You know it’s going to be an interesting meeting when the first item on the agenda is “Please fist me.”

Ok, I’ll rewind.

It started a week earlier when I’d confessed to Skyspook that I didn’t know how to help him, how to play my part in our relationship, build the D/s dynamic. In point of fact, I was feeling a bit like Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ Superstar. I explained to him that I was at a loss, that all the books I was reading were designed for Tops full of how-to techniques, that sort of thing, and more than anything I was lacking instruction in how to develop my role as his submissive. He ribbed me playfully, reminding me once again that all relationships are different and that I wasn’t going to find an instruction manual for life because one simply didn’t exist – that we’d have to map things out together.

And he gave me an order. I needed to identify things that were important to me, Vanilla, Chocolate, Neapolitan, of all flavors, salient points, be it things that I wanted to try, things I wanted from him, etc. I had a week to think it over, and then we would meet to discuss my interests.

I scrunched up my face and reluctantly agreed.

When meeting time finally came, he laughed at my handwritten notes scribbled on the back of a yellow junk mail envelope, a nearly illegible numbered list written wherever there wasn’t printing in the way, at the mercy of the “BEFORE MAILING YOUR FORM” checklist. He told me he’d listen to my whole list and comment on the feasibility once I was done.

I hesitated, bit my lip.

“Aww, don’t be nervous,” he said.

“Please fist me,” I spat out before I could take it back.

It took him a second to register what I’d said, and then we burst out in laughter.

He regained his composure. “I’ve been meaning to. I’ll explain more once you’re done,” he replied. “Read the rest of the list.”


Skyspook likes to make me choose in relatively low-pressure situations because he knows it’s the hardest thing for me to do, that I hate making decisions, that it comes with my personality disorder and that I’m supposed to be working on independence, autonomy, and teamwork with true co-operation and not rife with the emotional martyrdom of my past, all changes for the good of my psychological health. It’s odd because he’s my Dom, and you usually think of Doms as bossy sorts who are very “my way or the highway,” (in the community often known as “Domly Doms”) and while Skyspook can do that, and it’s super fun in a bedroom sense, as a life coach, he has as a rather relaxed managerial style and very much values my opinion. It doesn’t hurt that the sadist in him loves watching me squirm as I struggle to choose, weighed down by the feeling that I’ll make the wrong decision and that everyone will suffer for it, as out of proportion as such fears are.


Getting the News:

September 7, 2011: I am diagnosed with dependent personality disorder. It makes sense, a painful amount of sense. Suddenly, the multiple selves all sifted into their respective uses becomes evident. Here is the self that bachelor #1 will love. Here is the self for bachelor #2. A slice for my mother. Another for work. Each one loved and superlative in her own right. The slivers and shavings of who you all thought I am.

It’s been a long, lonely life – loved by all, understood by none.

I know Skyspook’s waiting in the car for me. He wants to understand me, and it terrifies me.

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  1. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders will someday be regarded as a major sign of and contributor to our cultural despair. Its history is embarrassing, a catalog of hysteria and narcissism and faux-scientism. It’s a scam promulgated by hapless shrinks and shark-toothed insurers.

    Nice irony, though, that it is the ‘DS’ Manual and that its certainties appeal to the s in you….

    1. Seriously!

      At least the NCSF has a voice in the process for the DSM V. Any therapist that I’ve had has generally regarded it as a book to guess with, and that while having a name for something is sometime good, it doesn’t have a lot of effect on the healing process.

      Obscurantista speaks of you highly, and I can see why. I actually laughed out loud reading your comments.


  2. Thank Obscurantista for her kind words.

    Working with a blah writer is pretty much a matter of repeating every writing-teacher cliche, just applying them to the piece at hand. Obscurantista demanded more from me. Working with a good writer is a thrill because my reactions to the writing can surprise and teach me things that had never occurred to me before. It certainly was that way with Obscurantista’s stuff. If I’m paying attention, I can learn as well as teach.

    I’m not really rational on the subject of therapy (though my wife is a therapist and I exclude her from my general loathing) and certainly am not rational on the subject of DSM. This article gave force to my longstanding worst prejudices:

    Naming can be important, I agree, but when naming becomes labelling and stops being a tool of investigation and starts being the answer the client had better accept or else, then I check out.

    1. And I’m very pleased you got something out of teaching me. I always felt like I got the much better deal. 🙂

      It’s hard to see it sometimes with a distance class, but I was pushing myself very hard, taking risks that I never would have taken as an essayist because of the array of prompts you used for the class (and I still find myself using those perspectives, techniques to this day). I agonized over the essays I wrote for your class – a few times, I wrote things that totally delighted and surprised me. It completely transformed my writing style and built my confidence to the point where I really started to think maybe I was capable of much more than I thought as a writer.

      I had lost my confidence a while back – my blog post below kind of explains it.

      I wrote a story

      I went on to publish that story I mention in the blog post:

      The Uncanny Valley

      1. Even though I no longer have your blog, I do have in my archives all the prompt reactions you did and my comments, and I’ve gone back to check some of them against my memory. And now I know: You wrote good! And, er, so did I!

        As I said, I could give good comment because you were giving good stuff for me to comment on.

        In one piece, BTW, you refer to yourself as Page.

        But you say ‘The Uncanny Valley’ is not erotica? Puh-leeze!

  3. I had to google NCSF. After quickly dismissing North Carolina Shakespeare Festival, National Catholic Society of Foresters, and North Central Small Farm Task Force, I think I have it!

  4. Yeah, the NCSF is an advocacy group for alternative sexuality… Skyspook and I have kind of a “home dungeon” though we’ve ventured away and visited another (and I, for my part, want to do a bit more traveling and check out different scenes as well) – and our home dungeon is always doing various fundraisers for the NCSF (raffles and the like).

    It’s actually kind of neat in that the dungeon is a social club – and we meet outside sometimes for dinners, movies, other Vanilla events, with people of all ages, genders, etc. It sort of fills the void of a church social group.

  5. I’ve only just found your blog – and I have to follow you now after reading that. I’m a submissive too (I’m a boy) and so can identify with your initial uncertainty.

    However I don’t think I’ll be asking “Please fist me” any time soon.
    sev x

    1. Awwww, glad you’re enjoying the blog!

      Yeah, I find the more that I want something, the harder time I have asking for it. As I’m sure you know, so much of exploring kink is exploring yourself.

      You would probably be even more terrified if you saw Skyspook’s hands. He’s 6′ 3″

      As I told a local submissive friend of mine when she mentioned Skyspook’s giant hands, I think the size/difficulty is part of the appeal. I do so enjoy a good challenge.

      And I’d feel like I deserved one of those T-shirts they sell for rollercoasters at theme parks – “I Survived Being Fisted By Skyspook!

      1. Well let’s hope you get that t-shirt then!
        Thankfully my Domme (a girl) has small hands, but even so, I’m not sure I’d cope with anything that big – after all, when fisting a boy, your options are limited.

        Besides, she prefers to use a comedy vegetable, mainly so she publish the pictures. She’s a very very bad Domme 😉

        sev x

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