven't because I know you haven't told me to, but you probably won't let me shove this vibrator inside myself if I tell you I can come touchless...

Him: And what gets you over that edge?

Me: Ohgod that's not fair. (he laughs) Don't laugh at me. (we both laugh) It's... ummm... the command, you telling me to, the intensity of it, the intention behind it, if it has enough energy behind it... if I'm there in my mind...

Him: Well. That's a pretty red flag for you to wave for me, isn't it? How long do you think I'll wait before I give you that command? Will I make you beg to have an orgasm like a bitch in heat?

My Entire Inner Cast: OH FUCK.

He had me stand in front of the mirror, wearing only my panties, hands behind my head, appraising my own flesh, when he gave the command to climax, and ordered at me to keep my eyes open and watch myself come. It didn't feel like a script, it felt like something he was inspired to do by my responses.

It only got more intense from there.

I went to bed exhausted and dizzy, but happy.

We spoke again early the next afternoon, soon after I woke up. His first words, obviously full of genuine concern, "I read your blog. Be honest. Did I make you dizzy last night?"

My Entire Inner Cast: Awwwwww /sniffle

During that call, I hoped sincerely he had read this blog post about Love, The English Language, And Not Completely Pretending, and this one about the ways sometimes words tumble out of my mouth If I Call You "Love" because at one point he asked me how I felt, and I mumbled the crazy answer that was bouncing around in my head...

"When you call me a whore, it sounds like you're telling me you love me..."

Seriously. I said that to him. We had been talking for less than 24 hours. Fucking insane.

Thankfully, he seems to be a version of lunacy which is compatible with mine, because his response was to tell me say it again. Louder. And again, even louder. And again. Louder, you fucking whore, again. Each time, I grew more horrified and embarrassed at the ridiculous words I was shoving out of my throat, and simultaneously, more thoroughly convinced that the sentiment was true. I paused, my voice ragged, shaking to hear his response.

"Listen to yourself. A brainy sub trying to get a single sentence out, forced to enunciate it clearer and louder even as the sentence grabs your pussy and your heart and squeezes for all it's worth? How could I not love you?"

It wasn't a commitment to a future together, to any traditional use of the word love, or to anything at all other than a mutual appreciation of a really fantastic connection at a truly amazing moment in time.

Well, no, that's probably not true. There probably was a commitment, just a bizarre one: that both of us will probably always remember the way we were able to crash into each others' desires and feel delightfully alive in the wreckage we somehow created in each other.

I wrote him afterward, telling him the rest of the story I only partially told this blog post about my first BDSM lover, I Know Why:
... but what that entry doesn't explain is that moment when I was tied to a door frame, flogged bright red across my ass and back, with a vibrating egg trapped in my panties to ensure I was being properly conditioned to associate pain and pleasure, when he pressed himself against me, my entire backside on fire from the touch of his skin after the flogging, slid one hand around to my breast, and with the other hand, held my head up in a bit of a choke so I could feel him whisper-growl into my ear as his fingers pinched electricity through me,

"good girl"

... and I felt the world go black and I felt a wave of power, of certainty, of pride. I knew I could take it, more than I knew I could stand, and more. Much more. I knew I was strong. I knew I was adventuresome. I knew I was sexy. And I felt huge, as if I had grown, and I wanted more with a hunger that made me feel like I could eat the world.

... and that was the moment I knew that I would be okay, no matter what.
His response was to tell me to find a publisher. Isn't that sweet? Wait, how can I associate the word sweet with anything at all in this fucked-up blog post? Oh, I know, I can call this sweet, where he quoted a paragraph from that blog post:
I had worked so hard in therapy to take responsibility for my feelings and my actions. I had worked so hard professionally to teach myself technically and be in a position of leadership. I had worked so hard socially to choose friends who gave as much as they took, and treated me with respect. And I had worked so hard personally to admit to myself that I needed to leave the man I thought I’d be with for the rest of my life.
And he told me "This Galiana that you created shows your work."

I totally didn't cry when I read that. I mean, it's not like I had been fucked loony for hours on end or anything, so why would that make me cry?

He only plays with phone sex every once a while, in little bursts like this, then he disappears. For weeks. Or months. When he told me he was going away, probably for a good, long time, it made absolute sense to me.

