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frustrated faithful freak

Dean Broheld

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I just joined here as maybe I'll get something from it. However, I sit here nervous about what I want to say, for fear that someone will use it against me someday. But notice what I actually said there. I said that if ever questioned about what I'm going to say it does not bother me, and I'll freely communicate about it. It's the using it against me part that actually bothers me. Frankly, I wish society wasn't as repressed as it is, that we could be more open than we are, in this supposedly free country (USA).

With that said, here goes.

I am very happily married, or at least I used to be. Many years ago I found the perfect woman, and I knew it. [gulp. I'm still working up the intestinal fortitude to say this next part.]

Before I asked this wonderful woman to marry me, I made sure that she was the one. I see myself (or at least I'd like to see myself) as a reasoning individual. I've always been this way. From my reasoning I determined that the woman I'd marry must be compatible with me 70% or better in everyday matters, but with respect to my [gulp] sexuality, it had to be 95% or better. Hence, before we were married, before I took that step, I went to the brass tacks.

While we were dating, she and I practiced a dominate/submissive relationship. It was inside this relationship that I felt more and more comfortable with telling her about where I came from: a very (IMO) sexually abusive childhood.

Frankly, my mother had mental problems, but she hid them fairly well outside of the immediate household. She, in others' viewpoint, was a slightly eccentric but child-loving teacher. However, in my view and (likely) my sister's, she was a sexual sadist. In fact, were I or my sister to actually have reported what we knew and could prove quite easily, she would have been jailed, lost her credentials, been blacklisted, and my sister and I placed in foster care or perhaps with relatives. It was a very traumatic childhood (actually 30% childhood, 60% forced-adulthood, 10% apathetic) for me and my sister.

This woman, quite frankly, was one of the sickest people one could meet. I quite frankly hated her, but this realization didn't become clear to me until my teen years. However, as I see it, that was about ten years too late. (I've got so much to say it would take a book to spill it all, so I'm just going to jump to the key parts of why I'm here.)

As I see it, a child is born and then learns about life based upon stimulus, response, and cognitive activity. From day one the child begins to form a worldview if you will. As I see it, the worldview I developed from being born from and from living with my mother was that love is pain and submission yields love. True, that isn't true. I know that now, after many years of observation of the world, but that is nevertheless the way I was/am wired from the beginning, where, of course, I did that wiring based on stimulus and response, the cause and effect I experienced since day one. (Which is the case with everyone. That is how we become who we are. What I mean is let's say all you found in your exploration of reality (aka you're alive) from day one was that the sky was red and the grass was orange, but then 20 years later it dawned on you that that wasn't the case. You would still have that knowledge that the sky was red and the grass was orange, and it would constantly be necessary for you to choose to think otherwise. I'm not sure that was the best explanation, but it'll have to suffice.)

So, what I'm saying is that from day one I (and of course my sister, but I'm here for me not her, so I'll now exclude her except when it's necessary she not be excluded) was emotionally, and physically-sexually abused and learned it was that my mother loved me. As I said, my mother was a teacher and I daresay anything I learned (for example, I read and comprehended what was read at a 4th or 5th grade level when I entered 1st grade, and I swear I'm not lying) was learned in conjunction with being naked and beaten with (95% of the time) a belt. Let me explain what I mean, how exactly that works. (And yes, even though this is the last I'll mention her, this was the case with my sister also. ...of course when it comes to me actually speaking for her about these things, there is nothing saying she and I are the same.)

In short, my mother taught something to me, like a musical instrument. I'll take the example of music as a subject, for my mother was an excellent violinist and held a Master's in music and education. She gave me piano lessons from, as I recall, age six or seven.

(I'm fearful something will happen and I'll lose all I've typed. I don't want to type this again, so I'll post this part and then continue. ...and won't preview lest I lose my train of thought.)

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Incidentally, it turns out I was correct in my fear, for had I not copied my post lest it be lost, it would've been lost.


So my mother taught me the piano, and here's how it went. From, I'm still recalling, age six or seven I took piano lessons from my mother every Saturday morningish (maybe nine or ten am) after breakfast. (I had three balanced meals a day, so she has to have been a good mother, right?) A piano lesson went like this.

Throughout the week I'd have to practice every day (for a piano I didn't want to play, as I'd rather do kid things like actually play). Then, come Saturday, I needed to play the piece I was learning to show I'd learned it. This could have gone good or bad. If it was good, my mother might correct me on a note or two and then we'd move on to the next lesson. If it was bad all Hell broke loose in that house around that piano. It was essentially a ritualistic pattern when things went bad. Here's how it went:

1. I'd screw something up, some timing or some note.

2. She'd correct me speaking gently, lovingly, like someone truly interested in my learning how to play the piece correctly.

3. I'd try again, but I'd screw up again.

4. Her voice would become a little stern and she'd tell me to play it again.

5. I'd play it again, maybe even get it right this time, but then I'd screw up again. At that next screw up, I'd begin to be fearful. I believe she sensed it and got off on it.

6. She'd tell me to stand up, and then she'd slide back the piano bench about a foot behind, so I knew I could sit back down by simply stepping back and sitting or her simply sliding the bench back. (As I see it this was a form of torment. Either I play it right or that bench was going away, and here's what I mean.)

