Taking care of her pubic hair

A couple of days ago I laid Amy down on the bed to pluck her pubic hair. I’ve been keeping her smooth by having her epilate, but it’s rough on her, and she has mentioned being afraid of her epilator, so I decided to make her smooth myself.

Stretch the skin tight, grab the hair with tweezers, and pull it firmly in the direction it is growing. Over and over.

For me, it’s a wonderful way to explore a part of her without the heat of sexual arousal. I can examine and notice details that I would overlook, otherwise.

For Amy, the effect is more mixed. As my hands move and reposition over her obedient pussy, she begins to bliss out. She’s dealing with the discomfort of hair plucking, combined with the pleasure of having her pussy touched, and the underlying knowledge that I am doing this to her, and she is to simply lie there and have me do it to her.

I have no idea how long it takes. I pluck, tease out an occasional ingrown with a pin and a jewelers loupe, while Amy gives little moans and whimpers from time to time, pressing her damp self against my hands…

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Are we real? Yes, we are.

I’ve gotten a few emails from people asking if we’re real, if the things we write about are real and, if so, how THEY could go about having such a relationship. I’ve always replied, but I thought it might be worth a post too.

1. Are you and Richard real people? Yes we are real. We met on an online community last September. I saw his avatar (the little picture that shows up with your posts) and felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. He felt the same when he saw mine. We flirted outrageously on the boards for a month or so before taking the flirtation to email, then to instant messaging (IM) and webcam (I hate webcam. I am not an exhibitionist. Hate it.) I remember thinking, after our first few email exchanges, “Gee he’s not just a pretty face with a great sense of humor. There’s some real substance to this guy!”

At the time, I thought I was a bedroom submissive (see my early posts) and Richard was determined not to get involved with anything more than that. We realized pretty quickly that this was different and we were not going to be satisfied with less than a 24/7 D/s relationship.

In February, we met in person for the first time and it was magic. I knocked on the hotel room door and the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen answered. The magnetism…unbelievable. (We talked about it later; both of us thought the other was attractive from IM, but were startled by HOW attractive the other was in real life.) He wasn’t expecting me for another half hour, so when I leaned across to kiss him he pulled away. Then when he realized it was me, he pulled me into the room and wrapped his arms around me and began to kiss me. We’d gotten a room with an incredible view but I didn’t see it for almost 15 minutes because he wouldn’t stop kissing me and holding me. When I finally pointed this out, he laughed and turned me to the window, then wrapped his arms around me again. It was another 15 minutes before I saw the room. We had four days, trapped in the hotel room because of bad weather, me experiencing D/s for the first time and both of us falling head over heels in love.

We had planned on waiting six to 12 months to be together, to get to know each other better and deal with the complexities of Richard moving across county. (Richard is a photographer and so much more flexible than I am. I am tied here both by my career and my children (shared custody).) But after the four days together, we decided that there was no point in waiting. We knew that we were going to be together, and each day apart was agony. It was hard for me to focus on my work; we would have marathon IM sessions, sometimes eight hours or more.

So Richard moved out two long weeks later, and we have been together since then. We’ve only been apart two nights, when I had to make a quick business trip to the east coast. I missed him. This blog chronicles our time together since near the beginning, so I don’t need to say any more. But, yes, we’re real.

2. Are the things you write about real? Yes, they are real. In fact, we only write about maybe a tenth of what we do. We are both too busy to write more than that, and we’re also both well aware that writing about sex can get repetitive and boring if you aren’t careful. So we have things that we do pretty regularly, but we only write about them once. For example, I’ve cum twice today in very similar ways, much like I cum almost every day – Richard began playing with my breasts, I begged him to fuck me, he did while telling me what a little slut I’ve become, needing sex so much, and how much he likes it, then he pulled out of me and made me masturbate until I was close to cumming, while pinching and sucking and biting my breasts, then when I begged to cum he teased me about not letting me then finally said yes, I had an earth-shattering orgasm and then he entered me again and fucked me until he came (omigod that fucking right after orgasm??!!! heaven on earth! can I get an “amen”?)