It was the perfect end-of-summer fling: passionate, intense, a lovely stroll down the sensory memory lane of my submissive roots, and cut short by logistical limitations before we ran out of the juice to sustain it and started disappointing each other. (That's totally where it would have gone, right? I mean, I'm not just being cynical here, am I? Don't crazy intense firestorms always end that way? Can I tell myself that anyway, even if it's not true? Thanks.)

There are times I appreciate my life so much that I ache with joy.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

In Celebration of the Male Submissive

from malesubmissionart.com

I have been reading a conversation on the web about male submissives, which almost led to a blog post title of "Heartbreak and the Male Submissive" but I decided, instead, to celebrate, in addition to empathizing.

It started with @maymaym (the guy behind the visual-celebration-of-male-submission site: http://malesubmissionart.com/) posting a link to this incredibly well-written piece discussing how often members of the BDSM scene devalue male submissives, even while valuing female dominants: http://www.labcoatlingerie.com/2011/08/09/the-cost-of-devaluing-male-submission-one-token/ This particular conversation goes back further on the internet, but that's where I joined it.

Then tonight, maymay posted a related link, from KinkInExile, who had responded to Professor Chaos, with something equally well-written, about being a geek female dominant who breaks stereotypes and has a hard time finding a male submissive partner, here: http://kinkinexile.wordpress.com/2011/09/01/what-she-said/

Since I just linked to other posts which may cause track backs here, I need to give a bit of context for who I am, why I am joining this conversation, and why I feel qualified to empathize with and celebrate male submission.

For most of my 30s, I was a polyamorous submissive, and marginally active in the BDSM scene in Austin. Professionally, I was a data analyst who became an IT Manager. So I am a geek, I love geeks, I love managing geeks, and I have fucked many an awesome geek. Also, I'm a leader outside of the bedroom.

Then I came down with a rare neurological vertigo which debilitated me from doing IT work, and I became a phone sex operator to pay the bills. I swear this is relevant, please hang with me for a few more paragraphs.

I started professional phone sex, naturally enough, with a listing as a submissive woman, but kept getting calls from clever submissive men who had discovered via trial-and-error that convincing a submissive woman to top you can sometimes turn out pretty well, because they tend to be empathetic.

As with any supply and demand situation, when the demand (for female domination) outstrips the free supply (and it does), a for-pay market is created. I was stunned to discover how many male submissives felt unable to get their needs met in the flesh for free, despite the best efforts of many of them to join kink groups and form healthy femdom/malesub relationships.

And many of the for-pay options in the web cam and phone sex world involve women who project a message of "I rule, you suck" which (a) perpetuates anti-male-submissive bias and (b) is a giant turnoff for many smart male submissives.

I was heartbroken. I am heartbroken. It pisses me off and makes me sad.

As a natural leader who found tremendous release in sexual submission myself, I have deep empathy for those who seek the delicious miles-away-from-the-rest-of-my-life of subspace. I get why it's awesome fun to float along on the waves of someone else's decisions. Plus, as a sensation slut and a pain slut, I understand those tendencies when they pop up for men, too.

So I put on my learning cap, discovered the phrase "service top" (a dominant whose pleasure comes primarily from enjoying their partner's pleasure), and set out to be the best dominant female I could be.

Guess who now has a full-fledged fetish for hearing men beg? Me.

Guess who has had so many delicious orgasms while dominating men over the phone that now the image of a man's hands with rope around them gets me instantly thumpy? Me, me, me, me, me. Seriously. Yum. I can't help it. I accidentally conditioned myself to be a switch.

And guess who is now considering collaring a service submissive? Me.

(By the way, never break the news to someone that you are considering collaring them in a public blog post. I mean, I never would. Pffff. That's ridiculous. That would leave him to sweat for hours wondering if it was really him I was talking about, even though he would know it was, and let his emotions build up to a fever pitch before he gets to talk to me, and who would want that, right?)

To be fair, I had switchy tendencies back in my slut days, too - I had spanked and flogged men, I had fucked several guys with strap-ons (not necessarily submissive, but often so), I had been the de facto leader in threesomes, and I had taken control of many an erotic activity without asking permission to do so.

