Finding new dynamics

Titles are important. Labels give us a place to start when thinking about someone and how they interact with the world. We know who we are by the names we give ourselves, the names others give us. In this game of musical chairs that is my relationships, I am made to think about this more than I have in a long time. What am I to those I love? What are they to me? What is important to keep in the dissolution of old ties and what can be left behind?

I am still married. I will be for a while since that is not a connection I want to lose just yet. ZG was my best friend and is the mother of my children. I keep that connection to her because it is not a relationship I walk away from easily but the more familiar connections, the protection, the D/s is not there. It is okay. Life changes, we move on. The irony is that this is the easier relationship to define. It is the known. It is the connection that I know and feel most comfortable drawing lines around. What I have with my new girl is much more challenging.



The title is simple and self explanatory. She is a girl and she is my friend but this is conventional moniker. It conveys a vanilla relationship, an egalitarian connection between two people. A boyfriend and a girlfriend ride bikes together and argue over whether they are going to rent a romantic comedy or an action film. A boyfriend makes his move by being smooth and putting his hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder in the theater. We began this dynamic knowing neither of us wanted parity. She wanted someone who would control her and I wanted someone to control. She meets me with eyes that show her desire to be told what to do, where to stand, what to say.



She considers herself a slave. It is a frame of mind for her. I cannot explain it as well as she can. The enslavement is a feeling of belonging, a place in someone’s life. She makes my life run smoother. She is the reason I can be writing now and not losing my shit, trying to wrangle the boys. The problem is in the title. For me to address her to others as “my slave” makes me throw up a little in my mouth. I get a feeling of Gorean melodrama. I see her as collared and branded and memorizing the positions. I am a modern man. I have no need for titles that smack of elitism. My place in her life and hers in mine are based on mental connections and desires. They do not need to be formal.



She is my girl. I look at her as my girl, as someone I protect. I see her as my child, helping me to make the house I want. My home is my castle and I am the king, she is my princess learning to rule as I would have her rule. The trick is that there is more to it than just that. She is a child in many ways but she is also a woman. She has a daddy who has raised her to be strong and healthy. I am not starting from scratch.



A large part of our sexual relationship and our power dynamic is based on my controlling her every move and training her to be mine. I wash her brutally, scrubbing her raw and violating her while cleaning. I hold her in the water and force my cock into her throat. She knows her place when we shower is curled up in the corner with her mouth open. I disrupt her sleep, I control her orgasms. I make her cum on command and fear my touch as much as she craves it. This dance of kindness and brutality draws her to me in a way that allows me to take her shopping and still feel the connection. She has a cast down look that says that she wants to escape the pain but craves the care too much to run away.


So what is it? What is the name, the title, the label that I put on her and our relationship? Is she my girl, girlfriend, slave or captive? Short answer is yes, she is all this and so much more. We are mental players. We feel more and see more with our minds’ eyes. She is fulfilling in this connection and I look forward to watching it grow.


Letting My Imagination Go

One of the side effects of my new-found free time is that I am insanely horny during the middle of the day. Mariela was home with me last week and we ran errands for a couple of hours during the middle of the day. She was shocked at how completely my mind had been taken over by thoughts of sex and perverted acts. Everything I saw, every woman that we passed was inspiration for some dark and sexually sick flight of fancy.

My days are actually quite full. The kids are home at 2 from school and have fallen in love with the community pool. The house is perpetually in need of straightening and the clothes of five people do not wash themselves. I love it, I feel needed, I feel like I am doing something that is productive and is tangible but the stress of going from 6 in the morning to 8 at night has started to wear me down. I need a release.

It has been part of my mid-term plan to add a few playdates into the mix of my week. I have the free time, the girls are at work so it is not taking away from them, and the boys are at school. An added bonus is that my neighbors are out of the house so the screaming is less likely to end in me trying to explain to the police that she wanted me to stick a knife in her ass and piss in her mouth. Timing is an issue though. I need to make sure that I get my work done before I play because otherwise I easily degenerate from the lord of the manor to the deadbeat gigolo. And this is where my overactive imagination gets me into trouble. If I do not do something to deal with these thoughts then I become obsessed. I need an outlet for them, some halfway house for my dark passenger that will keep it in check without killing it.

Writing has always been a good outlet but I have tried to keep this blog to only the real world things that are happening. I know that most of the people who read this do not want to see the horrible images I see. They like the stories of me as a person dealing with day to day shit. What I need is a way to vent without scarring you my loyal reader.