See, boring. I can’t write that over and over. Well, to be honest, it was a little different the first time today because in the middle of fucking me he put a pillow over my face and fucked me and made me cum that way. Still, you see my point: how many times can you write about that?

Consent and kink

I have read and seen a lot in the last year. I’ve talked before about how I didn’t even realize I was sexually submissive until a year ago, and didn’t know that my fantasies could be more than fantasies, that some people lived their lives this way. This has taken a lot of adjusting, in thinking and behavior, and I still regularly feel the challenge of integrating this aspect of myself into my life. It has also been incredibly freeing. I’m stunned by the energy and creativity that has been released by opening my whole mind to who I really am. I am so, so happy.

I am, as I would guess many previously vanilla people are, more accepting of other people’s kinks than I was of my own. I have always felt that what happens between consenting adults in privacy is their concern and no one else’s. Is anyone getting hurt? If all involved are happy, then all is good. (OK, maybe somebody got hurt, but some people LIKE to get hurt. ; ))

I used to snicker a bit when I read about, for example, spanking or role play. Now I think it’s hot.

I used to feel quizzical about e.g. submissive men. Now I feel… a kinship I guess. And I think it must be harder in our society to be them than to be me (and it’s harder on all of us kinksters than it is to be gay, in general), so I have some sympathy too.

There are some things that personally squick me – the example that always comes to mind is scat play, and diaper play/infantilism/incest play is only a little easier for me to read about.

Last weekend I saw my first plushies/furries. I was happy that Richard was there to explain about them. He is so open and non-judgmental. It’s easy to laugh about their kink, but why is theirs any odder than wanting to spank or be spanked?

To repeat: I have always felt that what happens between consenting adults in privacy is their concern and no one else’s. YKINMKBYKIOK: Your kink is not my kink, but your kink is okay, as some people put it.

So. I was reading a blog today (I’m not going to link to it, because I think she’s suffering from the negative attention already and I hate to see that). In it, a sub described her Master requiring her to put syrup on her pussy, to get the family dog to lick her. She explained that he had made her do this once before, and it had upset her so much that she cried for hours and couldn’t eat for days. That seems all kinds of wrong to me – why would a Master want to hurt his property that badly? why would you want a Master that hurt you that badly? – BUT that part of it (His and her choices) falls under the YKINMKBYKIOK rule to me.

The part that was really disturbing for me was the lack of consent from the dog. Here’s why: one of the cornerstones of responsible BDSM is consent. Otherwise you’re moving into abuse and criminal behavior, yes?

This is why the idea of “consensual non-consent” has been so carefully spelled out by the BDSM community. Basically, you can consent to give away your right to consent, either short-term for a play session or long-term as in the case of a slave. Slaves of course always have the right to take away their consent and be released from their slavery.

In my case, I have agreed that Richard has complete control over me; a “no” from me would be a “no” to the relationship. But if Richard told me to jump off a building, or to hurt my children, or to have sex with an animal, I would say “no”, recognizing the enormity of the “no” that I said.

Our morality and our laws recognize that some individuals and some creatures are not capable of consent. Animals fall into this category, children too, and brain damaged and severely mentally disabled people do too.

You may have heard of people who sexually molest infants. (Richard made me take out the details here.) Even if the child never remembers the event, most of us are horrified that someone would do this. Why? I would argue that it is because infants do not have the ability to choose to consent or not, and we therefore believe that they are off-limits for sexual play.

In a similar vein, there are occasional newspaper reports of caretakers of brain damaged or mentally disabled patients who have been caught having sexual relations with their charges. Even if the patients will never remember the event, most of us would say this is reprehensible behavior. I think it’s because we see a responsibility to those who are not able to choose to consent.

Animals are a greyer area for most people, although not for all. After all, we kill some of them for food. With dogs specifically, many people cut off their tails or parts of their ears. Other people kick or hit their dogs. Others leave them chained outside for days, even though dogs are extremely social creatures and crave interaction. Is having a dog lick your pussy really such a terrrible thing?

