Compersion

The word compersion, which hasn't exactly been recognized as a word, is loosely defined as the opposite of jealousy. Instead of feeling upset or threatened when your partner romantically or sexually interacts with another person, you feel a sense of happiness for them.

That's what I found when I looked up the word, which I obviously did, subsequent to my beautiful significant other soliciting my views on the subject.  (yes, she reads my blog)  Basically, how did I feel about open relationships and could I experience that joy?  The simple answer is I'm not sure I could be in an open relationship, much less feel happiness when my partner slept with someone else.  Because the awesome person who posed the question deserved a bit more than a knee jerk 'ain't no other guy fuckin' my woman' response, I gave the topic serious consideration. 

In a nutshell, I take pride in my skills in the bedroom; it's part of what value I bring to a potential mate.  Feel free to throw things at me, but I like to think of my value proposition (yes, I'm always a marketing guy) is that of a complete package.  As such, I admit my feelings would be hurt if my partner wanted to bed other men.  

Granted, being open to such arrangements could make finding a life partner easier, not having to worry about them meeting your sexual needs, in addition to your emotional ones.  On the flip side, try having the conversation with someone you've just developed a relationship with, where you inform them that it's fine they don't satisfy you in bed, because you'll just sleep with others.  If you do, please invite me and I'll bring popcorn.  

In some cultures, open relationships are the norm versus the exception.  In fact, there are those where sex is viewed as something you do as a social thing.  In others, a man's wife must have sex with her husband's brothers at the same time as her husband.  It then becomes a mystery as to who fathered the resulting child, facilitating it being viewed as a child of the whole family, who all contribute toward raising it.  If you're inclined to learn more about how sex is viewed in other cultures, I recommend reading the book, Sex at Dawn.  As with most books about sex, there are worthwhile nuggets of knowledge interspersed with a few cow patties.  Plus, the author has a real problem with society advancing to specialization (i.e. you're a farmer, she's a doctor) and seems to wish we'd have all stayed as hunter gatherers.  I may or may not have sent said author a note reminding that specialization allows him to pontificate about his views on sex and not force him to forage for seeds.  But I digress.

Specialization has wired our culture has wired us for jealousy.  I envy the lifestyle, income, and hot wife of an ugly yet successful attorney.  He envies a hedge fund manager's lifestyle, income, and hotter wife.  I'm envied by, well, no one really.  Anyway, you get the picture.  Rewiring jealousy out doesn't happen overnight.

Let's not forget fear and its role.  But it's different for men and women.  I read somewhere there's a high correlation between your gender and the type of fear you experience, relative to infidelity from a partner.   Men are afraid of losing their partners' bodies and women fear losing their partners' hearts.  In this instance, I identify more with women than my fellow penis owners.  Every play partner I've had has developed strong feelings for me.  This dynamic was eloquently explained to me by a woman I was chatting with on the subject, who said, 'What kind of dumb shit are you?  You know damned well that a woman's pussy is wired directly to her heart.'  Sage words, indeed.  But a valid reason for concern over losing your female partner in an open relationship.  

The person who asked for my opinion on compersion made a great point.

I’m sure you could also appreciate the idea that I don’t feel an obligation to be everything to everyone is very appealing to me.

Putting pressure on yourself to be everything to someone can be a strain on your relationship.  However, don't be so sure you're not everything to that person, just the way you are.  

As a hopefully relevant example, I always considered being able to cook with my partner to be essential.  However, I found myself in a relationship with someone who, after cooking a few meals for me that were just on this side of edible, was prohibited to be in the kitchen unsupervised.  She felt pressured, from within, to learn how to cook and did her best.  But I came to the realization that having a partner who cooked wasn't a must have.  The true crucial criterion was a partner who appreciated good food, didn't consider Applebees or other chains to be fine dining, and offered the appropriate level of appreciation when I cooked.  Oral sex or gazing at me adoringly were both acceptable.  My point is that she always was everything I ever wanted and should have never felt that pressure, from herself or me, in the first place.  

One final petty argument I'll make, before I yell at you to get off my lawn, is that the deck is so ungodly stacked against men, when it comes to exercising their openness.   If a woman says, 'I'm in an open relationship and am looking for a lover', guys will line up for her.  If a man makes the same claim, he'll hear nothing but crickets and 'you're cheating, aren't you?'