7. She'd then play the particular section I screwed up, but not in a gentle teaching way but, rather, in a frustrated with me sort of way. This caused the fear in me to only increase, making the pressure to play it right just that much stronger.

8. Of course I'd screw it up again. (I'm giving the bad example from here, as there was more bad than good, where the bad is what brings me here to the forum. But understand that there were times that things went well at this point, meaning I played it right, she'd slide back the bench, I'd sit, she'd be "caring and nurturing," and then we finished the lesson without incident.)

9. She'd pull the piano bench back, way back, and then stand behind me. She made this weird neck cracking noise and then banged out the particular section that I'd screwed up on the piano. She then tell (more like bark) me to play it again.

10. Literally terrified of what was to come, I'd screw up even parts I used to play without flaw. With this she'd fly into a rage and I knew Hell was about to be released.

11. The first thing she'd do was rip down my pants, leaving me to stand there with all clothing except my shoes and socks, from the waist down, at my ankles, almost like (if I really think about it, ankle cuffs -- I couldn't move much without losing balance and falling, unless I stretched my clothes tight.) Then I'd have to play it again.

12. I'd nine times out of ten start to cry. She'd tell me to dry it up and play, because I was (and I quote) a stubborn bullheaded mule.

13. I'd do okay, maybe screw up, but it didn't matter at this point, not really. For even the slightest mistake caused her to leave the living room. (Oops, I forgot to tell you where the piano was located. It was located just outside the living room.)

14. I'd really start to cry then, because I knew she was coming back with my black well-worn leather belt wrapped around her hand. It wasn't hanging down like for use but, rather, coiled in order to be handy, if it became necessary, if I screwed up again, if (as she often said/shouted) I deserved it.

15. Upon her return I'd have to play it again, and I was (remember I was six or seven then) terrified out of my mind. Of course I couldn't play it right.

16. She'd have me play the particular section over and over, striking me with the belt, fairly randomly aimed at my buttocks, every time I missed a note. In fact, sometimes even when I played it right I'd get struck, note by note. She'd beat me into playing it right. ...what's strange though is it actually would work sometimes. I would play it right. She'd praise me and things would seem to get better. (My mother was a sadist and loved to toy with my mind in these piano lessons.)

17. Let's say I screwed up again. She'd slam her forearm into the small of my back. Or she might smack the floor (linoleum) behind me with the belt. Then again, she might just throw me to the ground. Whatever happened, one thing happened for sure and without a doubt (this is the reason I said ritual before), within a few minutes I had all my clothes ripped from me and I was naked. (She tore quite a bit of my clothes, but if it wasn't bad, I'd still wear it. ...kids don't think about what they wear.)

18. I'd be thrown around, against walls, across the floor. Repeatedly this would happen. I remember having sore hands and wrists afterward from trying to catch myself so many times as I was slammed to the floor. And, of course, during all this, she was wildly swinging that belt and smashing it in the general area of my back, buttocks, and legs. I didn't dare face her, for she might slap my face, punch me in the stomach, or rain lashes across my torso. (Yes, this raging clearly mentally deranged woman may have taught your kid in a reputable school two days later! And you would have thought she was the greatest teacher your kid could ever have, for your kid would learn and you'd be proud to support her every move in teaching your kid. You wouldn't realize that she was a sexual sadist who very badly beat her own kids nearly every weekend. And, if you went to the same church -- my mother was very religious, and she taught in the school of the church -- you likely did some of the same yourself, because that's what you liked preached to you from a (as it turned out a few years back) child molester, as he slammed his fist on a specially constructed block on the side of the pulpit. (This is clearly why I shun religion to this day) and would tell stories of how he "chastised" his own kids. Oh his stories would be so funny to you, make it very easy for you to beat your kids. "Spare the rod and spoil the child." "If thou beatest him he will not die." That whole bunch in that church was a sick cult. However, I digress.)

19. Then, after a couple hours or perhaps a day of this (where I'd, of course, be blamed for wasting her day, like I could choose to do otherwise) I'd have to clean the black marks off the floor which was quite scuffed. (Remember, she'd rip off the clothes to commence the beatings, so I'd usually still have my cowboy boots on. I hated those things, because they left awful scuffs and were rather painful on my feet -- all my friends at school had sneakers, which means they could actually play football and run around the playground. I on the other hand ran in a clump clump clump type of fashion. She was teaching me to be different, even with my clothing.) To this day I cringe at the sight of a 409 bottle and a plastic rubber-banded scrubber "sponge." (That was a useless sponge. It was just wet plastic mesh.) For there I'd, naked, have to clean the marks from the floor. This is how I knew the beating was over.

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This is how I was raised. I was raised by a belt and beaten nearly every week. This is what my wife heard about before I was married. Nothing was hidden from her. I'd reasoned that if I was to marry (and I never in a million years thought I would, never), the woman I married would have to be, as I said, 99% sexually compatible.

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Anyway, continuing...

