The Bully as well as the Bitch

Given the subject matter that I write about, I'm continually reminded of how many men available have submissive sexual tendencies and are hunting for any dominant lady. Which can be natural, I know. You will find several statistics available, supported by studies of anything from schoolyards and fraternities to dance clubs and tribal societies, which basically state that a very little percentage of humans are leaders, as well as the rest stick to them. I suppose it could be fair to say that humans are pack/herd animals. But what does this must do with submissive sexuality?

People confuse power and sex each of the time, probably due to the fact, from an evolutionary standpoint, individuals who are potent would be the ones who get sex. But in modern terms, powerful leaders are inspiring, charismatic. They have an energy which is infectious, that excites persons to sign on with whatever the leader is turned on by, irrespective of irrespective of whether or not they realize, and this excitement is generally skilled as sexual arousal. Such people are dominants, alphas, what ever word you like - they are organic leaders and folks adhere to them devoid of coercion, and with out the leader needing to become a bully or perhaps a bitch.

However, our social hierarchy implies that for male to become a ‘real man’ he ought to take charge, take control- inside the workplace and also the home- no matter irrespective of whether or not it comes naturally to him. And ladies have a large amount of energy. We are the sex-objects, the child-bearers. We are mysterious, enigmatic, encompassing, nurturing. And so, I consider, it's inevitable that when a man is within the privacy of his personal sexual space, one of three factors occurs. Most typically, I think, is the fact that guys indulge in masturbatory fantasies which have power-exchange contexts. Some, maybe those more self-aware, would like to give up handle and seek to accomplish what comes much more naturally to him-they seek to submit, to worship, and to become nurtured by Woman. After which you will discover those who, understanding themselves outclassed as a dominant ‘out there’, seek to prove to themselves that they're able to dominate other people, commonly the wife and children.

I’ve accumulated adequate knowledge and experience to comfortably state that most men who assume they're Doms are actually just men that have challenges with girls or their very own masculinity, and who assume getting abusive or demeaning other folks is definitely an expression of their dominance. But in fact, its just a pathetic show of denial. Males who bully or abuse ladies aren’t dominant, they are submissives in denial. And they assume I'm a bitch. Which turns them on. And then they suddenly adjust their tunes, and roll over on their backs and show their bellies and beg me to take handle of their pleasure. And in that moment, I'm also reminded that a lot of women on the market are incapable of playing a dominant role without getting a bitch. Or rather, numerous individuals out there, male and female, believe that being bitchy equates to being dominant. And it just isn’t so. A lady who resorts to being a bitch so that you can get her way is about as dominant as a man who as to be an asshole to have his way. Any one who stands in that location does so quite precariously, fearful of losing that foothold, and hence their ‘dominance’ is illusory, current only so long as these in their lives are in collusion with that bullying behavior, and tolerant of it.

What most of the people do not comprehend about dominance and submission is that the submissive is just not in any way diminished by submitting, that submission is just not a demeaning encounter, in general, and that the submissive is definitely the a single who has the energy, not the Dom. The Dom offers structure and controls the flow with the energy, but devoid of the submissive’s energy and submission, the Dom is merely a man (or lady) with an itch to dominate/be in handle. A true Dom doesn’t feel extra of a ‘man’ when he is controlling a submissive. A actual dominant feels more alive, fulfilled, extra sensitized for the eroticism of power exchange, filled having a profound sense on the rightness on the moment. But a true dominant feels no far more or less him or herself as a consequence of such encounters, since they are confident in and at peace with themselves, with their status and their sexuality, and D/s encounters are basically an additional example in the organic order of points, not a power-trip. Thrusting vibrators may the most favorite sex toys for women. Lady will enjoy unlimited climax with the different vibration.

Submissive males strategy me. Am I looking for an obedient boy, they ask? They would love to be humiliated and teased and used by me, they say. Females, as well, begging to become controlled, objectified, made abject. There are those, male and female, who choose to please and be pleased. They want to really feel treasured and cared for and much more than something, they want to make a contribution to their dominant. And even though I sometimes dabble in D/s, I’m not inside the life-style and I do not seek out submissives. However they locate me. Oh they find me. And even though a few of them tempt me and I do engage them, the majority of them annoy me with their persistence, with their begging and pouting, but I do try to be kind in my firmness, as an alternative to a bitch. Which, a friend of mine assures me, tends to make me all the a lot more compelling. Vibrators free shipping may the most favorite sex toys for women. Lady will enjoy unlimited climax with the different vibration.

