Self-Rescuing Princess

It occurs to me that I may have been wrong all along…. You see, I thought the reason I enjoyed BDSM was because I wanted to give up control – I live a life filled with responsibility and have a job that forces me to be an authority figure, and so I often end up feeling that without me, the world would stop…. I have come to believe that in order to enjoy myself fully, in order to relax, I needed a D/s relationship, a Dom or a daddy, who would force me to give up control.

This sounds like a plausible story alright, except -- I don’t really have control in my life. In fact, in order to pursue my kinky lifestyle, in order to stop my self-repression and liberate the deep dark desires that run through my subconscious, I have given up all control – including self-control. In Civilization and its Discontents, Freud writes about the necessity for repression in order to become a functioning member of society. All civilization, according to him, is based upon repression, which starts at the suppression of our first sexual desires (for our mother). I disagree with Freud on many counts, but this is something I find quite logical – and so it follows that lifting that repression and allowing for such in-depth self-discovery of my sexuality makes it more difficult for me – or anyone – to be a part of society.

However, what I find particularly hard to deal with is not the lack of social acceptance, but my own inability to function -- to work and to take care of myself, my family, my home --  that my quest for sexual liberation has caused. Getting rid of repression  puts more focus on emotions, and assigns a much greater value to feelings than to rational thought and decision making. While on one hand, that leads to self-awareness and self-knowledge which, potentially, may allow me to make more informed decisions regarding myself and the people I am attracted to or form relationships with, the downside is the overwhelming power of my emotions that submerge me and then keep coming, wave after wave. And since I have given up the tools to repress them, and have indulged in my hyper-awareness, they have more strength than I can deal with.

So what I have been looking for in my exploration of D/s lifestyle is not loss of control, which I, it seems, have already accomplished, but quite the opposite -- for someone else to take control that I have given up. I have been looking to entrust myself to another human being who'd have my interests and my well being in mind, and who could control, through pain or domination, the scattered, contradictory and overwhelming emotions that have been rushing through me -- and contain them for me, so that I could return to functioning within the parameters of my life. I have been wanting to feel safe from the darkness inside me, from self-induced guilt and my own destructive impulses. To know that someone else can take on this darkness, battle my dragons and eventually keep them at bay, enabling me to return to society without the necessary chores and obligations of repressing, to at least some extent, my powerful desires. I have been looking for a cheat.

On one hand, of course, we are responsible for taking care of each other and helping each other in times of sub -- or Dom -- drops. D/s raises a lot of emotions and responses that can be unexpected and hard to deal with. Feelings of pain, loss, violence or overwhelming tenderness, emptiness, to name just a few, rush coursing through your body, as your mind struggles to reconcile them with social norms and everything you thought you knew about yourself. We cannot contain this. We cannot be expected to, and the worst thing a partner can do is abandon us during those times. However, there is an extent to which another person can help, and in the end, if you are not willing to do the work for yourself, go through and sort and analyse and find ways of dealing with your feelings and thoughts, no one can do it for you. It is an essential step to self-awareness, not just to see, but to understand what is happening inside you, and no partner, no matter how good or experienced, can take you through that.

In the end, after giving up control and diving deep into the chasm of your subconscious, you have to come back for air and regain control -- and so I have to tell myself, "enough," and remember that I am a functioning, responsible adult with a ton of obligations to deal with and a whole lot of responsibility for others than myself. No matter how much I enjoy the fantasy of a knight on a white stallion sweeping me off my feet and saving me from myself (and then spanking my bottom til it's fiery red to take care of any fears or guilt I may still carry), I have to, in the end, be a self-rescuing princess, and learn to slay -- or domesticate -- my own dragons. 

Karenina's Curse, Part 2.

Day two, and I can’t stop thinking about Anna Karenina, especially the way it juxtaposes Stiva (Oblonsky's) infidelities and Anna's affair. In his explanation to Levin, Stiva compares his affair to going after fresh bread rolls after getting tired of the same stale bread, something that should be understood by society and forgiven by his wife. In fact, the whole affair is portrayed as comical, down to Dolly’s silly face, strewn with tears, when she discovers his letter to the governess and his stereotypical male response - to sneak out of the confrontation before she sees him. Anna' affair on the other hand is scandalous and tragic – in many instances in the film she becomes the involuntary center of attention, partially because she takes it so seriously, but also very much because she is a woman, and thus obligated to forgive and accept, but not challenge the patriarchal status quo. 