As you may have already guessed by now, after many months of telling her these things and we had (I'm not sure if this is the correct term) experimented with dominance and submission in our "dating," I finally one day (I remember it vividly) took the bold move and asked her if we were married would give me the [gulp, I can't believe I'm saying this] beatings I needed for the rest of my life. She told me she would. I wanted to make it perfectly clear before I took the leap. Did she really love me? I explained to her that, as best as I knew, I'd turned love totally on its head, that I needed beatings brutal beatings, and that she needed to agree. I told her that it was a must, basically spilled my guts laying my cards on the table, made sure she truly understood what I was saying. I do not lie when I tell you she and I had some amazing fun with domance and submission up till that point. We were so creative in finding ways to to beat me. It was so much fun. This was love if I was ever to find it. But still I had to speak with her just the same, just to make sure that we were indeed 99% sexually compatible.

She agreed and told me that, without a doubt, she would beat me for the rest of my life. That made me the happiest man in the world. I finally crossed the threshold and told her that I loved her. Then I dove off the cliff into the unknown and I asked her to marry me. I was indeed the happiest man in the world. We were two peas in a pod. We've since been married for fourteen years.

So at this point in this saga you may be wondering, so what's the problem?

The problem is I think she may have changed her mind a couple of years back, based on her body language, her responses. I'm now frustrated. And she doesn't talk about it which makes it worse. I love her dearly. But do I really? What is love? Is love me being willing to not ever be beaten again, to give up that one thing that has been with me (I haven't told you everything) since day one? Is that love? Is it that kind of sacrifice? Am I really selfish as my mother screamed at me all those years ago? Is it selfish to lay it all on the line before I took the leap? How do I cope with this?

Yes, I hate that my mother did those things to me, but only because of this conflict, not because I don't feel pleasure in thinking about what happened. I'm not kidding here. The idea of me being naked and welted at the feet of my wife's sweaty body and swinging leather strap hanging from her hand is , quite frankly, ecxtasy! But that means it can't be love, right? Do you see me yet? I was nothing short of euphoric when my (now) wife told me that she'd beat me for the rest of my life. But now she seems to have changed her mind.

I find that I have to initiate anything that transpires. My wife has such a fantasy life, in that she has played role playing games for years. She is nowadays version of a Dungeons and Dragons junky. But where she was so creative years ago (concerning our dominate and submissive sex), she is just shy of a different person. I really think her mind has changed. But I am in love with her! I am so frustrated. She does what I ask; she does beat me; but I feel her heart isn't in it; and then talking to her yields, largely, silence. I just don't know what to do. She seems to have changed her mind but I don't think she has gotten to the point of actually saying it to me.

Part of me says I'm putting too much pressure on her, that this is why she's gone cold, but compared to how things were, this is nothing! I just know I'm getting tired of this frustration. What the Sam Hill do I do?!

Ask me any question you wish and I will answer. I'm so hot for her but she's so cold. Despite her heavy fantasy leanings, she has, relatively speaking, no more fantasy life with me. I fantasize for her, but she responds seemingly from duty not from her heart. She just doesn't seem to like it any more. I'm beginning to wonder if divorce is my only option. I don't want to divorce -- I love her! But I hate this misery this continuous frustration I feel because she changed her mind after so many wonderful years.

Yes, I'm a masochist, sexually, not emotionally. She just doesn't get it anymore. We used to have so much fun, but she just isn't, so now I can't either. How is this fixed? Can it be fixed? Should I get therapy and try to lose this urge of mine just so I can end this frustration? I don't want to lose the urge! I want to lose the frustration with seeming like I'm begging her all the time, but that is all. What do I do? What would you do, assuming a single one of you out there can even relate at all?

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Oh well I'm done for now. I've said what I've come here to say. I hope coming here and saying all this will be of much more benefit than it is a mistake, but my wife will not talk about this and I so much need to talk to someone. She changed her mind somewhere along the line and now I'm miserable. And I am so tired of always initiating anything that transpires.

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Dean, I too have /had a "diffrent" sex life than most people. In my case things change. I have been married 20 yrs. And right now at this time in my life , I do not wish to engage in those "fantasies" But I have felt this way before and then changed my mind back.

My childhood was not near a drastic as your was... however I think I understand where you are coming from. That being all you know... Then that is all you know.....

Just wanted to respond and let you know I read everyword... I have no advice except to put things on hold right now... perhaps things will change in time...


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Well i have been told I have PTSD, Bipolar and a "touch" of schizo ( Whatever all that means.)

But as far as what we are talking about... Sex>>. I go through phases.. now I am female so it may be diffrent for you... sometimes I get tired of the rough stuff and just want to make "normal" love... want to be held kissed etc.. want to feel "safe".... So hubs will think I want to do what we normally do and I do not and sometimes it turns out bad.. because I fight the "dominate' stuff... Man .. I am I really talking about this??? It is OK.. i think I am "SAFE" here...

This does not happen often.. mostly Ilike things rough... but there are just times...

Suggestion... maybe your wife needs you to role play the big strong man everyonce in a while.... maybe her needs are changing and perhaps you all could take turns.. not saying she wants to be spanked or anything.. but maybe she needs you to be like "Fabio" sometimes... Romantic.. strong.. in charge??? Would you be willing to do that role play in order to keep her??? Not saying stop all the rest .. but maybe sometimes.. i think you love her...