I hardly ever consciously use my innate dominance, because I’ve noticed that if one methods as much as shepherd, one is burdened with the sheep. I don’t like the tendency of men and women to unconsciously develop a dependency on alpha males and females to accomplish their considering for them. I understand that our species is often a pack/herd animal and I understand that some of us are genetically predisposed to become leaders from the herd. But I also, as a woman, am hugely conscious with the social duty and private expense. Outdoors in the bedroom, I prefer not to use other’s submissive tendencies and power, mainly because am Really conscious that I then have a duty toward them in exchange. I think plenty of people today playing at being Dominant miss this essential part-the ethics of energy exchange. That is why I do not take into account bullies and bitches dominants…and why I’m constantly sad to view a submissive mistaking them for such.

Romantic Gifts for Lovers to Share on Valentine’s Working day

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Summer Reads: The Bitch inside the House & The Bastard on the Couch

I’ve been reading “The Bitch in the House” edited by Cathi Hanauer. The subtitle of the book is: 26 Women Tell the Truth about Sex, Solitude, Work, Motherhood, and Marriage. The premise is women writing a response to the question “Why are women angry?” Cathy woke up one day and realized that she had everything she could possibly want: a home within the country, two children, a good husband, a great career…and despite all that, she was mad as hell. She talked to her women friends, who were also primarily writers, and they were all angry, too. So she asked them to write about their rage, and the book came about.

Some of the essays I relate to, some of them I don’t. I mean, women writing about how they miss the boys their husbands once were, or how their children’s demands cut into their “me time” doesn’t really affect me… I don’t have a husband, don’t have children, and don’t have any angst about the lack of either, as some of the single writers do within the book. Still, its a great glimpse into the female psyche, from some very well-spoken and educated women.

Next on my list is “The Bastard on the Couch” edited by Daniel Jones and subtitled: 27 Men Try Really Hard to Explain Their Feelings About Love, Loss, Fatherhood and Freedom. This is the partner book to Bitch in the Residence, and the editor is married to Cathi. I’ve heard that this is an interesting and entertaining collection of well-written essays, and I’m looking forward to reading it.

When I Was 20

My friends have a tendency to categorize my college experience as pre- and post Patrick (or pre- and post-domestication-of-formerly-unruly-sex-blogger, vibrater is good toys), but I think the split really occurs not when I met the current roomie, but two Christmases ago. Strap on sex is designed for the women who is pursuing high sexual quality life or who is making a special love to meet their needs. I’m referring to those infamous nude photos, whose surfacing and aftermath have been neatly summarized in a recent piece in a Canadian paper. It felt strange to comment on the incident for the article, given how much time has passed and how young I was then (not that I’m much older now). But though many things have changed since, I don’t know if I’d handle it any differently today, which is probably why I seemed “remarkably blase” in the interview. I think I did the best I could at the time.

In the winter of 2007, I was single and living alone in Currier House, still blogging primarily on Sex and the Ivy, and seriously considering writing a memoir (which has long been shelved in favor of my senior thesis). At 20 years old, I was completely unprepared to deal with such a deep invasion of privacy, though I wonder if that’s the sort of thing one is ever prepared to handle gracefully. It wasn’t about the fact that I was naked on the Internet nor was it about the sociopathic ex who I’d long written off. I was never ashamed of my body or of people seeing it, but rather, I felt victimized because I had been exposed without consent and doubly victimized by those who wrote salaciously about the incident. The initial IvyGate post was how most of my classmates found out about the photos, and the subsequent coverage on Fleshbot, Bostonist, who knows where else, informed the world beyond Cambridge.

In the weeks after, I encountered little sympathy and plenty of mockery. It was easy for strangers online to say that I was “asking for it” when they weren’t in my shoes, freaking the fuck out (quite literally, in the form of panic attacks), and very much certain that I didn’t ask for this shit. However, I was mostly appalled by the way I was treated by other Harvard students, who had no moral qualms about Googling the photos and sending them to one another. It wasn’t the first or last time I felt totally alienated, isolated, and violated by the campus at large, but it was easily the worst time because I was going at it alone. Unlike romantic troubles or an uncalled-for rude encounter, this was a situation that literally no one in my life could understand or empathize with.

