Do you want to know what not to do as a domme/dom? I can tell you, because I was a complete failure at it. And as for PM? Well, he wasn’t an ideal sub either.
We both agree that a lot of things went wrong. It was nothing short of a crash and burn scenario. So after several philosophical blog posts in the past few weeks, I’m giving you all a break from my inner angst and returning to some steamy stuff. Well, maybe less steamy and more comical. And perhaps a touch introspective. But it’s definitely going to be a trip. So let’s go!
Back in January I blogged a little about PM’s and my first experience with a bed restraint system. If you haven’t already, you can read about it and our thoughts about the product itself here.
This wasn’t our first foray into bondage, but overall this type of play is still pretty new to us. We already owned a set of soft wrist and ankle cuffs. This set, to be exact. And while we have used the whole cuff set, I don’t love being hogtied, as I’m comfort-loving by nature. I like to be comfy-cozy. What can I say? *shrug*
As a result, we have used the wrist cuffs by themselves quite a bit, but we didn’t have a comfortable way of restraining me fully. Hence the draw of a bed restraint system. I’m cozy on my bed, but also laid out at PM’s disposal. *shiver* Yeah, it’s as good as it sounds, ladies.
Anyway, this week, I want to focus on our experience switching, or at least my own perspective on the shit that went down (and how it hit the fan).
Although PM had originally bought the bed restraint system with the intention that I would be the one tied down, there was always the thought that we’d try having PM in the submissive role, at least once. He’s generally willing to try almost anything with me if he gets sex, in some form, out of it. So I thought, what could go wrong? Dear me. So many things.
Over the last year, we’ve come to realize about our dynamic in the bedroom (or anywhere the mood strikes 😉) that PM’s a dom, whereas I would rather be a more submissive partner. We’ve only stuck a toe into BDSM play (BDSM lite, if you will), so when I say PM is a dom and I’m more of a sub, I really do just mean the nuts and bolts of how we interact during sex —who’s generally in charge and running the show, as it were.
We had never thought in those kinkster terms of Dom/sub before, but as we began experimenting more with different modes of sex play, it became more and more apparent where our comfort zones lie.
The fact is that I don’t like making the decisions of what we’re going to do and how we‘re going to do it. It doesn’t mean I don’t ever initiate or that there’s never any switching. That being said, it’s almost never planned that way. Sometimes I might find myself topping from the bottom. Or I might decide when I’m blowing him that I’m going to edge him for a while, make him squirm, get him begging to finish. And I find immense satisfaction in those moments and feel incredibly powerful and sexy.
So you see, it’s there. A tiny seed of a domina. Maybe. Or maybe I‘m confusing the will to dominate with my mischievous, playful nature. But if there is a faint whisper of a domme there, I’m generally unaware of it.
Time for a quick peek into my what makes me tick. However, if you don’t care to see how the sausage is made (tee hee hee) and want to skip down to my play-by-play, which, fair warning, is more comedic than sexy, you can skip the next 7 or 8 brief paragraphs.
I think there are a couple of reasons that I find myself most comfortable in a submissive role in the bedroom. And I emphasize in the bedroom here, because I’m not a pushover in other aspects of my/our life. Our friends would tell you that I’m feisty and opinionated. I’m playful, and I’m not afraid to be myself when I’m around people I’m comfortable with. And apparently, as a result, I project confidence and maybe a bit of dominance, a friend surprising me recently when they told me that I come across as quite confident.
Because the truth is, I’ve got terrible self-confidence. I struggle with self-esteem and with feeling worthy of love. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a sexy, desirable person. I don't even see anything I like, most of the time. But it is what it is.
I’m a work in progress. And, thankfully, my 40s have marked the beginning of a shift in attitude toward myself. Writing this blog has proven a way for me to nurture positive feelings of self and to work out some of my shit. But, in any case, a deficit of self-confidence certainly makes being sexually dominate with my partner more difficult. *sigh*
So my difficulty harnessing self-confidence is certainly one piece of the puzzle. The other is that I simply like not having to make decisions in the bedroom. Not unlike many mothers in our culture, if I’m not actively at bat, I’m otherwise on deck. As a mother of 3, I’m a manager of multiple schedules, tracker of eating and hygiene habits, supervisor of bathroom usage, supporter of emotional and psychological health, monitor of goals for learning and study routines. Then there’s the mundane meals and laundry and housework. Self-care and relationship-care and being a good friend fall in there somewhere, too.