OHHH>> SORRY... back to how I changed my mind back... my mind just changes... because I am a woman ??? Or just because.... it is not hardly ever that I do not want my Husband.. but I cannot express to him what I need at the time so I get angry......


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I think one our biggest problems is, even though I'm a man, and even though Hollywood says the opposite in any show or movie I've ever seen, I'm the communicator. I know she isn't sexually satisfied, because I've at least gotten her to sat that. However, frankly, when it comes to sex, the sexual, she just seems to avoid and certainly won't speak about it.

I want her to be satisfied, yet she seems to (in my eyes) do whatever is necessary, at just the right time, to make me want to not even try. Perhaps she is communicating. Perhaps her message is, in fact, quite clear. I just don't understand her, and as she doesn't communicate, it's frustrating.

About the best way I can describe it is that old Rolling Stones lyric:

"I'm so hot for her.

I'm so hot for her.

I'm so hot for her,

but she's so cold."

As far as attacking her, been there, done that. Each time I've tried that, she's fought me. She'd rather wrestle, litterally. She doesn't give in, ever, and if she's actually wanting me to over power her, she sure doesn't give that impression. She either does not communicate or I'm getting her message loud and clear. And then, when it comes to my stuff, she has maybe 10-20% of the drive she used to have.

At times I've thought maybe I'm trying too hard, so I back off. There's no change in response from her. I am a sexual creature. It gets very frustrating when I (I hate using absolutes, but) always have to ask her for anything. As far as the sexual goes, I'm satisfied, so long as I remove the emotional from the equation. Now, from what I've heard, most guys would think that was great, but I don't. I swear I'd advance on her, but I've done it so many times now and had her turn away that I wish I could lose interest, just to avoid the frustration.

I don't know what she wants. I know what I want, but I'm tired of doing the asking. As she does not communicate, how can I know what she wants? But I do know she isn't sexually satisfied, because I did get her to agree to that. It was basically me saying and asking, "I don't believe you are sexually satisfied. Is that true?" She said yes. So one would think that's the perfect opportunity to ask what she wanted. I did. I got no response. Perhaps if I made a list and had her check off the list?? I haven't tried that one yet...

Or would that be badgering her? It's just so frustrating. I'm a guy; therefore, I want to fix this.

Anyway, thanks for continuing this conversation. I'm not sure if I've said enough to get you the complete picture.

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  • 1 month later...

(I hope this post goes to the right place.)

Well, I'm back again, me and my messed up self. (I'm just so glad this place exists, so I can vent somehow.)

I've been burying myself in my work, and that has helped me "turn off" so to speak. (It's been how long since I posted here?) Well, it isn't working. It is a constant struggle. It gets so old. I have so much repressed longing.

Why did she change her mind?!! :mad::confused:

I wish we could come to some compromise. Yes, there are times when I just want to jump on her, but "normal" sex just doesn't appeal. The idea of going in and out in and out in and out... it's just not appealing. And it never has been. I have observed so many out there who think that that's great. But to me it's just boring.

When I have these urges I've spoken about, I do one of two things. Maybe it's the testosterone or whatever (I consider it a curse, but then I have little biology education also), but I've found that I can put the beast to rest if I just get the (as I see it) poison out of me. (Think about it, and you know what I said.) I either take care of it myself (and feel great but then feel foolish that I'm "fixing" myself again -- the curse!), or I ask her to, once again, do it again (and then wonder why.) She takes care of it, and I'm relieved, but it's still there this beast that wants to be fed; it just goes to sleep again for a while.

I'm an engineer by trade and fairly well educated, all about math, logic, and equations, hypotheses, theories, and laws. It's my engineering side that tells me, with respect to this problem, I'm like a machine. When I get these urges, I just dump the poison, and they go away for a time; the beast sleeps. However, the urges really are still there. So much I want my wife to beat me, just beat me, beat me, beat me. Today the urge was so strong when I woke up, I had to come here. I have a sexual mental problem, for sure, but I can shut it down as I've said, and I've done this over and over and over. I wish that I could change my mind, but then I say that only for her sake. The fact of the matter is I like it. Granted, I'm not 100% day in and day out always wanting a (I'm just going to say it) swollen brutally welted posterior, but I can say for a fact that I want to always be in a state of healing such that I'm beaten about every month to month and a half. Before this "I changed my mind" thing it was much more frequent. And that's the thing that may or may not be good.

This may be good in that maybe just maybe that drove her nuts. She doesn't have such a makeup, so she saw it as a chore. As a chore she did what everyone does with chores: dread them but do them. She did this so much that that she finally just stopped. I am the most selfish guy in the world for saying this but I want her to start again for me.

We had a discussion about it many weeks ago, and once again it was tough to get her to open up about it. I told her I thought I could learn to enjoy (those who understand will get this) vanilla, but I would need her help. Yes, that (no probably about it) was a selfish thing, but it is the truth! In and out in and out in and out just does not have nearly the same appeal. It's like there's this drug in me that I wish were gone, but it's only for her sake, not mine. No, for me I want (I told you I'm selfish) my wife to beat me, I figure, once every one to two months, at least. I figure that could be a good compromise: once every one to two months. Is that too much to ask? I don't think so. Plus, if she did it and did it good, maybe I'd be, eventually, too scared and not want it any more, that I would rather be like everybody else and just long for in out in out in out, that the poison would never return were she to put it in her mind that she'd cure me once and for all.