It was interesting for me to see the way Anna’s sexuality is portrayed throughout the movie as something demonic and dangerous to the society around her. Before she even engages in her affair with Vronsky, she hurts Kitty, whose dreams of marrying Vronsky are shattered as she watches Anna’s passionate dance. With Vronsky, Anna is shown to lose all self-restraint, and instead of trying to prevent a pregnancy (as women throughout time had means of doing), she welcomes it with joy. On the other hand, if I understood the scene correctly, Karenin practices safe sex with his wife: the two times they are shown in their bedroom, before heading to bed for another night of obligatory marital sex, he takes out a small box containing a pouch from his dresser (an old-fashioned condom?), to which (the second time) Anna responds that she can’t, she’s Vronsky’s wife now – and that she’s pregnant with his child. For Anna, it seems, it’s not the cultural norms, such as a wedding, that make her married, but this unrestrained sexuality and the child it produces. 

This same child becomes "the demon" inside her: in the scene where Vronsky comes to visit her at her house and she is visibly pregnant, she loses her temper, and quickly corrects herself, apologetically saying that it wasn’t her, it was the demon inside her. She is referring to her irritability, of course, but the implications of such statement run deeper – it is her sexuality that is tearing her apart, making her choose between her lover and the passion she feels for him, and her husband and place in society. It is the child, then, the product of this sexuality, who has brought her situation to a climax and is now forcing her to decide – otherwise, one can assume, she could’ve continued to live as she did, having her affair with Vronsky on the side. 

This description of Anna's sexuality as demonic is typical of the way women's sexuality is portrayed in a male-dominated culture. It is dangerous to a society that is based on the male's desire to ensure that his life's accomplishments will get passed on to his children, improving the chances for the survival of his genetic make-up, because it is the most sure way to subvert this certainty. And so, while the demon of sexuality lives within all of us, only in women is it associated with witchcraft and unnatural, dark power. This reminds me of my favorite poem by Anne Sexton, "Her Kind," that begins with:

                                        I have gone out, a possessed witch,

                                        haunting the black air, braver at night;

                                       dreaming evil, I have done my hitch

                                       over the plain houses, light by light:

                                       lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.

                                       A woman like that is not a woman, quite.

                                       I have been her kind.

Here, Sexton suggests that to be a woman is to be a witch, "possessed" by desire and often driven by it to loneliness and insanity -- and, ultimately, death. We are all, she claims, of the same "kind." 

The ending of the film is particularly disturbing to me regarding what it says about a woman's role in society. Little Anya (Karenina' daughter from Vronsky) is running around the field under the watchful eyes of her brother and her "dad" - Karenin, who can now raise her to be a proper society lady in lieu of the other Anna, with whom he has failed to do that. The shot pans out, and we realize  that we are still in the theater, the place of social milieu that ostracized and eventually killed Anna, and the field of greens is spreading from the stage into the audience, implicating all of us, perhaps, in the perpetuation of the patriarchal structure that we just witnessed. 

What I can’t quite figure out is whether this film is making a claim that such structure is natural and good, or merely unavoidable. On the one hand, there is the field that spreads into the theater, quite naturally overgrowing it. As Steve Sailer writes in his review of Karenina, 

Today it’s universally assumed that an unfaithful wife should get custody of the children. Yet Wright and Stoppard don’t seem terribly interested in pointing fingers at 19th-century Russians for their lack of enlightenment about family law.

When Anna laments that she can’t possess both her lover and her son because “The laws are made by husbands and fathers,” it’s hard not to respond, “As well they should be.” ((Steve Sailer's review)

At the end of the film, we are left just with that – between self-destructive Anna, who has turned bitter and hysterical and killed herself, and the calm and infinitely forgiving Karenin, whom would we choose to raise the next generation, to mold the future of our society? And yet….