And even though I don’t also have a career pulling at me at this stage in my life, I still revel in any opportunity I can get to take something off my plate, even for just a little while. When it’s time to get down and dirty with PM, I have a deep-seated need to be taken care of, for someone else to take the reigns and call the shots. I don’t want to make plans for what’s going to happen. I don’t want to have to worry about and take care of someone else and their needs. It’s bad enough that Three interrupts our sexy times at least one a week by shouting to me from the toilet that he’s “done!” and needs my help, “right now!”
When PM and I are getting it on, I want to be free from the demands of my other life roles for a time, mentally, if not physically. Where I’m the one getting attention and care. I want to be fully present in my body. To turn down my prefrontal cortex, all that executive functioning that’s distracting as hell, and get in touch with the more primitive parts of my brain. I want to simply trust that my partner has my pleasure in mind and that, even if he pushes my limits, he‘ll take care of me and see me safely to the other side.
So when it comes to sex play, I prefer PM to take charge. But as I said, that doesn’t mean I can’t be demanding. It’s just that it usually only comes out in the heat of the moment, when our passion has created a safe space for me to explore another side of myself, when he‘s made me feel like a goddess and I can exploit that feeling to flip the tables. It’s in these times where I’m in touch with a wholly different part of myself, consumed by a passionate madness with my partner, that I find in myself a domina.
Unfortunately, in a classic mistake of trying to run before I can walk scenario, I had convinced myself that I could, in fact, set out from the start to play the role of a domme to PM’s sub. I really don’t know what I was thinking.
I know for a fact that PM had done research on how to be good Dom when he purchased our first kinky accoutrements. He had told me a little about it. I wasn‘t unaware of the importance of a calm, confident demeanor in keeping the trust of your sub. I also had some sense that BDSM folks think about and then plan a scene ahead of time. Why I thought I could just wing it, I have no friggin’ idea. As you’ll see in just a moment, I really did have no idea what I was doing, and it showed. *grimace*
If you want a little more info about what should have happened before PM and I ever went into the bedroom for our little experiment, here’s a quick but helpful introduction, “What’s A Scene? How to Successfully Negotiate a BDSM Scene.”
In hindsight, I realize that I knew what he didn’t want me to do but had no idea what he did want from me. Nor did I give a lot of thought to what I wanted. I also can’t say that I knew why we were doing it. Because I had no goal in mind, it’s not surprising that I didn’t know how to proceed once he was tied down or that I was unsure how to gauge when the train was going off the rails.
I just thought, let’s experiment and see how he does when he’s not in charge. Yeah, so not a lot of forethought on my part, especially given the fact that being dominant isn’t even a well-formed fantasy of mine.
So our first attempt with PM as sub and me the domina? As I said, a complete fail, across the board. Turns out, PM has nary a submissive bone in his body. And me? Not a natural-born domme. Like, at all.
What went wrong? Oh geez. What didn’t go wrong?
And while we both ultimately didn't cope well with our reversed roles, I’m going to go ahead and lay the initial blame for this clusterfuck on PM, who it turns out is a little whiny bitch when he isn‘t in charge. Yup. It’s my blog, and I get to give my POV of how our experiment went awry.
To start off, I instructed him to lay out on the bed on his back, in the nude, and while he was a little apprehensive, he assured me that he trusted me and got into position.
Now, to set a clearer stage for you all, I was not wearing leather dominatrix gear or anything intimidating like that, just comfy but sexy in lacey panties and a short robe. I did not want to make him more nervous than I knew he already would be. He wasn‘t super eager to try this experience, so I was trying to make it easier on him.
I had only just finished cuffing his hands to the mattress, and I could tell he was already a little panicky. I should have just called it at that point, but I was determined to get this man to relax and enjoy himself.
Because, yes, I was convinced that he would eventually find a submissive role liberating, as I do. Or I guess I assumed everyone could learn to switch, to some extent, and find pleasure in letting go of their usual role. I’m not so sure now if that’s the case. Can a person just be a dom/domme personality through and through? Or can one learn to suppress one’s natural state and, what more, enjoy it? Beats me. (See the pun there? 😆)
So here we are, with only his wrists cuffed, and PM’s already tensing up and pulling at the restraints.
Now, just to be clear. We had already agreed that I wasn’t going to purposely cause him any pain or discomfort. (I can’t control his internal discomfort. That’s his problem to manage. 😏) This experience was supposed to be about experimenting with his pleasure, as well as about allowing me to play a dominant role in bringing about that pleasure. For example, he didn’t like the idea of the riding crop. Totally fine with me. His choice.
PM's breathing is flattening at this point, and he’s fidgeting. I ask him if he’s okay and if I can continue, and he tells me, yes. That he thinks he’ll be fine. I encourage him to relax and to take deep breaths and begin securing his outstretched legs by the ankles. I check in with him about the tension and adjust the ties so that he’s immobile but fairly comfortable. And despite his tugging at the restraints, I still think we’re fine to continue at this point.