To this minute I'm scared to make such a pact with her, but not too scared to do it and maybe end this misery, put this beast to death, not just back to sleep. Maybe it's the fantasy in me, but here's what I'm currently thinking. I could write her a letter telling/requesting her to, unlike the past, no longer ever consider if I'm prepared. (That's another thing that may have turned her off, that she didn't know if I was ready to be beaten or not.) In other words, I'm suggesting trying something different, so different that maybe I'd reject the beast finally, and find that it wasn't for her sake anymore, that I'd finally be genuinely scared so much that my mind would change. You see it has always been the case that even though she held the implements (and this is the fact about S&M) that I stopped and then she stopped. Perhaps the cure to my illness is me wanting her to stop but her not stopping this time. She'd cure me, and yes, that scares me alot. But it's the logical side of me that says that she can't do it forever, as painful as it may be, and then in that unbearable push over the edge (and as I'm thinking) and the continual pushing still further I will finally be cured, where the cure will be cure by fear.

Now that I've said all that. If there is a psychotherapist or several out there I'd like to hear from you. Is my idea out to lunch? Is there validity in it? Yes, I'm scared (assuming she'd even go for it), but if it works, really works, I sure want to try it. I'm very frustrated over this beast in me, this beast that I allow to sleep. What I'm asking is could giving the beast such a shove, such a wake up call (as I see it now, removing the fear from the equation) actually cure me (reinserting the fear, kill the beast.) Have you ever heard of such a thing happening? Have you ever counseled anyone else, perhaps not with my particular fetish, where something comparable was done and they were cured? I am just inches away from trying this with her, writing this letter, but I don't want to try it unless it has a very real chance of working. Yes, I'll admit that this might just be the beast talking, but this beast that's talking is genuinely scared so it'd better have been shown to work. I'd look it up on the net if I could only think of how to do it. How does one search whether a cure hypothesis (see? that is how I think) could work? Or maybe I'm just too far gone and that it's been shone in the field of psychotherapy that this idea of doing the opposite of cold turkey (this is an addiction after all) never works and shouldn't be tried.

Please pardon any typoes, as I'm not going back to fix anything this time, for I haven't the time.

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I've been thinking it over, and the more and more I think about it, the more and more I'm thinking I don't even want to try an more, for I don't want to go through the hassle. I'm growing tired, weary of the pursuit. I am the way I am, and she is the way she is. I don't understand her, and she doesn't understand me.

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It was all about communication and the lack thereof.

I communicate what I'm feeling, but she does not. I took that as she was pushing me away. She wasn't. I just took it that way because that's all I had to go on. It's akin to the problem of the person who can't speak up in public, because it isn't in their nature. She finally explained to me (or maybe it's now that I finally heard her?) that she's just not a communicator. Hence, it's the exact opposite of how I was reading it, and it's been that way for some time now. She wasn't pushing me away at all; rather, she was just not opposing nor favoring. But in my way of seeing things, that's (to use a psych term) an anti-stroke. Yet in her way of seeing things, she didn't know what she should say. Frankly, she didn't understand that there was even a problem and was floored when I told her I loved her, wanted things to work, but I saw us drifting apart. And it was all because I didn't understand that she's just not a communicator like I am.

When she said she'd changed her mind (now it all gets much more clear) she was saying she was frustrated with me. Why was she frustrated with me? She doesn't initiate, doesn't want to initiate, and never did; yet, since I was looking for either a positive or negative response and never got either, my response to the "anti-stroke" was to push her harder to initiate, which she didn't want to do. This frustrated her so much that she changed her mind, figured it was better to not even try lest she'd fail again, which is how she was seeing herself.

Just to get things clear and make sure I was hearing correctly (for once!), I repeated back to her what I'd heard her say. But this time, unlike other times, I didn't wait for her verbal response. Instead, I continued on and said that from now on, based on this conversation, I would know that I was supposed to initiate and it was not that she didn't want to initiate, but she just couldn't. And that's when the breakthrough was made. She suddenly just radiated excitement and joy and within seconds was hugging/clutching/melding (with) me. (That's the best I can describe the moment. What a wonderful moment it was!) But, being the exact kind of person I am, I had to make sure what was happening. So I took a leap and said. (Paraphrasing) 'So I shouldn't wait for you to initiate next time I want to do whatever, that I should just do it -- and that includes the other also, that I should just hand you whatever and...?' That's when the indescribable moment mentioned above got topped! Boy am I stupid! To that she just laughed, and we both laughed together and held each other like we haven't for years. It was like this huge mass just slid off of our shoulders, hit the floor, and vanished into nothing. Problem solved. :(

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A few thoughts about your extended post "Frustrated Faithful Freak".

You describe yourself as submissive, but there is nothing passive about you. You know what you want, and you are going out of your way to demand it. I don't see that as paradoxical at all really, but I appreciate that some people might. I think what you need and want is simply contrary to what most people do, but you are just as active about pursuing it as another person might be about needing to have conventional sex.