What is that you say? You want to hear those stories? You want to know what I see? What?!? Some of you even want to help me act them out? Well then, how can I refuse? 😉

The middle ground for this is a tagging system that I am going to start using. It is simple and to the point:

  • [Title] – Real life blog entry.
  • [Scenario: Title] – A scene that I am either planning to do, want to do or already have done. This will be crazy but legal, safe looking for volunteers.
  • [Fantasy: Title] – Welcome to the dark world of my imagination. These are the sickest unrealistic flights of fancy. Not for the faint of heart. If you read it is at your own risk. If you find yourself so turned on by what you read that you can’t keep you hand out of your pants and want to make the jump for fantasy to reality, let me know and we can see what kind of scenario can be made.

So there it is, a basic warning that some of what I am going to start adding to this blog may be more than you can handle. Am I being arrogant? Am I under estimating what you are hoping that I say? No, I am making sure that you are fully informed because frankly people, my head is a sick and dark place and while I need to get it out, not everyone that reads this is ready to face the void.

Hopefully this will lead to more stories, more posts and more readers that are titillated into reading something a little more kinky than they would have.

Making lunches and changing lightbulbs

I have always had an image of a dominant man based on my father living in my head. He is tough and smart, creative and sarcastic. He is the kind of guy that avoids a fight at all cost but when cornered is not afraid to cheat because in a real fight, there is no such thing as cheating. He works with his hands and he fights for what is fair. He is a lot of things but most of all he is a provider. He is the guy who brings home the money in callused hands with tired eyes. He is doing most of the heavy lifting behind the scenes, behind closed doors he is being tougher, meaner, more intense knowing that he has an obligation to support his family. I have always wanted to be this guy; I have always wanted to be like my dad. The thing is that in many of the physical ways I am not like my dad and frankly, never will be. So how do I become this man, this dominant father figure if I do not have the strength or skill set that he possesses?

It was long before I was fired that I knew that making the money was not going to be my thing. ZG is the bread winner, she almost always has been.While it was never a bone of contention between us, it was a challenge to setting up the D/S dynamic. Well, in my head it was a challenge at least. We were both working which mean that we were both bringing in money but she was bringing in more which I wanted to find some other way to be in control. My instinct (which I later was to discover was right) was to take care of the house. The problem is that my brain was still infected by this poison of mediocrity that insists that house keeping is woman’s work and that woman’s work is not dominant. Ah, the conundrum…

The thing is that the more I thought about it, the more irritated I was by this thought. Why was it that I could not do what I am good at and be in control? Why do I have to be a mechanic or a day trader or a pilot or Chuck fucking Yeager to be dominant? Dominance is not about the what but about the mindset. If you are waiting for someone else to make the decision then you are submitting. If you take the moment (whatever that moment may be) and act as you see fit, then you are dominating the situation. This is not a home that I am keeping for someone else, this is a kingdom that I am ruling over. I am not making lunches, I am feeding my people; I am not changing light bulbs, I am making sure that the lights are on. A king does not make the money, his subjects do but he makes sure that it is spent right. He makes sure that they are warm and safe and that the treasury is not blown on wants before the needs are met.

This was all before I became a “man of leisure”. Now I have doubled down on this thought. Partially because I have had to  (this is all I have left to offer) but also because it this what I wanted from the beginning. This is what I do best. It is my castle, my kingdom over which I rule. It is really the mental state that you are in rather than the actions that gives you control or not. I am more confident and in control now in these little acts than I ever was being the boss of forty people. I am doing what I want and that is a confidence creating thing.

Being a Good Dom Means…Waking Up on Time.

I woke up nearly an hour late this morning. This is no small feat when you consider the fact that ZG, M and I all have alarms on our phones set to go off at different intervals with different tones. It was another late night that started out with the intention of going to bed around midnight but as the saying goes, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” It was after three when I finally pulled ZG from her corner of the couch and told her we had to get to bed. In the morning I crawled over her AND Mariela to shut off the chorus of alarms.It set my whole morning off. I did not get the boys on the bus which meant I had to drive them to school which meant that I was not able to make lunch for ZG and M. In general the morning was a fail. It is the butterfly effect; one small thing can ripple into the future causing havoc along the way. It is the way reality work through a series of chain reactions. If I am going to be able to my job and keep this house running smoothly then I am going to need keep focused on the small victories and defeats. It is incremental that life is won or lost. Day by day we figure out if we are closer to happiness or farther away. Getting to bed on time, making sure the clothes are washed, the garbage is taken out; making sure that the house is straightened up on a daily basis. None of these tasks take more than a few minutes but each of them plays an integral role in the overall success.

The same goes for writing. I have to get something written everyday. It does not have to be much, it does not have to be profound, speak to the soul, talk about kink. It simply has to be words on the page. Every day that I write is a day that is closer to a day where writing is normative. I want to get back into a habit of writing. I will get back into a habit of writing. It will just take time and patience. It will take follow through and most of all it will take getting up on time.