Don't take my comments as a universal condemnation of open relationships.  One of my colleagues / friends has an open marriage and both parties seem very happy.  Then again, he's an ungodly smart, 33 year old studmuffin, and thus, doesn't have the same challenges as us mortal men.  But his wife knew about his sex drive when she married him and seems okay, so long as he occasionally brings one of his girls home for both of them to play with.  I hate him.

Now, get off my lawn while I envy my colleague. 

Plenty of Shit Revisited

After returning to the dating wasteland of KC, where I met the rudest woman on the planet, I found myself with an urge to meet someone with whom I could spend time with.  There seems to be a bit of a lull, with respect to dating participation, which likely has to do with the holidays and holiday hangover.  I've been on Match and Okcupid off and on, with little success.  Plenty of Fish has been a non-starter for reasons I outline here.  Call it boredom or perhaps desperation, I decided to give it another go over the holidays.  In order to maximize the likelihood of retaining my account, I recycled nothing; completely different username, newly created gmail account, etc.  Damned if it didn't work.

Plenty of Fish has historically been a free site and commensurate member quality.  The latter hasn't changed, but like OKC, there's now an option to pay a monthly fee.  For $9.99 per month, upgraded membership offers a long list of negligible benefits.  My favorite is 'massive increase in messages', mostly because the claim isn't backed by anything so trivial as what will drive said massive increase.  You also get a gold star next to your profile, indicating you've been fleeced, I mean that you're a serious member. 

Upgraded members also have the option of only receiving emails from other upgraded members, because being conned out of $10 per month somehow demonstrates you're serious about meeting someone.  Except those members who check that box are doing themselves a disservice.  In the week or so since I've gotten back on the site, there have perhaps been three profiles out of many I've viewed where the little warning pops up about only paying members can contact this person.  Two of the three met my criteria and were of interest to me.  Except here's the bottom line - the likelihood of my tossing $10 out the window to send notes to two women who, based upon the law of internet dating averages, only have about a 10% likelihood of responding.  Except it's even lower.  My response rate on POF is abysmal.  Seriously, back in Richmond, women who didn't respond to my note on POF would show up on Match and reach out to me.

More Scammers

 While I was with my parents, prepping them for their move, I was shocked by the number of scam phone calls they received.  These were after I blocked the assholes from the original set of scams.  In the interest of payback on scammers everywhere, I did my best to have a bit of fun with the ones who called.

For example, we received a call from someone claiming to be with the Social Security Administration (actually, two different people over two days), advising that my parents' SS numbers were being used fraudulently and assets could be seized.  So, when I asked them to confirm they were with SS, I followed with rapid fire questions.

When was the Social Security Administration founded???  Under what president?  Tell me!!!

The woman went on to receive 'What are you wearing? Who's your daddy???'

A demanded the guy tell me if he sucked dick and that he sounded like a major cum chugger.

Another call was from an IT services company who said they were going out of business and were authorized to refund the $500 fee they charged (there was no service).  All I had to do was log into an account with personal information and something else that I clipped with another peppering of questions about billing history, last payment, and whether the guy sucked dick or just fucked goats in the country he lived in.  

Surprisingly, none of the people stayed on the line long.

But these are more examples of scams that the elderly could easily fall for.  My mother was actually engaging the Social Security dick sucker, before I grabbed the phone from her.  

8 Weeks in Hell; Wait, Make It 9...Someone Just Kill Me!

Now that I have a few minutes to myself, I thought I'd highlight some of the fun I've had since September.  Read previous entries to see how we got here, with me downsizing and moving my parents to Kansas.

The Move

Long story short, I did my best to juggle my professional responsibilities with getting my parents streamlined and ready to move.  I failed at both.   My parents were absolutely no help; zip, nada.  Just the opposite.  My mother wanted to take fucking everything.  And every time I brought up the little point of 'you're moving from 3,000 sq ft to 1,300, so you can't fit that', my mother's response was 'we'll find a place for it'.  

Because I couldn't fly the dog (her aerodynamics suck), yours truly made the 23 hour trip from Florida, driving said dog.  Said dog was an amazing little trooper and because of logic, she's become mine.   Didn't want a dog, but she's awesome and a great companion.   

We arrived the day before my parents were due to fly in, so I took the opportunity to sleep in my own bed, if only for one night.  (it had been over three weeks)   I collected them at the airport and the fun began, starting with me going from living in their guest bedroom to living in my own.  