You're telling a story about being abused by being dominated by your mother and the curious way that being vulnerable makes you excited. In the story (your literal history), you are forced to become naked in front of an audience while "performing". You describe how you feel ashamed just telling the story. But while I'm reading the story, I'm watching a man who is getting emotionally naked or vulnerable in front of a lot of strangers by choice. It is common to use a handle or nickname online in order to preserve privacy, and the site is set up to explicitly allow this. We never require a person's real identity. But you have chosen what looks to be your real name as your username. So this is curious too. In the story from the past, you are forced to be "inappropriately" naked (meaning that most people would agree that after a certain age, it is not approrpiate for a motehr to be forcing a boy to be naked in front of her) and then in the action in the present, you choose to become emotionally vulnerable in a public way. In the context of this community, this is not an inappropriate action, but I do find it interesting that you've chosen to talk about this in a way that you yourself are worried might backfire on you. I see both past and present actions as of a piece. There is something exciting or compelling for you about being vulnerable and this seems to be characteristic of how you operate perhaps across modalities.

The problem you're addressing is essentially, "my wife and I used to have this great compatible relationship, but now it doesn't seem so compatible anymore. What should I do". You'll notice that I'm not addressing the kink in this formulation of your issue. I don't think the kink is all that important in this context, frankly. This seems to me to be, fundamentally, a relationship issue.

More specifically, the issue has to do with the nature of love and how much compromise a person ought to offer their partner before deciding to leave them for greener pastures. I don't think love is something you can measure in a binary fashion on/off. It is more like a wave. Sometimes it's intense, sometimes not so much. It can wax and wane. Sometimes you might not feel it. At its root, I don't think it is different than friendship - a deep friendship to be sure - but not something different fundamentally. So maybe the question is: Do you still fundamentally like your wife? If you've been together for over a decade and for most of that time things have been good, and things are still pretty good except for this sexual kink thing, then you have to ask yourself, what is the value of the companionship and friendship aspects of the relationship vs. the purely getting off parts of it. Different people will answer this question differently - there isn't a right answer that fits everyone.

It might be helpful in trying to address this question about the value of companionship vs. getting off to frame it differently than you have. In the present scenario, you've got this idea that your wife has lost interest in beating the crap out of you. Like it is a voluntary thing. But what if the thing that was interfering with your sex life was involuntary in a clear and uncontravertible way? What if, for instance, your wife had become chronically ill with, let's say, cancer, and was just feeling sick and unsexy all the time from the medication treatments. That would similarly interfer with your sex life, but in a way that would probably provoke more compassion from you. You might still have the selfish thought "I want to get off" but you'd feel more guilty about allying yourself with that sentiment.

I'm not putting down selfish thoughts, by the way. It isn't possible to have a healthy sex life of any variety (or a healthy life for that matter) without having a few of them. It's all in the balance. If you are mostly selfish in the way you think about your relationships, you end up being a narcissist (or, in my wife's diagnosis, "a jerk") and that's not any fun for anyone. If you are all about giving to the other person and delaying your own gratification, well, then that is an invitation for people to take advantage of you, and that still isn't any fun. I think it is entirely unrealistic to believe that any single individual can satisfy your every need. If you want to be in a relationship, you will have to compromise. The thing about it is deciding what things you can compromise about and what things you can't. Often the best compromises are ones in which both parties feel robbed; when both people are feeling like they aren't getting all they wanted, then both parties can be happy about it - at least it is fair - and move on. Maybe your wife doesn't really have to "mean it" when she beats you so long as she is still willing to go through the motions. Or, maybe you fundamentally just cannot accept that, and at that point you have to think about leaving. it's selfish sure, and a sign that you don't love her as much as you maybe thought you did (or maybe put better, love was not enough, given the enormous need you have to be beaten by someone who really wants to give it to you), but if that is ultimately how you feel, then it can be sometimes best to just own up to it and go about finding the next thing. Or not. Some people decide that even though they really need to be beaten (or their own equivalent thing that they can no longer get within the relationship) they will still stay, becuase they want to think of themselves as someone who isn't a quiter, or who is a good person, or something on that theme.

The "getting the poison out" coping stratagy (e.g., having an orgasm so that you don't have to feel sexually compulsive for a while) is a good way to delay the urgency of this problem, but not a good way to solve it. It's not a long term solution, but I agree it is useful for dulling the urgency.

Perhaps the cure to my illness is me wanting her to stop but her not stopping this time.

In this post from 1/25/2009, you are wondering if maybe you could be cured of your submissive kink by no longer having control over it. In the past, you've been beaten, but remain ultimately in control, being able to cue your wife when to stop. You tell her to stop and then she does. You are wondering if you might be cured of the submissive urge by having her not stop beating you and disregard your cues for her to stop. In a separate thread, you have asked about whether there are ways to do psychology research and I didn't understand what you were really asking about, but now I do. This sort of idea is actually very old in psychotherapy research. It's called aversive conditioning and it has been explored within the behavioral psychotherapy framework (not the cognitive-behavioral, but the behavioral; they're different). You still see examples of this sort of approach in some smoking programs that urge people to do "rapid smoking" (e.g., where you smoke cigarettes continuously until you fall over sick and nauseous. My understanding of the research suggests that this sort of thing works for some people and not for others. On that account, I have no idea if aversive conditioning would help you overcome the need to be beaten. I would not recommend it as this beating doesn't seem to be significantly harmful to you, and you remain in control and safe more or less. You like the excitement of it, but the actual injury you're sustaining appears to be quite mild. I don't see you having your wife slash you with razors, for instance (which is a common way people self-injure will harm themselves). You're not really into self-injury is what I'm saying, and therefore I don't see the harm, and why recapitulate the early abuse in a format you cannot control? That would be just abusive!