I can’t help but remember my own initial response to being fully restrained. I had to fight down an instinctual need to escape. I’m sure my adrenaline was up, and I had take deep breathes and consciously make my body relax. Even though I trust PM completely, being restrained in a vulnerable position like that definitely triggered panic that I had to then manage. And before we had even started this sesh where he would sub, I reminded him about my initial stress when I was the one restrained and how I sort of had to breath through it.
Thus, PM’s visible nervousness didn’t surprise me. And it shouldn’t have surprised him either. But as soon as he's fully restrained, I see the tension in his face and neck, the change in his breathing, and I have the passing thought that he‘s having an actual panic attack.
Which was so bizarre, because PM is about as confident and unflappable as a person can be without being an asshole about it. And he normally has this annoying ability to ignore external stimuli. If he’s working, he can block out what's going on around him. If he’s cold, he tells himself he's not cold, and he says he doesn't feel cold. Whatever. So, in my mind, he should have been able to manage his responses.
“I don’t like this,” he tells me. “Mind over matter," I urge him. "Breathe through it. Make yourself relax.”
He finally starts to settle down, but when I climb up onto the bed and hover over him, running my hand from his neck down his chest, he starts freaking out again. Like what the actual fuck? I haven't even done anything yet! So I decide that maybe he needs a blindfold to help him concentrate on relaxing. I'm thinking it might help him focus, as it often does for me.
I shift off of him and turn to the IKEA basket drawer beside the bed, where we keep most of our sex accessories. Unfortunately, I'm extremely unorganized and tend to just chuck things in there when we're done. Which means it's always a pain in the butt to find anything. So when I go in for a blindfold, I'm immediately confronted with the task of rummaging around in a mess of vibrators, lube bottles, butt plugs, floggers, cuffs, etc., all tangled in a bunch of charger wires. There may have been some bandage lingerie thrown in there, too, that may or may not have been stuck to the velcro of the cuff restraints. Yeah, I'm a mess. I know.
So I'm rummaging...and cursing...and I can hear PM behind me starting to struggle again, which is, in turn, making me panic. I can't find a simple friggin' blindfold, even though I know for a fact that we own at least four of them. I start pulling things out, and everything's attached and stuck to everything else, so it looks like I'm playing some pervert version of Monkeys in a Barrel. "Calm down," I admonish him and give up on the blindfold.
Now I'm not the most graceful person on the best of days, and as my anxiety is increasing, I'm getting more and more clumsy. I decide to try and find our feather tickler for some sensation play, but as I'm digging around, I find myself knocking shit over on the bedside table. So there's some crashing and banging about, followed by more expletives.
When I finally find what I want and turn back to PM, his face is flushed and his eyes are wild, and not in a good way. He's done. "It was an audible and visible atrocity," he would later tell me. Yeah, well, he wasn't a walk in the park either. Whatever.
Looking back at the experience, and after doing the research that I should have done prior to tying PM down, I realize that we should have started small. I should have taken the past instances where I had felt in touch with a dominant side of myself and just expanded a bit from there to start. Jumping right to bondage and toys was like trying to swim across the deepend when I was only comfortable doing the doggy paddle.
For example, what I could have done, and probably done well, was just cuff him and had him kneel. I could have walked around him and talked about what a good boy he is and how much he pleases me. I could have touched him and teased him a bit. Got him a little worked up. I could have ordered him to go down on me, with the promise that if he’s a very good boy and makes me come, I’ll let him come as well. Then maybe I would edge him for a while before letting him finish. Simple and straightforward.
I could have done that and then walked away feeling confident. And maybe PM would have enjoyed it, if not playing the submissive role, in the very least, seeing me own my role as domina. It could have been a smashing success that we could build on further, if we were so inclined.
But no. I had to go full-on, I’m-still-learning-to-drive-put-me-behind-the-wheel-of-a-semi. *sigh*
For a little extra reading on experimenting with one's dom/domme side, I found this, “The Beginner’s Guide to Domination,” to be both non-intimidating and helpful.
So our first experience switching was like the Hindenburg. We haven’t talked much about it, actually. And I’ve tried to sort of forget it happened. Needless to say, PM is not excited to try it again. And, in fact, I suppressed the memory so well that I had forgotten about it until this past week when I relayed the story to my lady friends, who were howling in laughter over it. It was then that I realized I shouldn‘t bury this disaster. That I can laugh about it but also maybe learn something from it. And I hope you, in the very least, laughed, too.
Until next time, stay kinky 😉
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