In her final conversation with Anna, when asked if she judges her, Dolly responds by telling her, not at all. She too may have wanted to do what Anna did, but no one had asked her.  And we can tell through the hint of regret in her otherwise smiling, innocent eyes that she is only half joking. The other women in the film don’t fare any better – Kitty only marries after she has given up on love (as she says bitterly, she’s through with the entire thing) and chooses to become a “sister of mercy” to her husband’s estranged and sick brother – in other words, strips herself of her sexuality.  Vronsky’s mother, whom we first meet wistfully reminiscing about her scandalous youth, is also left with only her memories, as she urges her son to stay within the confines of social acceptability, have his affairs, but not take them too seriously. Dolly, poor Dolly, is left with a serially unfaithful husband, whom she still loves, but who will never stop lusting for other women and hurting her with his affairs.  In other words, we are shown that women cannot be happy and have a place in this male-dominated society, unless they forget their desires, restrain their sexuality, and go to work actively perpetuating the social norms that restrict them. I don’t understand how any woman watching the film can leave the theater agreeing that’s how ‘it should be.”

Karenina's Curse

Finally saw the new Anna Karenina with Keira Knightley. Been waiting to see it since I first saw the trailers half a year ago -- it's Keira Knightley! And the script is by Tom Stoppard, my favorite living playwright... And it was coming out for my birthday! Too many reasons to love it, though I have hated Tolstoy and this novel with a passion, ever since I've realized how much they have fucked me over, as a child, indoctrinating me into the world where love always leads to pain and loss, while a happy marriage -- the only means to a happy life -- can only be the product of a god-blessed, desexualized friendship.

I'm still not sure how I feel about the film. It was beautiful. It was witty (thank you, Stoppard!), compassionate (thanks again!), and very stylish. It stayed true to its own rules the entire time. But this same beautiful and highly-stylized picture often kept me from feeling anything for the characters, because, for one, I didn't quite believe they were feeling anything themselves. They were characters in their own play, and the theatrical setting of the film lent itself to this distancing -- which I didn't necessarily enjoy. The whole film, I kept vacillating between being fascinated by the style and repelled by it, especially when it felt like a caricature of Russian culture....

But what did it have to do with love, sex, and BDSM? Everything... This is what happens when no one is in control -- Anna loses herself when she falls in love, breaking the rules of society (which, according to Kitty, is even more unforgivable than breaking the law) and once Karenin gives up his control over her, there is no one left in charge. Vronsky is too young, too inexperienced to know how to handle Anna -- he can't even handle his horse, which leads to his accident at the races earlier in the film. And Anna, unfortunately, suffers from the curse of the 19th century aristocratic woman -- she has nothing to call her own, no route to actualize herself, no other interest but love to keep her going. Once she leaves Karenin and loses her son, she is left completely dependent on the affection of her lover, and when she feels it slip, all her stability, all her sense of self goes with it. She needs constant reassurance, becomes needy, addicted to morphine, insane.... she starts hating herself and her own weakness, but doesn't have the strength to control it. Even her suicide (both in the novel and the film) is shown to be not a result of conscious decision-making, but an impulse, a sudden step into the abyss.

Needless to say, the movie struck a chord. Watching Anna Karenina after the week I had made me see more clearly than ever that her curse didn't stay in the 19th century, but followed us on. Without something to drive a woman forward, an interest in life that is not connected to the unsteady emotions of another person, we cannot have control, even over our own lives. And without that sense of security -- not the material kind, but the self-reliance that comes from belief in oneself, one's ability to survive and pursue happiness no matter what -- we cannot truly be dommes, subs, or even babygirls. Because how can we engage in power dynamics if we don't really have any power? How can we give up control, if we never truly posses it? And on the contrary, once we do have it, we keep it for life, no matter how often we give it up or try to throw it away.....

Cause you can never lose a thing if it belongs to you.....

This is NOT a (sub)drop...(?)