It has been nearly a year since ZG and I came out to ourselves and each other and started to live our lives more honestly. A large part of that honesty is living out our sexual desires far more explicitly than either of us ever thought possible. We have gone from never going out and never being social to going out every weekend and having a cadre of babysitters on call for the random weekday event that may call one or the other of us away to explore some new and exciting aspect of this new life and community. But as we grow into this life, the eagerness to experience the new has started to take a toll on our daily lives, so as our anniversary rolls around I think now is a good time to reflect and reevaluate.

Checking the mail

Literally the mail box at our house is overflowing. It used to be that ZG would check the mail daily, religiously and even though it was in the front of the house and we always enter and exit through the back, she would make a pilgrimage to the front door to see what bills, letters, catalogs and junk mail had been delivered. She would keep an eye on Christmas cards, birth announcements and party invitations to parties that we did not want to go to. She would collect catalogs full of clothes and home decorating ideas that did us no good. Now that she has stepped back, I have yet to find value in checking the mail. I have no need for these little messages and am discouraged from checking it knowing that what I am going to find is 99% garbage. When I do check the mail, the pile just moves inside and builds up on the counter where it creeps like a glacier eating up the workspace until bills and information sent home with the school are caught up and frozen like mammoths only to be discovered months later when I decide to unthaw the mess. By then the children referred to in birth announcements are walking and marriages have been annulled.

Do I know you?

I am friends with almost everyone I went to school with on Facebook. Every time I log in I see their newest pictures of their children, their trucks, their vacations and hear how they love kittens and need new tiles for the barn they are building on Farmville. I think what really surprised me was how long it took me to figure out that I had not liked most of the people I went to school with when I lived at home and nothing had changed to make me like them now. The only commonality we had was location, we were all stuck in the little town and forced to see each other everyday but as soon as I was old enough to leave town I did. I took off for somewhere that was not there. The amount of junk information that I was getting from people with whom I had nothing in common became too much and as soon as I found FetLife and realized that I could interact with a community based on a common interest, I let go of Facebook and that world. But that is where my family goes to find out about us. We live three states away and have such busy lives that often it is the only way my dad learns about those special events that make his being a grandfather special.

Man up, little man!

One of the most apparent changes to who I am and how I respond to the world has come through my children. When my oldest son was born I walked out of the hospital room to greet my in-laws who were waiting for news. My father in law met me with a look that said “now you know…” It was true, there is nothing that changes your understanding of life and the world like having a child, but like so many things in my life, I took this aspect and ran with it. I became a dad 100%, losing myself in the role. I should have seen it coming. My dad often talked about how hard it was for him to not just do everything for me and my brother. I was falling into the same trap, leading my children to rely on me for everything, which may have made me feel important but was cheating them of a chance to grow up. As I became aware of this new role as a Dom and leader, I started to think again about what I wanted to do. I was thinking about how to control and organize my own life. The new me did not have enough time to do all these things for the boys. They had to learn to take charge of their own lives. They are five and seven. Is that really an age where they should be taking care of themselves? Our over-protective society would say no, but I think that is just a case of America being over-populated with helicopter parents. The question, though, is how much distance is enough to instill independence and how much ends up scarring with abandonment?

Where is the center?

Where is the center?

My son’s birthday was this weekend and to celebrate we when to the suburbs to visit the in-laws. Since we have been out in the world (not to the in-laws btw) we have been spending less and less time with them. The boys spend the weekend with them about once a month, but where we used to go with them and I used to drink all their beer and ZG would argue with her mother, now we stay in the city and play. So this weekend was a bit of a time machine. We were sent back to the way things were before we had found ourselves and you know what? It wasn’t all bad. True there was plenty of crazy (ZG’s mom has installed a metal panic door to her bedroom and locked the computer to avoid people downloading porn) and the need to bend ZG over the workbench in the basement, fill her cunt with ping-pong balls and fuck her like a pinball machine is still very real, but some of the things that we had let fall by the wayside are good and have been missed. Quiet time, a chance to write, playing checkers with the boys and making drinks for family were all babies thrown out with the bath water. So, what do we do now? We go back and go through those piles of mail, we finish the costume for my oldest gremlin’s school show, we prepare the room for an awesome scene on Wednesday and make plans to meet potential play partners for drinks. You find balance, you find a center where you can stand comfortably that is true to who you are and who you want to be.

Being a Dom is… Doing the Laundry

It was a great weekend, the second in as many weeks, and everything was seemingly perfect until the ride home Sunday night. We had taken the kids to visit friends and trick-or-treat like a pack of savage animals in the suburbs. It was nice; we are friends with the other children’s parents and the food is always great, but ZG and I were coming off a 5 am morning from the night before and were generally fatigued. On the drive home, as the boys slept in the back and ZG slipped back and forth between sleep and Twitter, I had plenty of time to start the process of realigning my thoughts for the upcoming week.