Oral sex is sex, in spite of what Bill Clinton might say. Having a dog lick your pussy is having sex with a dog. I actually called a (kinky) friend who is an animal control officer and asked her if this is illegal.

“Yeah it’s illegal. It’s called b*stiality.”

“So you would go get the dog?”

“Oh no. The police deal with this one. They go get the owners.”

The legality or illegality of the act is not my main concern, although I’m concerned that the blogger could run into trouble if anyone recognizes her online. My friend told me that they’ve prosecuted several cases like this over the last few years.

My main concern, the thing that upset me, is that the dog, just like an infant or a brain-damaged person, is not capable of saying yes or no. We are the caretakers of our pets, as we are of our children. It seems like a dereliction of our responsibility to involve our charges in any kind of sexual play, because they rely on us to make choices for them and to protect them.

I feel a lot better after writing about this. I actually cried when I talked to Richard about it. It seems like, when I respond very emotionally to something (versus just an “ewwww I would NEVER do that!”) it is worth exploring and discussing. In this case, it has really helped bring home to me how strongly I feel about NOT involving individuals (people or animals) in your kink that have not consented or can not consent. I’m really interested to hear what other people think about this.

Photographers and their women

I’m lying in bed next to Richard right now. We both have laptops and when I look across at his, there are photos on it, of beautiful women. Gorgeous photos. Photos Richard took.

 

He took them several years ago, and they were lost during a past break-up, and he has re-discovered them.

I am so, so thrilled that he has found them. He is a great photographer, and this was clearly a huge loss to him.

I am also a little intimidated by them, or threatened, I don’t know. The first one he found, wow that was hard to see, because his hand was in it, touching her belly. Not in a sexual way (heck, she was fully clothed even), more in the way you touch something you own.

 

I am the first woman that Richard has owned. He is my first (and last of course) owner. He’s the first man I’ve called Daddy (well, except I guess my father lol) and I’m the first woman he’s called “little girl”. Every day with Richard is a first for me. So that means a) I don’t have anything to feel threatened about in re these old photos, and b) it’s kinda understandable that I do find them a little threatening.

Anyway.

Yesterday morning, after an amaaaaazing early morning session (are you noticing a trend? early morning? this morning too!), I got a bit insecure. I’m still coming to terms with my submissiveness. Or not, depending on the day.

Ever since I started calling Richard Daddy, I’ve been feeling more and more submissive. Mostly I love it, but sometimes I start to fret about it. Yesterday, I wanted to know if it was “real” or…or what? I wasn’t sure. After we talked for a while, I realized that there were two different things that were worrying me.

The first was, I needed to know whether Richard likes being called Daddy as much as I like calling him Daddy. I really really really didn’t want this to be something he was doing to humor me or make me happy. I’ve said before that one of the most wonderful things about a D/s relationship to me is that I don’t have to worry, as I usually would, whether or not Richard is doing what he wants and enjoying himself. This kind of worrying really interfered with me enjoying myself in past vanilla relationships.

He assured me that he loves it as much as I do. We’ve both posted about this before, so I won’t spend more time on it here. But I’m probably going to need reassurance on this semi-regularly.

The second thing that was worrying me was, are we just playing a silly mind-game? Just pretending that he owns me and I submit to him, to make ourselves hot? I’m not sure how to say this in a way that makes sense, but I guess part of me was wondering if we were going to wake up one day and say “What the heck were we doing? Let’s get real now.” Or worse, that just one of us would say that and the other would be up a creek…

Richard says that he’s known who he is for a really long time. I haven’t; I’ve had a lifetime of thinking that I was a plain, boring, vanilla woman. Richard sees me as an exciting, intensely sexual, submissive wanton. I’m glad he sees me that way, but I’m still a ways from seeing myself that way. He says I’m still adjusting to my new understanding of myself. I guess I am. Bottom line, though, is that he’s not going to change who he is and NO WAY am I going back to vanility (rhymes with banality) (vanilla-land? vanilla-hood?)