I had a wonderful week, filled with hard work and many emotional (and physical) rewards. I had a very stressful and overwhelming, but ultimately gratifying Wednesday, because I managed to accomplish everything I set out to do. And then, I had an unforgettable evening/night/morning with my daddy, who took care of my tired body and let me vent, for hours, about everything on my mind. And then there was the sex…. I was so happy Thursday morning. But by the time Thursday night came around, I was falling apart – I was sick (physically), emotionally exhausted, incredibly down and doubting my abilities, my strength, and my desire to keep fighting for the things I want. I was on the verge of crying, and nothing, not even my daddy’s kind and loving words could calm me down. I didn’t know how to deal with the sadness that was overpowering me, and worst of all, I felt I was being extremely ungrateful for all the good things in my life, and I kept trying to bring myself back up, unsuccessfully, of course, and to my incredible frustration.

By now, I am used to having a sub-drop after events or playdates; I am not sure if they will ever get any better, but at least I know enough to recognize them and deal with them appropriately. With enough experience, we all learn: this is to be expected, and we can even prepare – take a day off in advance, stock up on chocolate, make sure we have a good book to read and the time and privacy to read it. After an event, we can spend some time online, connecting with the new friends we made; after a playdate, we can do write-ups, give each other feedback, or simply revel in the memories of the night – or the anticipation of the next meeting. We know a sub-drop is a chemical drop, as well as a result of so much energy spent, and so much new experience for our minds to digest, and so we don’t waste time in empty wallowing or self-pity, but usually go directly to the cure – whatever it is for us. This is something everyone learns, I believe – either through experience or research, with the support of the community (Thank you, fetlife!) or, eventually and gradually on our own.

So how is it that our entire lives don’t prepare us for the drop that follows every achievement, any exceptionally good day, a surprisingly happy experience or passionate love-making? These highs are no different from those experienced in the BDSM lifestyle, and the lows that follow should be just as expected for they have similar causes – chemical, emotional, and psychological. They should be similar to deal with, as well, since the practical tools we pick up in our BDSM experiences can be just as useful in our everyday lives: a good book, some extra chocolate for that chemical drop, a bath to relax those tense nerves, all preceded by the same level of self-awareness that tells us to expect a low after a high, and deal with it instead of trying to prevent the inevitable.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I should’ve known better and prepped myself for the drop, instead of fighting it until 2 in the morning.  

Never the Face

In the time when everyone seems to be reading – or talking about -- 50 Shades of Grey, I wonder, instead, about the reason why BDSM is suddenly and so surely infiltrating the mainstream.  Is it the anti-feminist backlash, rebelling against the notion that a self-respecting woman shouldn’t desire to be dominated by a man? Or is it that finally this light erotica is answering the long-repressed need of so many women to speak about their sexuality and its many different facets, especially those aspects that they grew up most ashamed of? One of the driving forces behind fetish communities, I think, is that desire to feel that you’re not alone, not utterly different from everyone else in the world – that your perversions don’t make you a monster, and that in the realm of “safe, sane, and consensual” they are perfectly acceptable.

Of course I find this phenomenon wonderful. I too grew up ashamed of myself, refusing to accept, even inside my personal closet, the validity of my desires. The fear, however, is that by being introduced as such a surface topic by poorly-written and not very thought-provoking works, BDSM runs the risk of being further relegated to “that kinky element of sex” – accepted, but unexplored. Meanwhile, I believe that both the intimacy and the explicit power dynamics of BDSM make it both more satisfactory and dangerous to those willing but ignorant explorers.

And so, I am happy to come across a book like Never the Face – an intelligent and sexy read that I have already (topically) reviewed elsewhere. I reread it again, just to see if I’d find it as powerful the second time around, and was glad to notice more details that make it so mesmerizing – and relatable – of a story. At the same time, I won’t lie – I found it very disturbing, precisely because the author describes so well some of my own desires, experiences and apprehensions.

For example, here’s her description of subspace: “I’m not sure how long he beat me that night. Time became suspended. The world shrank to two people inside a shack: nothing else existed” (18). When you meet that person who can take you to subspace and then take care of you while you’re in it, it is an intimacy so deep, so powerful, no wonder the narrator becomes addicted to it – and falls in love!

