I haven’t posted for a while because there hasn’t been a lot to say. I guess it’s patently apparent from my recent reflections that openly acknowledged Female Authority is not working in our relationship, so I’ve taken a step back.
V is obviously aware that I still entertain submissive obsessions but chooses to ignore them. And I’ve learnt to restrain from any reference to FLR, as hard as that is to keep in check.
Besides, V is far too busy studying and working to give any thought to my sexual fantasies....or to sex at all for that matter!
So I’ve settled down to my old ways – the days before I tried to initiate a female led marriage. I browse the internet, join chat groups, read other blogs and fantasize about relationships with other women.
If I’m walking the street, I’ll try to spot women I think might be dominant. Can you pick a Domme in the street? I don’t know, but some women certainly display that aura.
On Saturday night we had some friends over for dinner. I did all the preparation, cooking and cleaning up. Without wishing to brag, I was an excellent chef, maître d' and sommelier.
V didn’t lift a finger and it felt good to play the role of the dutiful servant. Throughout the night V treated me as little more than a staff attendant, virtually dismissing me as someone outside the social gathering.
On the whole, V still expects me to provide her with a high level of service. She still expects me to clean the house, make the bed, do the laundry, cook the meals and tidy up afterwards. She still demands a certain obedience.
I guess, in many ways V is indicating that she’s the head of the household, and she is demonstrating her authority over me. She’s comfortable in that role now – far more so than she was before.
The other day she said: ”It’s all well and good you doing what I tell you, but you don’t show enough self-initiative. I shouldn’t have to tell you to do the washing. You should think to do it for yourself.”
So, in some respects our marriage IS evolving into a Femdom relationship. It’s just that there’s no excitement in it, no sexual charge.
God forbid if I say it, but I DON’T FEEL APPRECIATED. Rather, I feel used and abused. Taken for granted. Ironically, there’s an unsettling analogy here with the commonly expressed feelings of those dutiful housewives in the 1950’s and 60’s. Interesting.