So that was my crisis of confidence. I don’t feel like I’ve explained it very well. Maybe I’ll do a better job during my next crisis, since I KNOW there will be one.

Oh! And just so you don’t think I’m done being a tease…tonight! we’re going! to a BDSM club! Woooooohooooo!

Second thoughts about submission

As I said in my last post, my fears about Richard’s increasing aggressiveness were justified. Before we went to bed, he put me into leg chains for the night, “so I wouldn’t get away”. He woke me in the middle of the night as he unclipped one of my leg cuffs, then pushed my legs apart and entered me. I could tell from how wet I was that he had been playing with me while I slept.

I moaned, and he slapped a hand over my mouth.

“Shut up. Just fuck.”

I did what I was told. I could tell he was feeling very aggressive. Not good to argue with him at such times.

He fucked me for a while, moving his hands from my mouth, to my throat, to my breasts, and back again. Then he pulled out and shoved his cock in my mouth. His very hard, very large cock. I choked and he just pushed in deeper. Bastard.

He face-fucked me while I drooled and gasped and choked, and then he flipped me onto my belly, grabbed my hips and hauled my ass into the air. He kicked my legs apart and began to slam-fuck me. I could hear the leg chains, still attached to my right leg, rattle as he fucked me.

He grabbed my hair and wrapped it around his wrist and suddenly stopped, deep inside me.

“Where’s your collar?” he growled.

“Um. I don’t know. In the drawer?”

“Get it.” He pushed off me.

I jumped out of bed and starting digging through the dresser drawer in which my collar usually resides.

“It’s not here.”

“Well, where the fuck is it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look in the bedside table.”

It wasn’t there. I could almost hear his annoyance.

“I just remembered! It’s in the bathroom.” I ran and got it.

He put it on, roughly yanking it closed. “What kind of slave doesn’t know where her collar is?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” (meekly)

Then he fucked me some more, and he was NOT gentle. When he was done, he put the second leg cuff on himself and said “Now you won’t be going anywhere.”

But he didn’t cum, so I knew I was in for it. I behaved like a saint all day yesterday, “Yes sir” and “No sir” about everything. When he said “Jump” I said “How high?” (Not really, my father used to say that lol.) We did a photoshoot, OUTSIDE with me NAKED, and I DID NOT COMPLAIN ONCE. I definitely earned the title “Good Girl” yesterday.

Jeez, I’ve done it again. I haven’t gotten to the part in the title, but I really have to do some work now. More later. Promise.

Who’s your daddy?

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
…I got a bad desire
…I’m on fire
 – Bruce Springsteen

I’ve always loved the menace of those lines. And I love the way it showcases the Daddy/little girl dynamic that Amy has posted about.

She and I have been finding our own way through an unusual relationship, one that isn’t part of the mainstream, and yet in so many ways sits squarely astride classic Middle America values. There are days when I’m Ricky Fucking Ricardo bending Lucy over his knee for a good old fashioned spanking.

bdsmcouple-amy-spanked-spanking

Seriously, how far back does the image of the husband commanding his wife go back? And yet, it’s not exactly who we are.

Amy doesn’t need discipline.

So we aren’t exactly Ricky and Lucy.

And do we need to define ourselves at all?

Will the thought police show up and drag me off as a perv if I call her “baby”, and if she calls me her “stallion,” will they round her up as a potential horse fucker?

Daddy/Little Girl.

It’s a dynamic, not literal.

Amy posted about how Master/slave didn’t capture the dynamic; nor did owner/owned. Neither does husband/wife.

Amy has two other nicknames for me – “The Boss,” and “The Bad Man.” On a good day, maybe “The Bad, Bad, Baaaaaad Man.”

But our relationship involves a more nurturing role for me. And Amy is not a pain slut who craves constant discipline. Amy is eager to be a very good girl. Disobedience is simply out of the question for her.

So.

What kind of relationship has a woman very eager to obey her partner, without question, and have him make the decisions and care for her needs?

