When I made the decision to journey into this lifestyle, I knew that it wasn’t going to be easy, although I suspected that it would be easier for me than for other novice dominants, just from the fact that I have a very clear of idea of what I want in life and know myself well (or believe it at least).

The hardest thing has been stepping outside of my comfort zone, or what Warren describes as, “the psychological barriers to undertaking such a politically incorrect activity.” It’s ironic; he warns, “…keep in mind that by admitting her desires, [the submissive] could be seen to be rejecting gains that women have slowly and painfully made over the last 20, 50, 100 years”, something I understand completely, but it’s not Loo who’s worried about rejecting these gains.

It’s me.

After all, as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve been programmed by society to a certain degree. No violence against women, females are to be treated as equals, et cetera. And along with this are my own programmed morals and beliefs. Expect nothing from anyone. Punishment does more harm than good. The list goes on in varied and inconsistent ways. What makes it all harder is the fact that breaking out of the bubble must be done out of self-interest. As much as I’d like to keep reminding myself that this is not only what Louise wants, but needs in a relationship, I have to forgo the reinforcing of any such idea. To acknowledge it is to ruin the dynamic between Dom and sub.

Interestingly enough, the only way I’ve been able to get past these personal boundaries has been to not intellectualize them, to act without thinking. To expect a woman to ask for permission to leave my side, or come to bed. To have her sit at my feet instead of next to me. To hit her until the point of tears, but not stop. To know that her body is mine, and not her own.

To live this life for me, and not the both of us.

Know what I hate? No, fucking hate.

I fucking hate it when a girl reduces me, or any guy, for that matter, to a sex. When some PETTY-MINDED FUCK generalizes someone as belonging to the group of “males” because of a few characteristics shared with the stereotype. Or brushes off any traits she sees as unpleasant as simply being the fault of having both an X and a Y chromosome.

What the fuck. I don’t place the blame on ‘being female’ when a girl happens to be late getting ready to go out. Or when a girl ends up in the middle of a geek talk, I don’t condescend to her and say, “You wouldn’t be interested cause you’re a girl”. I understand that girls can be geeky, or prurient, or cerebral, the same way that guys can be interested in ballroom dancing, or chaste, or emotional.

I don’t do guys nights or any shit like that cause I choose not to judge. I don’t automatically assume that a girl wouldn’t understand what happens when the guys are together. I’ve had girls at my LAN parties, I know girls who go to strip clubs. And I choose not to act or do anything differently if my girlfriend isn’t around, cause I have nothing to hide. I don’t want to be fake with either her or my friends.

Not every male is a slave to someone with breasts. Beer commercials are not an accurate representation of the entire male population.

FUCK. God.

It’s only the drivers who yield to pedestrians who deserve a quickened step across the lane. I take my time, sometimes even walk slower, for the drivers who have no regard for the pedestrians.

Only patient people deserve patience in return.

On a day-to-day basis at work I have to deal with a multitude of contacts from all sorts of businesses, such as printing companies, media companies, survey/research companies, phone/internet providers, magazines, tech support departments, marketing companies, and tons of other random operations either trying to get my business or required by me for a product/service. At the beginning of every phone call, every single person I deal with asks me how I’m doing. It’s become a challenge not to shout into the receiver, “YOU DON’T KNOW ME. DO YOU REALLY CARE? I’M A LITTLE WORRIED CAUSE IT BURNS WHEN I PEE! DID YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW THAT?!!”, every time I hear the cookie-cutter question. The worst is when I have to call someone several times in a day to follow up on something, and I’m greeted with the same question every time, as if my company might have been built on a fault line that somehow separated between 10:00 and 10:15.

I know that asking is a polite thing to do, and it’s polite of me to ask in return, but it’s extremely difficult for me to say things that I don’t really mean. I generally only ask my friends how they’re doing, and I certainly only tell my friends how I’m actually doing.

I suppose it’s all just a hazard of the job. One day, for one of the less friendly, more aggressive, rudely patronizing, dreadfully unimportant calls (such as one I got the other day from a company selling solutions for high search engine rankings), I’ll go on about some make-believe problem I’m having. It’ll be interesting to see how long they can stay on the line, how much the business worth to them.

Sometimes I ask questions that others consider to be stupid. That’s usually because I don’t make any assumptions, and the last thing that I want to do is offend or annoy someone. For example, I may ask to use the bathroom if I’m a guest at someone’s house. Some people give me a look as if I’ve just asked them to take a dump on my chest, then they give me a slow, exaggerated “yeeeees” in a tone that makes the answer seem like it should be an extremely obvious thing. To them, the point is obvious; I’m a friend, and of course I can use the facilities. It’s something that they feel I shouldn’t have to ask. But I have no idea whether or not someone is uncomfortable about me using a certain bathroom cause it’s dirty (which has happened in the past), or whether one of the bathrooms is out of order (something I’d rather avoid before I find out too late), or even if they’re trying to cross-breed bankeys by confining bats and monkeys in an ensuite and hoping they mate (which I assume will never happen). Usually, just going for the bathroom is not a chance I’m willing to take, as with many other things. I’d rather ask first, because there’s the chance that I may make a step out of place (and in cases like these, it’s better to not step than to backtrack). But when people start treating me like I’m stupid for asking these questions, sometimes I feel like just saying, “fuck it”, and not worrying about the consequences.