To be or not to be

As I'm no longer in a wife-led marriage, it's difficult for me to blog about the topic any more. I still enjoy reading other blogs on the subject but, due to the failure of my own marriage, I no longer feel qualified to provide an insight or advice on the subject.

Since V and I split up I've had a couple of short-term relationships but they haven't worked out.

There was one Mistress who advertised for a house servant, primarily to clean. I applied for the job and got it. It was good to be able to serve a Mistress again. Unfortunately we weren't compatible.

Since then I've been corresponding online with a professional Domme but, again, it seems we're not compatible as she's only interested in a professional relationship whereas I'm more interested in developing friendship and a personal connection which only a true relationship can provide. Yes, I'll admit it. I want a long-term relationship with someone I can fall in love with, and who loves me. Unfortunately, professional Dommes just don't fit that bill. It's not what she wants, and what she wants doesn't appeal to me.

I still find her very attractive, interesting, intelligent and insightful. In fact, she's everything I'd want in a partner. I think we have a lot in common. In addition, she loves the kink and has a huge range of BDSM interests. Unfortunately for me, she has no interest in a social partner. It's strictly professional.

This leads me to the question of where I go from here. Should I continue to search for a Femdom life partner or is that unrealistic? Should I be satisfied with paying for services rendered? Or should I look for someone outside the scene and abandon my Femdom fantasies?

I've met a couple of nice women on vanilla dating sites. There's one in particular who is interested in me as a person and is receptive to an ongoing relationship. I haven't made that commitment yet, but I enjoy her company and find her attractive. We talk regularly on the phone (at least every 2 days) and meet up for dinner etc. once every couple of weeks. The problem is she lives about 100 kilometers from me so the opportunity to see each other regularly is difficult.

I've mentioned to her that I like strong women. She said it was brave of me to say that, because most men wouldn't make such a comment. But I don't want to blow it by suggesting anything kinky. I don't think Femdom is her natural persuasion.

So what do I do? It's not that easy to find a compatible Domme as most submissives will testify. But I'm lonely and don't enjoy living on my own. I want another partner and it's much easier to find a vanilla partner than a Domme.

And if I do happen to find a vanilla partner, will I be satisfied? I really don't know.

On the one hand, this is my last opportunity to find someone right - to find a strong woman who is happy to explore a Femdom lifestyle. But how to find her? Is it realistic? Where are they all?

To be a sub or not to be, that's the question!

My Mistress Commands

I'm asking for a favour. My current, beautiful Mistress Eve has set me an assignment.

This is it:

"If you find it personally satisfying to serve, I want you to find a number and variety of resources on service orientated submission and explore them. Pages, lists, groups, pornography, etc. I want you to enjoy that and explore it and report back to me in the following days (take your time, speed is not of the essence) on what you have enjoyed/learned/found/remembered."

Any assistance would be appreciated.

Is that a Light Ahead?

Most of the tenants had been living there for years. They’d become institutionalized.

We received a cooked meal every evening, although “cooked” sometimes meant baked beans on toast. Sometimes we received stew, other times sausages and mash. Once a week we received a roast. A highlight was when the local Church members would arrive on a Sunday and cook a barbecue for us. Sausages, hamburgers, onions, salad, bread and soft drink.

We had a television in the common room, although it was pointless to try and choose a channel. The majority vote was to watch cartoons or soaps.

In the corridors there were abandoned bits of broken furniture and old, stained mattresses. No one seemed to be in charge of rubbish removal and the litter steadily accumulated as the weeks went by.

Once you hit rock bottom, there’s only one way to go. I still had a mind, even if it was fractured. I’d been knocked down. It was now time to get back up. I owed it to my kids, my friends and myself. Unlike the other tenants in this boarding house, I had a choice. I could escape if I put my mind to it.

I finally came to believe there’s a light at the end of this tunnel. My first task was to find one client and therefore an income.

It didn’t take me long before I had a single client who was prepared to pay a reasonable monthly fee.

On the basis of that I rented a comfortable, renovated house close to the city centre and set up my business from there. A home-based business with a staff of one – me.

Rock Bottom

One of the most emotional moments at the psych ward was the first time I saw my kids as they walked down the corridor towards me. The moment I saw them I started crying and couldn’t stop. We all hugged and I just kept on bawling my eyes out. The kids said they’d never seen me cry before. I don’t know why, because I’m a sucker for sad movies. They became regular visitors and got to know many of the other “inmates”.

After about four weeks I was told I could look forward to leaving. Questions arose about where I would live and how I would support myself. Would my wife accept me back? No. Did I have a place to stay? No. Did I have an income? No. Did I have any savings? No.

Finally, it was agreed I should be transferred to a men’s boarding room. Ironically, living in a boarding room had been one of my greatest fears! Now that fear was about to be realized. I’d hit rock bottom.

The boarding house itself was an old converted mansion which was tired and neglected. The large original rooms had been converted into small cells 12 feet by 10 feet. They were dark and gloomy with linoleum floors, a single metal bed, a small wardrobe and a small table with a mini fridge underneath. That was it. The tenants were former homeless men, most with mental issues.

V helped me move in – not a huge task given I only had one suitcase. She was appalled at the conditions but assured me it was only a temporary measure. “I’d be back on my feet in no time.”

V asked if I wanted any personal pieces of furniture from home. Perhaps my antique wall clock or a small chair. No, there was nothing I could add to this room to make it a “home”. Instead, I stuck up a couple of the bad oil paintings I’d painted in the psych ward as part of my rehabilitation. One was of an icecream which I’d titled “I Scream”. One was of an ocean inlet with yachts tied to buoys.

In a way, I find this writing experience cathartic. I’ve never written it down until now.

That’s all for today. I’m exhausted. I’ll talk soon. Thank you for reading my story.