The Steak

Having my parents live with me, in a word, sucked.   I'll share one story that sort of encapsulates the whole experience.   I had procured three fairly decent (the highest grade available in KC) ribeyes that I intended to grill for dinner Saturday night.  Steaks should be as close to room temperature as possible, when throwing them on the coals; gives you a nice char immediately leading to a consistent medium rare center.  So, in the morning, I pulled the steaks, threw some salt on them, sat them on the counter, and went about my business.  When I hit the kitchen, later in the day, to prep for dinner, I found the steaks conspicuously absent.  Long story short, my father put them back in the fridge so they wouldn't spoil.   I was less than pleasant to both parents over the situation, because I take grilling meat very seriously.  I tried again the next day, but the steaks had gotten too funky, after two days on the counter.

After a week of hell, their shit showed up on Friday.  As expected, the amount of shit that was packed had the apartment busting at the seams.  My mother seems to have brought roughly three large moving boxes containing expired food.   My father's health had begun deteriorating (I suspected, due to the stress and energy he was burning) and my mother is in full regalia as she reigns as the regal drama queen.  

It was with great joy that I shoved them into their semi-functional apartment on a Sunday night.  I was awoken the next morning by my mother telling me that my father's condition was even worse and he couldn't get off the floor.  Off he went in an ambulance, with me in tow, not far behind.  Long story short, he'd apparently taken a header in my house and sloshed his head sufficiently for his brain to begin hemorrhaging pretty badly.  Into surgery he went for the benchmark of complex activities, brain surgery.  By Thursday, he was better than I'd seen him in months and the hospital released him.  It was a bit early, in my opinion (and his brain surgeon), but whatever.  

At this point, I was naïve enough to think nothing else could happen.

Except, he became incontinent the first night home.  After two days of it not getting any better, you guessed it, we went back to the hospital.  By that time, I knew that place inside and out.  Anyway, they got him stabilized and sent him to a rehab hospital to finish healing and regain his strength.  Deep breath; okay, now things are going to even themselves out.  Wrong!  The fucker called me yesterday morning to pick him up from rehab, which I thought was strange that the call wouldn't come from a medical professional.  You guessed it, he discharged himself AMA (against medical advice).  We had a brief yelling match in the entry of the rehab place, where I found myself quite close to just kicking the shit out of him for being a dumb fuck.  If a nurse wouldn't have been present, all bets would have been off.  But the asshat walked out to the car and got in; should have locked it as he walked over.  Water, dams, etc. 

Sure enough, he came home and feels like shit.  My response to his pain and ailments has been 'if only you had access to a facility that had doctors and nurses to address these issues...guess you're fucked.'

On the plus side, their house is under contract, after only two weeks on the market.

I just keep looking at the prize, six months out, that is returning to Richmond.

 

The Tale of the Tardy Tawdry Tart, Part 1

Preface:  This is my first work of fiction, inspired by someone both submissive and challenged by punctuality.  When I considered a sub being late, it would only make sense it would occur toward the beginning of a relationship, when a couple enjoys the honeymoon phase.  A true Dom wouldn't tolerate habitual tardiness from his sub, for long..  What follows is not traditional BDSM material, but I think it reflects a real life engagement.  Not all of it can be hardcore action.  There will neither be additional fiction forthcoming, nor a Part 2.

And yes, I do enjoy alliteration, thank you.  

He looked in the oven for the third time in the past ten minutes, this final check confirming what he already knew; the food contained within was well and truly past its prime.  The dish wasn't something he necessarily cared for, nor were the prep techniques within his traditional skill set.  But she'd mentioned it was her absolute favorite food and he intended to surprise her; she was worth the effort.  Except, just like almost every other time they planned something together, she was late.  Not by a few minutes; it was now half past when she promised to arrive.  Ordinarily, he rolled with it, because of how lucky he felt to have her as his partner.   She was the total package of intellect, wit, and beauty; and she was a dirty girl.  They'd only been a couple, or D and s, for two months, so there were still some uncharted waters to navigate together.  He wouldn't admit to it, but he'd already fallen for her, hard.  

However, action was clearly required to break her pattern of tardiness.  Besides, she was his possession, and possessions do not show their owners such disrespect.  As he sat, stewing over the problem, pondering how he'd address the situation, the doorbell rang.  

All of the negativity evaporated when he opened the door.  Her smile never failed to brighten his day and melt his heart, just a little.  She was wearing a short, flowery yellow summer dress that straddled the line between cute and revealing.  Her auburn locks cascaded over her shoulders.  She looked amazing.  Because she was a good girl, save her ability to use a clock, panties would have been left at home.  After he closed the door, he scooped her up, wrapping her in his strong embrace.  She loved how safe she felt in his arms and he loved having her there.  