Finally, your post of 1/27/2009 in which the problem gets "solved". You realize that this has all been a communication problem, really a problem of expecting somethign from your partner that she cannot (can't easily) give you. Your expectations have been wrong, and they have not had a chance to get updated becuase you have not communicated clearly. But then you lay it out, first here on the community forums, and then in communication with your wife, and you see that you've been asking her for something she is hesitant to offer, take charge of initiating, and that takes a weight off of her shoulders.

Again, curious to me is the theme of how you are very active and in control of the relationship despite your need to be dominated. You are actually the dominant partner in this relationship, the way you describe it. You only appear to be the submissive partner. Which is completely fine and normal, actually, as I think about it.

I hope that this rapport you've reconnected to stays solid for a long time. Relationships are really a lot of work. We only stay in them because the alternative is worse. :D

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True, I'm not passive most of the time. A lot of the time I can't be. Playing the submissive is a way to release the tension that I've built up -- it lets me escape.

Yes, some vulnerability does excite me. However, with respect to this forum, I've not been as open as I could've been. Rather, I was telling enough of my story that those who could relate would, and those who couldn't would (frankly) run off. I wanted to speak with people who (might) relate. Particularly, I wanted to speak with a person (or persons) educated in the field of psychology.

As to backfiring, I'm not concerned who knows what I went through or even who I am; rather, what I'm concerned about is those people treating me in a different manner after finding out. Does that make sense? For example, in another thread I've participated in, you'll find that I'm a fan of living naked. It would not bother me in the least being naked in front of anyone; rather, I just wouldn't want it held against me, wouldn't want whomever saw me to treat me differently after seeing me naked. I'll tell the world I was abused and now like to be abused in certain ways. We all have our quirks, even you. I am no different.

I agree, love is not a binary thing. If it were, it'd make more sense. I know my definition of love, though not 100% undefined, is based on the way I was raised. It is my thought that (I figured out the age span the other day) learning about love the way I did from three to twelve likely made me the way I am, why I easily associate sex and pain. Straight up, my mother screwed me up big time. (I only told enough, not all. I'm screwed up and I know it.) I'm just thankful I found a woman who not necessarily relates but supports. Moreover, I love my wife more than my kink. However, that's not to say that if I left it behind that I wouldn't think of it, at least for some time thereafter. It's etched into my (if this is the correct term) psyche.

As far as "meaning it" goes, no, it's just about the pain for the most part. It's beating for the sake of beating. For example, I will do it to myself (you missed it there, but that's ok), but it's not the same -- it makes my upper arm hurt and the coverage is lacking as I'm not all that ambidextrous. I've even considered designing a machine to accomplish the task on occasion. Yes, I know it's strange, but it's me. It's about endurance and, of course, the results. The best I can figure is that when I was getting it from my mother my brain got twisted into (I don't know how to say it) grading/analyzing my beatings. (There are the stories out there of looking in the mirror. That's me.) If there aren't (jumping to the present) fairly balanced welts, broken blood vessels, and the results don't remain for a bit, then it frustrates. That's a difficult result to attain solo. See? I don't care who knows what, as long as it isn't used against me. Yes, I'm probably a little more twisted than most, but as I said, each has his or her own quirks. I am no different. Plus, it's my rear end being abused/stimulated.

About "a quitter." I have no problem with quitting when I've run out of feasible alternatives to try.

Yes, I agree that masturbation doesn't solve the problem, but I also have no guarantee that there is a solution. I just know I can control myself, tell nature to split for a while. A sex drive is one of those good-bad things. It's an annoyance, but it's good also. I've found that getting rid of the poison returns the balance when the sex drive becomes overpowering.


As a side note there, philosophically I see myself much as a machine that got dumped on the planet not by choice. So much I don't belong here (these days at least.) Simply, I do stuff. I like the way House (I like that show) said it. (Paraphrasing) 'We trick ourselves into being happy as much as we can each day.' I'm a machine, a collection of biological systems, and one of the systems is the reproductive system. Hence, when it gets annoying, I chuckle (or do other things as I feel motivated) and dump the poison, until next time comes around. I trick myself every day, by doing stuff, to not actually think about my machine-existence. However, as I eluded to, I'm thinking much of my machine existence way of looking at life has much to do with the way I don't feel like I belong today.

The motivations of others just don't seem to motivate me the same way. For example, sex, the in-out in-out until I'm stimulated enough to ejaculate, isn't motivational, at least not how I've observed is the case for many. To me they just haven't realized you can dump the poison and move on. Or take sports. What do I care? It's bread and circuses to keep us from (remember that Network flick?) opening the windows, sticking our heads out and shouting at the top of our lungs, "I'm mad as Hell, and I'm not going to take this any more!" It's like my wish (on another thread) that everyone would go naked one day. We are so hung up on clothes. It's so funny, because we are all the same. What are we really hiding, really? We get so hung up on the stupidest things, but yet are totally oblivious to what actually runs our lives. No, I'm not saying my approach to it all is right; rather, it's just my approach. I didn't ask to be here. I just am and I put up with it.



