I have never really written about it until now, but realigning our relationship has made it neccessary to think and talk over forced feminization. If you’ve been following my blog for a while and have been reading between the lines, you might have guessed it already. John and I are a bit into it, but it now turns out we’re a bit more than we thought we were. Uhm.
The first occasion took place only a few months after we had met. In retroperspective I’d say, there were hints even before, such as certain words John used while I served him or certain things he fantasized about. A lot of gay men actually like the thought of a feminine counterpart, because it emphasizes their masculinity, their power and strength. John started to talk of my ass as a cunt and I liked it. He began calling me his maid, especially when I had my hands in the sink cleaning the dishes while he stepped behind me and did indescribable things. Of course it’s all about that dumb sexist world view we dismiss in everyday life. But when the juices are flowing… You know how it is.
I’ve been struggling with allowing myself to feel this way. I was brought up being told to be a man, not a pussy, although it simultaneously was made clear that at least I was a pussy, no matter how hard I tried to be not (telling enough that he called it “Muschi”, pussy, and not “Frau”, woman). I could not escape my father and his assults, so I adjusted to them. I knew what he expected from me, so I did it in order to keep more or less intact. Sometimes he said it was my fault my mother was gone and that I was supposed to take her place. It was when John started calling me his gurl that this memory came back to me. It aroused me unbelievably. I liked it. It felt humiliating to the core and I would not want to discuss this feeling with my friends S and C. I have tried to, but sexuality is a sector I fail to be politically correct in. Political correct kink isn’t kinky at all. It’s rather boring to me, but I feel ashamed for that. I really strive to be a good person, but when it comes to what turns me on, I totally fail being a good guy. I like it dirty and painful.
When John came up with that lace panty I have written about, it was in that sissyficational context. I knew it, even though we did not talk it over. I knew he wanted me to wear it because it made me feel humiliated and gurlish and it made him feel like his maid’s Daddy. Like the superior man he is and obviously likes to be. In our relationship I have thankfully overtaken the female part. Of course it’s a cliché that wives are always obedient and treat their husbands like Masters, but I like to think of me as a cliché-wife. Always obedient, always obliging, and at least always volunteering my own degradation. In some BDSM blogs there was a picture which showed a leather strap and the words written “Your one and only rule in my house: I tell you what to do and you say yes Sir!”. That hits the point. That’s characteristic for our relationship and even though I tried to live more freely and not so ruled by John, it did not fit my needs. It gave me a hard time finding out that I’m as submissive as I thought I was. I’ve had the hope I could be more self-reliant and self-determinated, but NO I can’t. I can’t because whatever I do, I cant escape myself or the impression my father left on me. Maybe I’m a jerk because I’m too weak or too stupid to find a politcal correct kink for myself, but all that ever turns me on is getting fucked like a whore and loved like as husband.
It’s rather hard to put that down into words, because I’m ashamed of that finding. I thought it could be enough being my Master’s sub, but it turns out it is not. John and I had a lot of serious conversation about it and he suggested to carefully stretch the boarders. First I was thankful, but then I realized I don’t want it carefully. I want it, just like that. The only thing I humbly asked was “don’t scorn me for that”. He promised he would not.