Suddenly, without preamble, he released her and stepped away.  When he turned to face her again, gone were the kind eyes in which she'd been bathing a moment ago, replaced by those that belonged to The Iceman.  She knew she'd been a bad girl and assumed the proper submissive pose of hands clasped in front of her, with her head appropriately lowered.

He spoke with without emotion.     

'Once again, you're late to arrive.  I've begrudgingly overlooked your tardiness so far, but no longer.  Tonight, I planned to surprise you with your favorite dish, which as you know has a short window in which it can be served before becoming inedible.  Needless to say, that window has long passed.  I even had the aardvark flown in fresh.  Your disregard for my time can be no longer tolerated.'

The feelings came rapid fire.  A flash of warmth from his thoughtfulness; he'd really gone to all of that trouble for me?  This was quickly replaced with guilt over squandering such a precious gift; all of the time he spent to make her happy, ruined by her.  Then the fear arrived.  Could she lose him over this?  She'd never seen him so devoid of emotion, before.  It was the fear that remained, then blossomed.

She looked up at him with genuine remorse in her eyes, resuming the role of his partner, 'Oh my god, honey.  I'm so sorry.  If I'd have known...'

Her sentiment of contrition was cut short by the withering look he gave her.  She quickly returned to her proper position and place in this portion of their relationship.  

'Sir, I am sorry for causing you such trouble.  My behavior has been completely unacceptable.  If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I promise it won't happen again.'

She dropped to her knees in order emphasize the sincerity of her supplication,  

'You are my possession, confirmed by the necklace you wear, symbolizing your submission.  Do you acknowledge this to be true?'

'Yes sir, I belong completely to you for you to do with me as you wish.'

'And I have upheld my portion of the arrangement, correct?  You are properly taken care of and your journey of pleasure has lived up to your expectations?'

'Yes, sir.  It's so much more than I could have imagined.'  

'Then it's time you began to act accordingly and show your owner proper respect by arriving in a punctual manner.  After all, what would happen if the other members of The Fraternal Brotherhood of Dominants, Chapter 5 caught wind that their president was allowing his property to behave with such disrespect?  I'd receive a vote of no confidence before I knew what happened.  Everyone over there wants to be in charge as it is.'

She struggled to maintain a straight face, but his injection of humor caused her to breathe a sigh of relief.  It was a signal that his affection for her remained constant.  His ability to make her laugh was one of the things that she found most attractive about him.  

'At first, I considered a more traditional course of discipline, involving the paddle I recently purchased. However, after consideration, I find such punishment to be lacking in finesse and may not actually deter you from future transgressions.  In fact, you may enjoy such corporal punishment a bit too much.  In fact, I bet your sex just gushed a bit at the thought of me spanking your hot little ass.'

With that, he stepped forward and reached up under her dress, briefly admiring her rock hard nipples attempting to pierce the fabric.  She gasped in surprise when she felt him roughly pawing at her sex.    He withdrew his hand and examined his fingers in an almost detached manner, as though lost in his own thoughts.

'Drenched...', he said in a borderline derisive tone.  'Just as I suspected.'

'Do you know how to modify a dog's behavior to prevent it from jumping up on you?  Not by punishing it, but by not giving it the one thing it wants most when it jumps...you.  So, you hook the dog's leash to a solid object and beckon the dog over to you.  If the dog jumps, you turn away and move just out of the leash's radius.  You take away its reward, you.  If the dog doesn't jump, you remain in place and praise it and it eventually learns the behavior to receive its desired reward'

God, he was talking about training her like a dog.  She knew she should be offended, but at the same time, she couldn't deny her arousal toward the thought.  It was as close to complete objectification as she'd been taken.  She'd been a bad girl and deserved whatever treatment her owner meted out.  This man knew how to push buttons she didn't know existed within herself and she'd come to trust him implicitly, as a result.  He could do anything he wanted to her and she'd willingly comply.  His voice snapped her back to the present.   

'In order to ensure your behavior is well and truly modified, you'll be treated accordingly.'

She looked up and saw he had a collar and leash in his hand.  Again, with any of her previous lovers, she'd have yelled the safe word, called him a pig, and walked out the door.  Except now, she just thought of how she truly was becoming his possession and it made her feel warm inside.  She leaned forward to make it easier for him to fit the collar.

After affixing the collar to her dainty neck, he took a step back, leash in hand, and spoke again.