She writes about the sex that follows this beating – and this intimacy: “I thought about the countless times I’d had sex before. They had as much resemblance to what I’d just experienced as a stuffed toy has to a tiger. A small voice pointed out that tigers are dangerous, but I ignored it” (24). Though she is scared of the danger that inevitably comes with such an intense connection (BDSM or not), she also realizes that it’s incomparable to anything she had experienced before. While pain, and the risk of becoming this deeply involved, are the undeniable drawbacks of this relationship, the rewards – oh the rewards! – make us fall harder every time….

I love the internal dialogue she constantly has with herself that shows us her utter confusion at this new and different relationship. Society tells her (and all of us) not just how we’re supposed to act, but also what we are supposed to want and how we’re supposed to feel. When we find ourselves suddenly at odds with these directives, the confusion can be paralyzing (and probably scares many more women than will admit to it from pursuing their desires). She writes about her experience at a restaurant with David, after their D/s affair has begun to pick up speed: “This time, I hadn’t been allowed even to look at the menu: he handed my copy straight back to the waiter. I flushed. Yet, while one part of me raged, another felt coddled and cared for. Which brought a pulse of guilt. You’re not a child. You’re not supposed to like this” (26).

And no matter what I think of David (I would like to believe I pick up on his flaws before the narrator, less experienced in this lifestyle, does), his explanation of the desires that draw us to BDSM is excellent:

“It’s an intimate thing to beat someone. Way more intimate than fucking,” he said.

“Why?” I said, looking up.

“Because it strips away pretense and self-consciousness, it reduces you to your essence.” I shifted under his gaze. “When you fuck someone, your mind can be somewhere else,” he said. “You don’t have to show anything of yourself. But when you beat someone, or when you are being beaten – you can’t help it, you reveal who you are.” (28)

And here is the narrator’s even more astute description of the self-awareness that comes after an intense and emotionally satisfying session:

My mind was still. Empty. Again, I had the sensation that my body was floating.

I curled against him, aware of the warmth of his chest, the heaviness of his arms, the scratchy stubble on his chin.

Aware of the sheets, and the twilight.

Just aware. (39)

This awareness, this feeling of calm is almost like the peak of meditation, as near as one can get to the out-of-body experience. And it stays with you, after the fact: this realization and deep understanding of everything you found out about yourself in the moments of pain and suffering, but could not process till now. By going through pain, through “total sex” as the narrator describes it later in the novel, and surviving it, you become suddenly aware of your physical presence, and the materiality of the world around you, and then every sensation feels like a discovery – because you are truly feeling it, like this, for the first time.

We are first given a glimpse  into what’s going to go wrong between the narrator and David, when the narrator thinks: "Brutality without tenderness" (26). She doesn’t expand on it, or address it at this point, but we see it’s her greatest fear – and a premonition of how the affair is going to end. This is done with such subtlety, you get a feeling that you’re sneaking a peek at something no one else can yet see. And then again, 20 pages later: “He pulled out. I collapsed, sprawling and devastated, on the bed. Cuddle me. Please cuddle me“ (47). Despite her pleading for aftercare, David tells her to get dressed and takes her out.  I felt hurt reading this – imagining how uncared for I would feel if I didn’t get held and cuddled after a severe beating or a rough fuck. Gradually, we are beginning to see David for what he is – his selfishness, his lack of insight into her needs – in spite of what he thinks, his carelessness with her emotions. He only notices that something is wrong when she almost faints at the restaurant – and that is definitely not the attention that a good Dom pays his sub.

Another few pages later, the alarm went off in my head. I wanted to scream to the narrator: he’s bad news! Run now while you still can! This is what David says about safe words and people who use them:

His voice became scoffing. “They’re the pussies who use safe words when they  ‘play.’”

“What’s a safe word?” I said.