With respect to the desire to research, yep, you nailed it. I won't want to get beaten if I fear it. At one time I did, many many years ago. I was terrified of my mother, never knew what she was thinking, never knew if the act that passed yesterday fails today or failed yesterday but would pass today. Eventually that terror developed into hatred, and that's what pulled me out. I fought back one day, and the hatred was born. For example, I was contacted by phone back in, I think 2002, and told my mother was dying. They tell me she'd cried for me to be there at her bedside. Instead, all I could think about was revenge. (Yep, I have deep issues. I'm sure you're stunned.) But I genuinely left home hating the woman at seventeen. There is no forgiveness for what she did. Although, I did open that door once, several years after I'd been away. We were in the car and conversing and the topic went there. She showed no remorse, still didn't see that what she'd done was wrong. From the best I can tell from the guilt that some of the attendees have tried to get me to feel, she died in tears. Perhaps this is where some of my desires come from, from my subconscious guilt for doing that. If that's indeed the case, I say woo hoo! At least I'm enjoying it this time.

(I had to stick in a paragraph.) However, that's why I say what I said concerning a cure. Perhaps the cure, for me at least, would be to relearn the fear again. It'd be an agreement, a scary written (documented!) agreement. I'll admit it turns me on thinking about it, but yet it actually does scare me too. This is why I wanted to research it, first. I realize that no matter how turned on I am, pain is pain and I'm not impervious to it -- I've experienced my limit several times -- it does exist. That's when the limit will be exceeded. But it'll finally stop. Over time, the memory will fade. Then, one day, I'll be yearning again. (Remember, I'm the initiator.) All will be going great but then out will come the dreadful agreement again, the agreement that will say something like from this day forward it is understood that when I ask to be beaten I will be beaten. I'm thinking that after several cycles of this "relearning" I'll prefer the pleasure of sex and reject the pain I once thought was good. But I'd really like to check out the research in comparable therapies, first. Why? Because this would be a scary move, a very scary move. You said it yourself. I'm not really a submissive, not really.

(continued in next)

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(I'm scrolling down to reread your various points and then scrolling up to address them.)

No, we're not talking about razors and the like. That's cheating. (I'm reminded of once my mother during a beating telling me (since she saw it as my fault I was being beaten), "see? Now you're bloody." There were no razors or other such cheats. No, that was well used leather. I distinctly remember standing naked, bent 180 degrees at the waist, knees locked, her touching me, and then putting her blood stained fingers up to my floor-facing eyes. Yes, you could say I have issues. But are you getting a feel for why yet?) The instrument in question is a heavy leather strap. In other words, we aren't talking about one of those belts you get in the mall. No, this is a heavy leather strap; it's no nonsense. The more it's used the worse it gets. (I've read these websites where they talk about safety and wrap-around. If it wasn't safe I'd have been badly injured (physically that is) way back when. No, it just hurts like a...) This is why I have real hope in this cure. I feel the fear even now just thinking of it. But let me add here, before ending this section lest you be alarmed, safety is a high priority at all times -- I can be safely pushed to the limit and beyond. The strap is the best -- all else is a cheat.

(At this point I'm suspecting you're now much more in tune with where I'm coming from. Also, now you might be seeing why I was concerned about backfire from the beginning. I have no problem with anyone knowing; I just don't want it to change their interaction with me upon learning it. I'm thinking that I'm not your average psych visit. However, I don't really say that in boast. I wish I were, for I'd have had more participation in this thread than I've had. No, I suspect that things went as I'd intended. People read and then took off. I'm happy you responded. See? I'm still a machine: stimulus and response.)

Yes, I can see it isn't natural to want to beat another person. (Remember what I said about not belonging here. People will actually spend hours watching people yell at each other and beat each other up in a ring. And get this!... I happened across one of these "wrestling matches" one day where this one guy was beating this other guy with a leather belt he'd removed from his pants. The crowd was going absolutely nuts! They were loving it! They'd have loved my house when I was growing up. No, I don't belong.) I feel no such compulsion, so why should I expect her to enjoy it? My mother was messed up, for she clearly enjoyed beating me, and got off on it. Otherwise, why was it that I was naked for the majority of the beatings? Then, now that I think about it, I can think of only a time or two when my rear wasn't bare when I wasn't naked. I tell you no lie when I say that I was beaten roughly every two to three weeks throughout my whole childhood. No, when I say beaten I don't mean being thrown around, such as I explained with the piano situation; I wasn't always thrown around. No, I'm just talking about being beaten with leather on a regular basis. I never had a black eye or a broken bone like you might see in a movie about child abuse.

So now that I've responded with more about myself to you, how about you tell me a little for a moment? Specifically, I'd like to know if you have ever had a case like mine? I'd like it if you did, for then I'd know others out there could relate. However, I'm thinking you haven't, for I would have heard from them by now as long as this thread has been up.

Please pardon any typoes. I don't feel like going back through and fixing them.

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