Every Sunday, I like to look at the upcoming week and think of what is going to need to be done. Lately, this has become more and more a list too long for completion and I have taken on the role of a triage surgeon, picking the most important matters to which to attend while leaving the others to hemorrhage until a time comes when I can get around to them. The more things that are left to bleed, the more blood that is on the floor and the higher the probability I will slip and fall, stabbing myself with a scalpel… okay, I think that metaphor is dead.

We have delved headfirst into a new life of hedonism as of late and seemingly lost sight of the rest of our lives. Yesterday morning as I was wrangling the kids into the car without ZG (we had gotten up late again), I realized another aspect of being the Dom in this family: It falls onto me to say no. The idea of having the ability to fuck whenever I want is all too enticing and when you first start down this path it is all you want to do, but there are real life issues that have to be dealt with. There are dishes to do, laundry to fold, children to bathe and general maintenance around the house, all of which has to be done everyday. They are not new things, they are not even tough chores, but they are chores and need to get done on a regular basis.

ZG and I have been putting the little tasks of the day off and pushing through them on Sundays, but since we have been out of town for the last two weekends, the piles now seem insurmountable. So now I have to step back for both of us and make a start of it. I have to be the bad guy who insists that we finish our work before we play. It is hard because both of us work and are generally disenchanted with our jobs, so with any free time we have we just want to escape and decompress. But it is my responsibility to make sure that we are not letting things fall apart in the meantime.

What I am not going to do is stop living my life. For the past ten years I have been living with my personal desires on the back-burner and since I have started to come back out into the world and thinking about what I want, I am not willing to give up being happy. Don’t get me wrong, my children make me happy. Kids make us complete but they do not fulfill every aspect of our lives, nothing/no one should. We make ourselves happy. Each of us knows what we personally want, what we personally need, but for a Dom it is more that. You have to refrain and not just for yourself, but for your whole relationship.

Because my kink makes me a better father.

Most of my twenties were spent in a self-absorbed haze. I indulged my every whim, took no responsibility for my actions and did little to take care of myself, my apartments, or my finances. I ran from state to state relying heavily on the fact that people liked me to get by. I have always been able to get away with whatever I wanted, like Balder, the blessed god of youth in the Norse mythology. I was even blessed with an unbelievable woman who bore me two unbelievable children. The only thing I did not have was a creative sex life. Unbeknownst to me that was in my reach as well.

Our sex life was vanilla. I thought it had to be and so I spent many a late night scanning the internet for porn. It was the strangest* pictures and videos that I searched out. I am an intellectual person, I have to be thinking at all times and the standard insert-dick-cum-on-fake-tits scene just did not do it for me. Not only did I find that I liked strange, I also liked dark. Ropes and collars, rough sex and uncontrollable orgasms were all at the top of my “topping off” list. I figured that if I was going to indulge, there was no reason not to indulge all the desires I had. It was a lonely existence because not only had I resigned myself to finding these dark things in the anonymity of the Internet, I knew that I could never share them with the woman to whom I was married. I mean, I love ZG but I knew she would never understand my desire to tie her down or my need to make her orgasm so hard she asks for a safeword on orgasms. Would she? Little did I know back then that she had her own dark secrets.

I guess it was only a matter of time before we found out about each other. We have always been good talkers. From the first time we went out we were chatting for hours. Our children complain, saying things like, “…can we be a part of your conversation?” and “We like it when [sister-in-law] comes over and you guys go out because then she pays attention to us… not you.” We talk. That’s what we do, so it is not a real surprise that eventually our vanilla after-sex conversations turned eventually to darker and more twisted turn-ons. Time passed and more and more kinky desires came out until we realized one day — to ourselves as much as each other — that we were forever and irrecoverably bent. We have developed into our roles, her as sub and myself as Dom** and our relationship has grown because of it. What is interesting to me, and the reason for this whole damn blog, is that the role has also changed me.

I used to be a selfish prick. I used to see the world as simply giving me what I need. It was an egotistic and yet extremely passive way of interacting with the world. Now, as ZG’s Dom, I have to be more active. I have to take control and therefore responsibility. More and more I am taking charge of the life I lead and, frankly, I like it. I like deciding on what is going to happen and how. I like being able to decide how things will be. I know that ZG likes it, the way she acts more than shows that. I can also say that I am a better father because of it. A father who does not simply let things be but makes the world in which his children live a better, hopefully safer, but definitely more complex place than it was before. 

* What I considered strange back then would not get you into most of the stories I have since discovered.

** The title fits and the desire to dominate, manipulate, and use are strong, but there is oh so much to learn!