Also, I'm pretty damn good at topping from the bottom if I do say so myself. Was that a scene negotiation, or a carefully laid path of stuff I'm dying for you to do to me? Both.

The anonymity of paid phone sex can facilitate confessions on a deeply intimate level. I have heard the struggles of many who swim against the cultural currents of male machismo and the expectations for male domination, and I have felt empathy in my gut, as strongly as I have felt empathy with women who have been molested or raped. I get it. I care.

I know male submissives who have been abused by selfish, untrustworthy, unsafe women masquerading as Dominas. And I know male submissives who have been enraptured by safe, sane, consensual play, and longstanding loving relationships. The play itself isn't the problem - the problem is when abusive people hide behind a facade of play to perpetrate abuse.

I know male submissives who have been devalued or rejected by BDSM communities. And I know male submissives who have been honored, valued, respected members of BDSM communities. The scene itself isn't the problem - the problem is when insensitive or abusive people hide behind a facade of majority orientation to be insensitive or abusive.

Every voice that speaks out in celebration of male submissives helps the conversation. Tonight, the urge to join the conversation overwhelmed me. I had to join.

I know I'm suspect because I do this for pay. And I get why that makes me suspect. I know I can't lead this conversation because I'm commercial.

But I also know that KinkInExile asks, "Where are the [dominant women] that _like_ sex, and respect their partners?" and I wanted to answer her: I see them. They're out there. I see them growing up, branching out. I see KinkInExile, and I see Professor Chaos, and I see subcommunities on reddit having intelligent conversations about guys who want to bend over for their girlfriends, or be tied up, or experiment with control, or experiment with pain.

I see the women in polyamorous relationships who switch in their primary partners, who then offer caring responsible professional domination services to a few close friends as a part-time day job while the kids are at school. Seriously, I took a workshop from two women in Austin who fit that description.

And I personally know five women who considered themselves sexually submissive before becoming web cam / phone sex operators, who got talked into topping and figured out we fucking *love* it. That's offline, off the phones, talking amongst ourselves, behind the curtain, women who care about our callers, admitting to each other how much we enjoy controlling men sexually. No, we don't necessarily love every kink that comes our way, but we have found some form(s) of control play irresistibly sexy.

I believe we are in an age of unprecendented plurality, where ideas are ever-easier to access. The way to help more women get in touch with their inner loving dominant is for dominant women to continue to talk about their pleasure, in whatever forums you have, with honesty and openness, as best as you can.

Ideas spread. They may spread slowly, but imagine how much greater the chances are now of forming a healthy femdom/malesub relationship than even just 20 years ago. I remember 1991 - I was 21 - and how little information I had available to me. My mind boggles.

KinkInExile also asks, "And yet what does it mean for me in this world that the person I want to play with most, that beautiful strong geeky smart sexually submissive man, comes wounded because the world got to him before I had a chance?"

And I reply, "Thank goodness you're there for him, to help him find healing, when you find him (or them)." Oh, and also, there are metric fuck-tons of them out there, I promise. Have you been to reddit?

In the meantime, the way to help more men accept their submissive tendencies, and for more communities to value male submission more highly, is for submissive men to continue to talk about their pleasure, in whatever forums you have, with honesty and openness, as best as you can.

I'm so so so so so sorry that it's so so so so so fucking hard for you. I really am.

So that's the heartbreak.

Here is the celebration:

I love the way a man's breath catches when my voice slows a bit, and I tell him to put his hands behind his back.

I love male groans of pleasure mixed with pain.

I love looking into a man's eyes and seeing absolute trust that although I may hurt him, I will not harm him; although I may cause him pain, I will not cause him damage, and I would rather cut off my own hand than betray such a trust.

I love feeling the rush of power when a man is begging to be allowed to have an orgasm, and the exquisite suffering when I tell him, "no, darling, not yet."

I love seeing a man deep-throat a dildo, and then glow with pride when I tell him that was well done.

I love hearing the guttural sounds a man makes when he is fucking himself in the ass because I told him to.

I love, love, love, love, love, more than I can express, the sound of relief and gratitude in a man's voice when we have experienced pleasure together at my direction.

And I love, love, love, love, love, more than I can express, how badass it makes me feel to dominate a man to the point where I get to hear that relief and gratitude. Those of you who have let me feel that way, thank you.