I’ve been really, really pissed off the last couple of
days weeks months years. I thought it was getting better and I was beginning to get out of my bitter and jealous funk, but it’s just not happening. Might even be getting worse; instead of ranting on my own blog, now I’m ranting in the comments on Elizabeth’s blog (sorry about that, by the way). Pretty sad, really.
I had a long converastion with Lady Lubyanka today, whom I am almost certain thinks I am a very angry and very smart troubled young boy. (She would not be entirely incorrect either; but I did have to look up the word erudite when she called me that today. She’s such a sweet charmer.) Then, later, instead of spending dinner with friends I became too upset to be social and wanted to leave early, and this ended up as a very long conversation with Eileen about what was wrong.
So what is wrong? A lot of things are wrong and were never right; these things have hurt me from the first moment I interacted even remotely sexually with another person, but they are especially painful right now because of a few personal experiences that I’d much rather not go into on such a public forum. I mention that now to tell you, dearest reader, that these things are not solely the belidgerant words of an angsty youth. These things do happen. They happen all the time.
Even though there’s no help in this post, I ultimately thought that writing about how to make things better without also showing the hurt may not actually be that effective. So here is the bitter taste of reality submissive men drink day in and day out:
I wanted to write about the incredibly aggravating notion that regardless of orientation, dominant or submisive, men are expected to be the pursuers while women, dominant or submissive, are expected to be the pursued.
I wanted to write about why many submissive men are just as responsible for debasing their own sexuality as the many pro- (and so obviously not-so-pro-)dommes who take delight in squashing them down while lifting them of that burdensome weight in their wallets. (“Thank you for stealing my money, Mistress, would you like another dollar?”)
I wanted to write about the lack of empathy so prevalent in the public BDSM scenes where more often than you’d probably think (more times than I can count and over the course of two relationships) people of all sexes befriend you if you’re a guy for the purposes of getting closer to your girlfriends, both significant other(s) and otherwise. After all, you’re a guy: you’re just a dime a dozen anyway and another twenty like you will walk through the door in the next two minutes. But oh my god, is that a breast standing next to you? Is there a photographer in the house? Someone must capture this moment and make it last a lifetime! (I still remember the near stampede bee line that was made towards my then-girlfriend when we came out to our first public BDSM meeting. It’s happened lots of times since then, too; mostly I’m just used to it now.)
I wanted to write about how most people assume that if you’re a guy you’re probably controlled by nothing more than that little blood-shot rod of tissue called a penis, and how incredibly shameful I feel to be male because so many times these people are actually correct in their accusations of men. (See above. ‘Nuff said.)
I wanted to write about how submissive men will pretty much always, without fail, lose a race for sexual satisfaction out of any gender/sex/orientation combination you can come up with. Always. I’ve had a sex life that any submissive man you point at would kill to have, yet stick me in a room with other orientations and I’m still the first one sidelined, the last one standing by the fruit punch and chips, so to speak. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, and it’s certainly going to happen again.
I wanted to write about how if you’re a submissive guy you’re treated with near-fear if not written off if you don’t call youself worthless or think you’re only value comes from how much money you make. My god, he’s submissive but he likes himself. He’s gotta be like the unabomber or one of those kids from Columbine—he’s clearly fucked up in the head. No self-respecting male would actually be submissive. I mean, he’s submissive? Doesn’t he not want to be respected? (Yeah, keep talking Einstein.)
If you are a man and you have had any experience at all interacting with almost any sexually oriented community (including non-kinky contexts), maybe you’re pretty pissed off, too. Worst of all, maybe a lot of people are telling you that you don’t have a lot of reason to be upset. After all, you’re a man, and the world handed you an easier time of things than, say, if you were a woman or if you were living in a third-world country. Shut up and be grateful, you selfish little prick.
I’m not ungrateful, you should tell them, I’m very grateful for the things I have. But that does not negate the unjust, oppressive, systematic starvation of my sexual identity, the hurt caused by the intentional and the unintential assumptions made about who I am and what I should enjoy based on it, or the pain from seeing how excruciatingly invasive all of this has become in my bedroom.
That’s what I wanted to write about, but I’m clearly in no state to be writing such things. I’m way too angry about it to make any kind of coherent sense. So like I said, move along, keep channel surfing. There’s nothing to see here that you haven’t seen a million times before.