For us, it’s a Daddy/girl dynamic.

It’s the most accurate descriptor for how the two of us interact.

In some ways it feels VERY vanilla. I mean, it’s a common theme in mainstream culture, from music to books to sugar daddies and typical flirtation between couples. For me, I grew up in an arch-conservative evangelical Protestant religion. We had an elderly couple in our church, pillars as it were – easily the most influential couple in our little community. He was on the church board, an elder, etc., and his wife, a white haired beehive fashion plate, led out almost weekly in some part of the service, and often referred to her husband.

She called him “Daddy.”

On formal occasions, she would add his last name after the word “Daddy.”

Maybe they were kinksters.

I think of the deep south. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof – Big Daddy. I see the Daddy/little girl dynamic almost everywhere – it appears to be timeless.

That will reassure Amy. She’s still convinced she’s vanilla.

But for now, who’s your Daddy?

Amy, I’m your Daddy.

How to be daddy’s little girl

This is a hard post to write. It’s taken me several months to become comfortable with being sexually submissive. I’ve written about how I’ve wrestled with the term “slave”, as well as the reality of being one.

This is harder. I’m afraid I’m going to squick some of you out. I could squick myself out if I’m not careful.

Richard has forced me, over the last few months, to face who I am, to look into the dark parts of myself and, rather than run and hide, to look harder. This doesn’t come naturally to me, and it has been scary. But, as I said to the silent male, it is incredible how easy everything is once you open up to who you really are, instead of trying to hide it or ignore it. So here goes the next step in that evolution.

Richard and I have talked about how the Master/slave dynamic doesn’t feel 100% right to us, nor does “owner/owned”. One of my problems is that I feel much more nurtured by Richard than those terms seem to imply. I feel like I have a more exclusive and intimate relationship with him than a slave would have with her Master. After all, a Master could have several slaves, yes?

Richard has called me “girl” since he’s known me. Recently he’s been calling me “little girl” and even “baby girl”. I LOVE it when he calls me that. It feels so completely right. It says to me: he’s in control and he will take care of me. All I need to do is be a good girl and do what I’m told. Heaven.

I told him that I wished there was a good word for who he is for me.

He said “What about Daddy?”

I said I felt funny using that word. Wouldn’t that mean I had serious unresolved issues with my own father? Wouldn’t that mean I was a screwed up freak? He didn’t think so.

I tiptoed around the word. I tested it out a couple of times during sex, mumbling it into Richard’s shoulder as he fucked me. It felt weird. Not good.

I realized that calling Richard “Daddy” made me feel more vulnerable and more submissive than I was yet comfortable with. I couldn’t believe that he could still love me and be attracted to me if I were that submissive. I still can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that, the more submissive I am, the happier Richard is. I guess I’ve been around men who’ve wanted to be dommed for most of my life.

hiddendirtysex-sexintheride-238x300-2

To put this in perspective: just a year ago, I learned that many men like women to shave their pussies (yes, I’ve been living in a closet). I thought that men who like this must be closet pedophiles, since young girls have bare pussies. Uh, no. Richard, at least, loves anything that lets him see more of me (remind me to tell you about my new micro bikini. Gulp.)

So what to do about this issue of what to call Richard? I’ve been calling him “Sir” when he gives me an order, Richard in front of others, and basically avoiding the issue.

Richard doesn’t like to avoid issues. Richard doesn’t like for me to avoid issues.

A few days ago, I woke up to him playing with my breasts. When he saw that I was awake he began talking to me.

“Daddy’s girl has beautiful breasts.”

I moaned and tried to pull away. He clamped down on my nipples and pulled me back against him.

“Be a good girl. Daddy wants to play with your breasts.”

He wrapped one arm tight around my waist so I couldn’t move and roughly tugged and pulled and pinched my nipples. I struggled weakly, but I was still groggy and he had a strong grip on me.

“Does that feel good? Tell Daddy how it feels.”

Oh god. It felt incredible. It felt so good, and I was still so groggy, that I wasn’t capable of answering. He kept playing with me and talking to me and when he flipped me onto my back and entered me a few minutes later, I was so wet it startled him.