“It’s a way to say” – he put on a whine – “Oh! Stop what you’re doing. I can’t take it.’” He paused. “Safe words – it’s like someone telling you to wear a seat belt and a crash helmet during sex. Kinda takes the edge off.” He changed gear and passed the car ahead of us. “A good top – he knows where his bitch is. He knows what she can take and what she can’t. Better than she does herself.” (50)

It’s this kind of arrogance that gets to me – while a good Dom, playing with an experienced sub whom he knows well, can usually tell exactly where she’s at, you can’t count on it – and especially if you’re playing with someone this self-centered and proud. A guy like that won’t admit defeat even when he sees the signs! I know there are people who don’t use safe words –and I don’t think I’ve ever actually had to use one myself – but if that’s the choice they make, it should be the sub’s choice, her willing consent to fully entrust herself to her Dom, not the Dom’s choice to just take that power from her. It’s the issue of control, but that control can’t be taken – it has to be given freely, otherwise I believe it IS abuse. And this foreshadows everything that’s going to go wrong with the relationship – the way that David ends up taking full control while the narrator abdicates it completely, and when he starts losing it himself there is no one to take over, to keep it together. She – an independent, strong woman – doesn’t even know she has that choice when she is with him. And when EVERYONE loses control, things fall apart – and people get hurt.

As the novel continues, and the affair grows hotter, we see more and more of these danger signs. And the narrator can’t keep ignoring them either:

“Sometimes you have to be cruel to be sexy,” he said.

Sometimes – what?

I shivered. Somewhere, in a distant corner of my brain, an alarm bell started clanging. But I muffled the clapper in cotton wool, and ignored it.” (66)

For the first time, she briefly sees him for who he is – that he cares more about passion itself, than about her. It’s not her needs he’s responding to when he beats her, but he’s doing it for the sake of sex, of excitement, while she is doing it for the intimacy – something that cruelty can forever destroy.  She hates pain, so she needs the care and tenderness that come after, while he only gives those because and when he feels like it, not to fulfill her need (and as the story develops, he gives less and less).

I love that throughout the novel we are shown the narrator’s hyperawareness of what’s going on, not just what she’s experiencing, but what her Dom must be feeling as well. She really tries to understand and see the responsibility on both sides of the equation. At some point, explaining it to her girlfriend, she says: ”I think it must be difficult to know how hard to hit, to know how to read the other person’s responses. To generate a feeling of safe danger.” (61)  At another point, she questions: “Who is really serving whom? I began to see glimmers of a paradox.” (54) When it’s working properly, a D/s relationship is a delicately balanced dance (no, I didn’t come up with that J  ), with both partners superbly conscious of each other and the fluctuating dynamic between them.

For me, this novel raised very important issues of consent, especially implied (rather than openly stated and negotiated) consent, that I still can’t entirely resolve. There are elements of the relationship that make me think David is abusing the narrator (even before he actually – and openly -- does), but on the other hand, she yearns for that complete authority, she wants to be taken against her will. In a way, she’s giving him consent by staying with him – but when does that become simply a battered woman’s consent? Here are a few examples that (if this relationship were real and not a wonderfully written work of fiction) would make me most concerned:

When David points out that the narrator didn’t even defend herself, she responds (in thought):

“I was startled to realize that it hadn’t even occurred to me to try.” (26)

And then, when she is telling her secret to a friend who asks why she’d let David beat her, she thinks to herself: “Let him? I didn’t let him. He just did it. Don’t say that. She’ll freak.” (61)

Although I perfectly understand how someone taking control like that can be a major turn on, I am deeply disturbed by the fact that she doesn’t think she could stop him even if she tried; that it has nothing to do with her wishes or her consent, but everything with what he chooses to do -- or not to do.

And so, I am not at all surprised that when David loses control of the situation himself – his marriage falls apart, his sex kitten (the narrator) won’t blindly obey him – the affair finally explodes. He tells her the most unforgivable words of them all: “If you won’t give it to me, I’ll take it by force” (211), and then he carries out his threat – till she actually passes out on him. His actions at this point have nothing to do with her, and not even a pretense of love for her shines through his words. He has lost control as a Dom the moment he feels he has to take her through sheer, brutal force, and he shows how little he has thought of her all along. This complete lack of consideration finally exposes him as a fraud – an amateur in domming, a lover who’s not really in love with anyone but himself. Instead of a careful balance of needs and desires, there’s only him – and that’s the end of any relationship.