'What was the one thing you were looking forward to most, coming over tonight, beyond enjoying my winning personality and charm?  Perhaps for me to subject you to the same treatment as I did a few nights ago?  You told me you'd never passed out from an orgasm before.  Was that what you wanted tonight?'

He'd proved over and over that he could make her orgasm at will, but hold her on the brink, if he desired.  She loved when he demanded she beg for her release.  She always felt like a used dishrag, when he was done with her.  The memory set her whole body ablaze.  

'Well?'

She bit her lower lip a bit and said, 'You know I want that, sir.  You have the videos showing how turned on I was for you the whole week.  I tried to be a good girl.'   

'Hopefully, you'll have fond memories of the pleasure I brought you, because tonight, you'll go without.'

He was withholding sex?  She wondered if he wasn't the man she thought he was, after all.  Withholding sex was petty; something an insecure little boy does.  Worst of all, withholding sex was flat out lazy and lacked imagination.

'Lest you think you'll escape so easily, your hot little body will still receive copious amounts of attention and pleasure from me, just no closure, if you will.  Tonight will be all about denying those things you most want.'

With that, used the leash to guide her into the bedroom.    

'Remove your dress and lay down on the bed.'

His voice remained as cold as ice, so she quickly complied. 

'Hands.'

She quickly found herself restrained to the bed, both arms and legs firmly anchored, unable to move more than an inch or two in any direction.  

Once she was bound in place, he blindfolded her.  One of the most intense sexual experiences of her life began with him taking the same actions.  She was completely at his mercy and, oh God, could he see her literally dripping for him?  Of course he could see the wetness glistening on her bare pussy and the small spots materializing on the sheet as it dripped. 

The blindfold not only added a level of suspense for her, it also prevented her from seeing the look of absolute desire on his own face.  This amazing woman never failed to stoke his own inferno of lust and he wanted nothing more than to devour her.  She needed to be taught a lesson, but this truly was the case of being more painful for him than for her.  

With his possession properly secured, he left the room to give final considerations to his course of discipline.

High Praise

 Someone from my past reached out to me recently and gave me the most genuine, if head swelling, compliment.  I've previously written about her in the epic, thrilling posts The Reference Fuck, and Cum On My Tits, A Love Story.  We were talking the other night and were both feeling a bit frisky, so there was a bit of play.  I directed her to touch herself in the ways I knew she liked and said horrible things to her.  The compliment came in the chat after.  

She told me that I had taught her more about her body and what brings her the most pleasure than she ever could have been able to on her own.  

It was certainly nice to hear, considering I can feel my skills atrophy more by the day, here in Kansas in a pandemic.  Here's hoping you're lucky enough to be learning more about your partner's body, this weekend.

For The Love of Dog

Those who've read my earlier posts know I'm a huge dog lover.  I had dogs growing up, all the way until my marriage ended.  While I haven't had a dog of my own for the past decade, I got my dog fix volunteering at the Richmond SPCA.   If you've read my most recent posts, you know that I've taken in my parents' dog.  Sadie is a catahoula mix and white as the driven snow, with these amazing blue eyes.  And she's quite literally saved me.  

And I get that I sound as though I've discovered something that was obvious to everyone else and should have been obvious to me.  That some readers are making goofy faces and saying 'Duh!'.  Obviously, I'm going to explain, or this would be a pointless entry.

Again, if you've read some of my more recent posts, you know I've had some incredibly challenging times with my parents, recently.  Being an only child, single, and in a strange land, I've been forced to shoulder the burden alone.  While my Iceman mask remains unmelted and I really am quite adept at dealing with things and moving on, I'd be some sort of sociopath (okay, a worse one) to not feel a bit untethered, battered, and alone.

Even before my parents imploded, the solitude imposed by the pandemic had induced mild circling that ultimately leads to the death spiral of mental health.  

Every day, Sadie reminds me what unconditional love feels like and I've smiled more since becoming her daddy than in the previous three years combined.  I've never had a dog who wants nothing more than to be close to me.  To make that easier for her, I bought her a second bed that I put in my office.  Her favorite thing in the world is when I get on the floor with her, so she can snuggle and receive copious amounts of pets.  She's the most affectionate dog I've ever had.  Every time I lean down to pet her, she responds as though I'd been gone for a week, even if it's only been 10 minutes.  As you can see in the picture below, she also considers my doing pushups in my gym downstairs as the perfect opportunity to snuggle.  

At the moment, Sadie is snoring away in her crate, a few feet from my kitchen table, where I'm typing this.  And I wouldn't give her up for the world.