“Oooooh, Daddy’s girl wants to fuck, doesn’t she? Are you a slut, little girl?”

Gah.

Afterwards, we talked about it. He had decided to push me on this, because he could sense that I had a lot of feelings around it. It turned us both on. A lot.

Today when he was fucking me, he told me that I wasn’t allowed to call him “Sir” anymore, only “Daddy”.

I’ve been calling him “Daddy” all day. It feels really hot. And really right.

Riding space mountain

I’ve never liked roller coasters, or thrill rides.

I don’t like giving up control and putting myself at the mercy of someone else’s creation.

I don’t ride them.

They scare me. I’ve never ridden anything remotely scary. Never wanted too.

I went with my boys yesterday to Disneyland, and we did a few different rides – Indiana Jones, Pirate of the Caribbean, etc. Big stuff, for me. But, they wanted something a little edgier, but they know I don’t go on roller coasters. Ever.

But they didn’t want to go on something without me.

So, I pushed my comfort zone a little when we went to the California Adventure part. Went on the Grizzly something water ride. Scarier than I liked, but within reason. I went backwards down this big water hill – about as bad as I can imagine. I tried the flight simulator that flies over California landmarks, that I was afraid of, and that was cool.

So I suggested the Thunder Run train/roller coaster thing. I just focused on my immediate surroundings, and did ok. We took it again later, and I found myself looking around as we did it.

Not so bad. Should have been scarier, but it wasn’t. Easily the scariest thing I’ve been on, but not so bad.

So.

Space Mountain.

Waited an hour and a half.

No fear in the lineup. Felt fine on the starting gate.

Felt great going up the first hill.

No problems. Shot through space like a wild thing, got slammed around and had a most unusual high speed fast turning adventure.

I could do that again.

I will do it again.

My boys tell me it’s pretty tame, maybe a 4 out of 10. Whatever it is, it’s not something I need to resist anymore, and I’m game to try bigger, wilder rides.

Heights, loss of control – those are some of my biggest fears. But at the right time, they turned out to be nothing.

I expect Amy to push her comfort zone. Nothing wrong with me pushing my own too.

Training myself, these days.

Cool.

Ownership, sharing and monogamy

Richard has discussed in an earlier post his interest in MMF threesomes, and his decision NOT to pursue them in our relationship. His decision was based on my very clear, very loud concerns about them (basically having to do with the potential physical and emotional dangers of bringing another man into the relationship), which led him to feel that it would be psychologically harmful to me to pursue them.

Mia, who posts here sometimes and has a great blog “What We Did Last Night”, posted about a MMF threesome she had recently. I loved her post and it helped me to understand what Richard meant when he talked about what turned him on about them: the woman’s over-stimulation and loss of self-control.

And for him, it is the ultimate sign of ownership, to share what is yours with another.
Amy – owned by Richard
I have always been monogamous. I think maybe I fall in love with anyone I fuck. I actually read something recently that supported that idea; oxytocin levels rise after fucking, oxytocin is a “bonding” hormone (grossly oversimplified), I figure I probably have the world’s highest naturally occurring levels of oxytocin. I am so completely focused on Richard that it is hard to imagine being attracted to another man, much less fucking him! And fucking him while Richard watches! Or joins in! Ack!

However, I’ve been thinking about threesomes a lot lately, because I know how erotic Richard finds them. I think maybe they are his biggest turn-on. I wonder if maybe I feel secure enough in our relationship to try this. It scares me, but maybe being scared can be part of the eroticism, like it is with being blindfolded or handcuffed. I really don’t know.

Richard says that every fantasy he has acted out/lived has turned out much better than he expected. I’ve always felt that fantasies are just that, and don’t need to be lived to be enjoyed. But now I’m living a life that I didn’t even know enough to fantasize about, and it’s WONDERFUL. So maybe this would be the same.