This is the end of the story and their affair: David leaves the narrator and goes back to his wife, but although she is the one left howling on the floor, I get a feeling (or maybe it’s just a hope) that she is the one who can no longer believe in his power, see him as her Dom, or even as her lover. Because the book begins awhile later, and is told through flashbacks, we know that the narrator survives this ordeal and finds a way to grow into her new understanding of herself and her desires. She can look back at it now as the moment she became “awake,” and in that word we see that there is more than just pain that she took away from this affair. 

Tamed

I have given The Little Prince to every significant lover I’ve had. I consider this book essential for reaching one’s emotional maturity. It is not a book for children, as many mistakenly believe – though I am sure that many kids will appreciate its light humor and its condescension toward adults. But really, it’s a book for grown-ups – those who risk forgetting the child inside them, the always curious, never letting go of a question, never taking anything lightly. It is a book for those who grew up and never quite learned responsibility that comes not from duty and obligation, but from one’s heart, from genuine care for those we have “tamed” – and those who tamed us. 

                                          

“What does tamed mean?”

“It’s something that’s been too often neglected. It means ‘to create ties’…”

…”I’m beginning to understand,” the little prince said. “There’s a flower… I think she’s tamed me…”

It seems to me that this responsibility is inherent in any working D/s relationship, and the entire book can actually be a good lesson for those of us pursuing this lifestyle. Without this genuine sense of care one would be living either in a highly-explosive and emotionally harmful relationship, or skin-deep, not going further than technically-kinky sexploration. And the first thing that needs to be acknowledged is that this responsibility goes both ways – just like a Dominant tames his submissive, a submissive tames her Dominant. This act of creating ties, of making someone special to you, whether through taking care of them or accepting that care, is irreversible, and just like the little prince will always be remembered by the fox for his hair, the color of wheat, or by the narrator, whenever he looks at the stars, one will remember a lover one truly cared about, no matter if or why the relationship had to end. 

                                        

The little prince went to look at the roses again.

“You’re not at all like my rose. You’re nothing at all yet,” he told them. “No one has tamed you and you haven’t tamed anyone.”…

Many spectators mistake D/s relationships for ones where the submissive gives up control and allows things to be done to them, and where the Dominant is in charge, doing those things, and thus shouldering all the responsibility. There is nothing further from truth in this misapprehension, and if one enters an arrangement believing this, one is likely to get nothing out of it – and hurt the others involved. If anything, a D/s relationship assigns ways of caring, tasks if you will, that work for each partner, while at the same time exposing the extremely delicate balance of power that has to constantly be maintained and nurtured, one that has to come out of sincere care for each other, genuine appreciation and interest – not because of accepted morality or what society deems appropriate. That is the “taming” described in the book, and it has nothing and everything to do with control: it is not exercised, but comes naturally, as in a bond that holds and thus restrains each participant’s movements through their willing submission, their desire to be tamed. And while the cost of it may be tears (and always is), the benefit stays with you forever: out of 7 billion people on earth, you’ll have a few who will always be, irrevocably, yours.   

                                            

“It’s the time you spent on your rose that makes your rose so important.”

“It’s the time I spent on my rose…,” the little prince repeated, in order to remember.

“People have forgotten this truth,” the fox said. “But you mustn’t forget it. You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed. You’re responsible for your rose…”

Nine ½ Weeks: The Issue of Consent

I know it’s an old film, but it has been on my mind a lot recently, for one reason in particular. Reading some of the critics’ reviews of the movie, I was surprised at how well some of them actually understood the dynamic between the characters: Elizabeth and John. But even Roger Ebert, whose review I generally agreed with, saw the ending of the film as a victory of personality over purely sexual desire: while kinky sex is all well and good, in the end without a deeper connection and knowledge of each other, Elizabeth walks away from John, thinking that she just spent nine and a half weeks having an erotic affair with a perfect stranger.