So how did I get over it? By leaving Harvard. I made the best of finals and submitted multiple late papers thanks to a note from my therapist. I got a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication I never ended up taking. I went to Switzerland for nine days with two girlfriends, hiked uphill in snow to reach the peak of the world’s longest sled run, and had a lot of sex with someone who was not a sociopath. Thankfully, I emerged from my depressive haze without the least bit of generalized hatred toward men, since I met Patrick, a.k.a. “the Guy”, shortly thereafter. In the subsequent months of my junior year, I transitioned slowly away from my old blog and into this one. Mid-semester, sleuthing e-stalkers unmasked and defamed “the Guy”, pretty much cementing my belief that I could never return to writing openly about my own sex life. I also moved, for all intents and purposes, into Patrick’s then-apartment and never once looked back at the option of living on campus. By the time I got Ad Boarded for not turning in two final papers, I was just completely done with Harvard. Everyone was telling me to finish the damn papers — which were completely doable — and I was thinking, “What’s so bad about having to take a year off, anyway? I freaking hate this place.” When I left Harvard at the end of May, I had already long checked out emotionally. I hadn’t even slept in Currier for months and only showed up to move-out in order to shove things into boxes. Two months later, I turned 21 halfway around the world from Cambridge. I went back to Boston a few weeks later and moved in with Patrick, with whom I lived during my year off. Harvard has never felt like home again, not even after I returned as a student this fall.

This is all to say that even if I appeared “remarkably blase about the incident” in my interview for the aforementioned article, it was hardly an insignificant event in my life. I’ve said most, though not all, of the above before, and often, it feels like I’m repeating myself when I discuss this topic. Maybe that’s because I’m still grappling with what happened. The reaction to those photos simultaneously defined and epitomized my college experience, which often felt like a circus act performed before sadistic spectators. Someday, I’ll have to post the “reflective” essay I submitted to get readmitted to Harvard. It was more a condemnation of my classmates than it was an expression of remorse, and if the administration ever had doubts about how cruel Ivy League students can be … well, now they know. Back then, I was also very much of the mindset that the bloggers and reporters who wrote about the photos were simply doing their job: writing about the news. Only in the year afterward did I realize that having a sex blog hardly makes one newsworthy and that furthermore, gossip is not news. It would have saved my sanity had a few individuals simply thought twice about clicking “Post Entry”. In retrospect, I regret that I wasn’t more critical of the writers who exploited the source of my personal anguish for page views.

In a few short months, I’ll have a Harvard degree in addition to hundreds of unfavorable Google search results to show for all this trouble, yet I’ve never quite forgiven or forgotten the on- and off-line masses who judged, dissected, and mocked my younger self. In a coming-of-age film, the above drama might be characterized as the experience necessary for eventual personal growth or finding Mr. Right or whatever. Winding up with a bulldog-owning Yalie is kind of the perfect happy ending to the Ivy League version of Sex And The City. But outside of HBO world, no one needs to nearly get their life ruined in order to emerge triumphant. The reality is that people are often mean without justification, you may or may not learn from this stuff, and the guy you end up with in the aftermath is not necessarily the pay-off for putting up with bullshit. Though I survived my ordeal more or less intact, with a boyfriend and a puppy dog to boot, I have never regained my former faith in others’ inherent goodness. Which is good, because I was really just being naive. The crazy ex who posted those photos could have easily been written off as a psychotic exception to the generally sane population at large, but what happened in the aftermath demonstrated to me how thoughtless, judgmental, and unkind normal individuals can be and that this tends to be the rule, not the exception, and that Harvard kids with all their privilege are not exempt from moral failings despite being in a position where they should theoretically “know better”.

And that realization, not Patrick, is what really prompted some rather radical changes in my life. Harvard has a knack for fooling its students into becoming incredibly invested in their peers. The cult of the Ivy and all that. The belief that your success is mine and vice versa. Even at its rawest, my blog up until that point reflected a painful desire to be liked. I was well-aware that my subject matter was slightly edgy and my reputation slightly soiled, but hardly unsalvageable, nothing a book deal couldn’t fix. It wasn’t until the ugly aftermath of the photos that I started to question what I was trying to prove and who I was trying to prove it to. It was then that I stopped participating in superficial social interactions, ceased going to anonymous parties, and completely disengaged from communal college life. In other words, I no longer viewed my classmates as flawless individuals who I should be grateful to know.

Up until then, my go-to future plan had always been Move To New York, Write A Memoir, Become Carrie 2.0. Now that graduation is actually on the horizon, I don’t find any of the above particularly appealing. I will almost certainly stay in Boston, at least in the short-term, and perhaps I will still publish a book, but not because I feel the need to apologize for my sordid past by seeking redemption via commercial literary success. As for Carrie 2.0, I’d rather aspire to be Jessica Valenti. But the truth is that I don’t even have New Year’s resolutions, not to speak of a multi-year life plan. I don’t have any idea how 2010 will turn out, since I didn’t do corporate recruiting in the fall, haven’t looked for a job, failed to apply to grad schools or take the GRE, and have no real intention to think about post-graduation life until I actually graduate (or at least until I finish my thesis). Two years ago, this would’ve struck me as terribly complacent, perhaps even boring, but right now,it just feels liberating.