After we had been talking online for about a month, Richard sent me the following short-short story. (I had to dig and dig through my email to find it. I LOVE reading our old emails. The yearning!) I found the story very hot, but didn’t seriously consider it as something that could or would ever happen. I still find it hot…

Answering Richard’s call, Amy entered the room.

A man she didn’t recognize stood talking to Richard.

“Stand here,” Richard said. Then to the man, “show me what you meant.”

Amy, barefoot in a delicate t-shirt and sarong, waited as the stranger deftly untied the sarong, letting it drop to the floor.

Naked from the waist down, Amy stood shyly as the man used her lower body to illustrate some complex tattoo he had once seen, turning Amy around once to show exactly how it had risen over someone’s buttocks.

The demonstration over, Amy waited quietly.

“Beautiful woman,” said the man, almost as an afterthought.

“Yes she is,” answered Richard. “Listen, why don’t you stay for dinner?” With a nod indicating Amy, “We can sit up later with whiskey, and take turns fucking her by the fire.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Richard turned to Amy.

“One more for dinner.”

Star Trek and BDSM

Did I getcha with the title? No, I’m not talking about James Kirk as submissive male.

Several years ago I saw an episode of Star Trek, Next Generation that stuck in my mind. At the time, I didn’t realize why it had such an impact on me, but after I discovered BDSM and in particular D/s I understood. We had a scorching hot discussion after I first told Richard about it, on IM. I think it helped him understand me better, in those pre-meeting days. I remember not being able to sleep that night because I was so turned on. Recently I Netflixed it so that I could show him. It’s not sexy per se, but the implications of it are very sexy to me.

The episode is titled “The Perfect Mate”. Briefly, the Enterprise is hosting a meeting of rapprochement between two worlds. The ambassador from one world, who is picked up first, brings a precious gift for Alrik, the leader of the other world: a woman. Kamala is an empathic metamorph; a very rare mutant who has the ability to sense what men desire and mold herself to their wishes and interests. Empathic metamorphs imprint on and become the ideal mate of one man.

On the way to pick up Alrik, Kamala is accidentally brought out of stasis (blasted Ferengi!). This moves forward her development so that she is in a stage in which she is sending off strong sexual signals to all men. After a few incidents, she decides to remain in her quarters. Jean-Luc, tough guy that he is, tries to stay away from her although he is fascinated by her as well. However, they are thrown together to work on the ceremony of reconciliation and the attraction is intense. She’s smart, strong and intuitive – everything he finds most attractive in a woman (naturally).

Jean-Luc manages to keep her at arm’s length, but only just, and they pick up Alrik. When Jean-Luc goes to Kamala’s room to bring her to the wedding ceremony, she tells him that she has completed her development prematurely and has imprinted on him, rather than on Alrik. However, her strong sense of duty (in part due to her upbringing, but also due to becoming Jean-Luc’s ideal woman) means that she will marry Alrik, to maintain peace between the worlds. She will not reveal to anyone that she has already imprinted, and points out that she is still empathic, so she will still be able to make him happy.

The worst part: Jean-Luc has met Alrik, who is a homely, superficial twit unworthy of Kamala. Nevertheless, he acts as best man at the wedding and hands over his perfect mate to a lesser man.

*sob*

When Richard and I first began to spend time together online, we were flirtatious but also pretty cool. We were trying to be cautious. So we talked about kink more intellectually than emotionally and we talked about a lot of other things too (as we continue to do). However, Richard gradually moved to claim me and to exert control over me, and our relationship became closer to what it is now.

During one IM, I said “I am for you, Richard” and he asked what I meant. I hadn’t thought of it when I said it, but I remembered that this was what Kamala said when she came out of stasis, thinking that Jean-Luc was Alrik: “I am for you Alrik”. That was eye-opening. As we discussed it, I began to understand what it was I wanted in a relationship and what I wanted to be.

I want to be owned. By one man.

I want to be completely his.

I want to be what he wants me to be, in all ways.

I want that man to be worthy of me, and to bring out the best in me.

I want to be cherished for this, to be seen as a rare and precious gift.

And I am.