But somehow, watching the film after I already began my journey into BDSM, I didn’t see that lack of a more personal connection as the reason why the two characters split up. Kinky sex, or any sexual experimentation outside of the traditional heteronormative relationship, I believe, necessitates a deeper intimacy, as the participants are thrown off balance, taken outside their comfort zones, away from the prescribed reactions and responses: this is how you’re supposed to feel when he does this, and these are the sounds you make when you are feeling pleasure, etc. When you’re experiementing, you give up the advance knowledge of your body’s responses. All of a sudden, you may find yourself moaning in pleasure as you’re being hurt, or screaming in pain as you orgasm. You may find that you are not experiencing pangs of jealousy as your partner fucks another, or, you may realize you like to do things that for the outside vanilla world sound disgusting or even debasing. There is a kind of honesty inherent in such new experiences, that comes from simply not having had the time to fake a reaction, or from not having a prescribed path to follow. And from that honesty, in my experience, comes a deeper personal connection – not necessarily love or even a long-term partnership, but a deeper knowledge of one another in each other’s vulnerable and unscripted states.

So why is it that Elizabeth is so freaked out by the end of the film that she has to leave, while she’s still, obviously, longing for John? I think it is the issue of consent and communication. While we can tell that John is more experienced in this kinky lifestyle than Elizabeth, and that he is naturally dominant (which makes him responsible for her), he still makes the mistake of assuming that Elizabeth is self-aware and strong enough to follow him into his kink without getting hurt: that she knows her desires and her limits, and can stop him without breaking what they have. But Elizabeth has no idea what she is getting into! And having had no experience stepping outside her comfort zone, as well as being in a vulnerable place to begin with -- she is recently divorced, she does not have the sense of self, or the strength, to control her situation. And this is what most of the critics reviewing this film (and probably most its viewers) didn’t understand: in a D/s relationship, while one of the partners does submit to the other, they both shoulder the responsibility for the relationship, for setting and abiding by each other’s limits, for being able to safeword out of a scene that isn’t theirs. Though they are in a power dynamic where one dominates the other, they are still equals in the amount of power each of them has to stay in or end the scene, and to ensure that balance they have to communicate their desires, state their hard limits, and discuss the scenes either before or after (or both) to see what worked and what didn’t. Without that openness, they don’t leave each other room for mistakes, and every error or misunderstanding might break their relationship. This communication, in turn, involves consent on both sides, and even though it may look like the submissive has no control, she has to consent to giving it up – and even then, she has the power to get out of the scene she is not ok with through safewording. Anything other than that I see as a dangerous abuse of power that is fraught with danger of physical and psychological harm, or at least, misunderstandings fatal to any relationship.

Elizabeth doesn’t have the power of consent, because John doesn’t give her that option. We see throughout the film that she doesn’t know how to end a scene except by leaving after the harm has already been done: as we see when John puts her in a room with a prostitute. Because she never knows what’s coming next, Elizabeth can’t prevent things from happening, and so it really puts John in complete control over her (granted, he takes that control and doesn’t leave her with much of a choice). Yes, that makes for a better film that’s much more enjoyable to watch and shows the life of kink as much more dangerous and erotic than if we got to see the behind the scenes negotiations and the gradual growth of the characters that would prepare them properly for each scene – let’s face it, successful lovey-dovey relationships that don’t hit any major roadblocks don’t exactly make for great stories. But I think that’s exactly what goes wrong between John and Elizabeth in the end – they get into a scene that doesn’t work for her, one that pushes her limits too far, and she runs away. Their last meeting shows us exactly how much John cares for her – he is not the selfish careless bastard who just wanted her for the fulfillment of his sexual fantasies. I believe he really wanted to explore Elizabeth’s kinky side, to push her to open up to the desires hidden inside her, but because he didn’t do it gently enough or carefully enough, giving her the choice to either consent or break the scene without leaving him or getting hurt, she doesn’t see his love, and so he loses her. Without clear and open communication between them, he forces her to reveal aspects of herself without revealing much of himself, and that swings the balance of power unequivocally to his side, creating an unhealthy relationship. And while Elizabeth is strong enough to walk out when she is pushed beyond her limits, she is not self-aware or knowledgeable enough (neither about him, nor about her own choices in their relationship) to stay and fix what they have, to negotiate and make it work for the two of them. But she doesn’t leave a bad affair, one that only hurt and didn’t benefit her; on the contrary, she leaves with a lot of regret for what it could’ve developed into, but didn’t have a chance to become.