I received an interesting comment on my chastity post. There’s a lot wrong with the guy’s mindset to begin with, but he was polite and respectful in his questions, and he’s not the first guy to ask these specific questions, so I decided to answer them in a post of their own.
His comment will be heavily edited because a) it’s long, and we all know not-rambling isn’t one of my strengths, and I’m trying to condense things a bit, and b) he asks a lot of questions about someone else’s relationship, which I am not going to answer because I’m not in that relationship.
But here’s the thing with relationships that you read about online
Assume it’s all 100% bullshit.
I don’t outright lie about my relationships, because this blog is as much for me as for my readers, and also because part of my motivations for the blog are education. Educating people about the ins and outs of a Femdom relationship doesn’t work if I’m not honest about the relationship.
But I’m writing a story for strangers. I’m also protecting the identities of myself, my boys, and my family. I’ve added details that are untrue. I might reference a hair color or eye color or a tattoo that doesn’t exist. I might say something happened this week, when it happened a month ago. I might focus on certain details and gloss over others.
In other words, no one who reads this blog gets a 100% accurate picture of my relationships, even with me being committed to being truthful. Because my commitments to my boys and my daughter take priority.
Rape and murder threats are a common occurrence. You think the vermin who threaten and stalk me show restraint when it comes to extending those same threats to my 9-year-old daughter?
Hell no. This is the internet and people are crazy.
I will lie out my ass without regret.
But even without that, you’re only getting my side of things. And you’re getting the summation of the fun and exciting things that happen.
You’re not necessarily getting the hours of discussion and negotiation and talks about boundaries and limitations before the fun and exciting things happen.
The descriptions you read online are the fantasy. They’re not reality. So you have to take them with a big grain of salt.
Just because a woman comes online and describes her relationship doesn’t mean that she’s telling the whole truth. She may embellish things or change things, just like I do. She may leave out the negotiation and discussion, just like I do.
Do you have any idea how many giant wall-o-text descriptions of relationships I get in a week? It’s all fantasy. It’s not real.
Stop assuming it’s real.
Let’s get in to this comment.
Someone also said chastity makes men respect women. And if a woman wears a thong, he knows not to objectify.
Respectfully if a woman wears a thong, I’m going to look at her ass. She wants me to. I’m not going to stare, or catcall, start to masturbate, or any of that nonsense.
Mkay first of all, generalizing to this extent is problematic.
Yes, someone may have said chastity makes men respect women. I’ve heard that before, some people do say that.
Some people also say the planet is like 10,000 years old and humanity got its literal start as it’s described in the Bible.
Someone saying something doesn’t make it true.
Chastity does have an effect on a man’s mindset, especially over time
But it doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t create respect in a man who doesn’t respect women.
You can’t coerce respect out of someone. It’s one of those things that must be freely given.
Also, if I wear a thong, it’s because I want you to look at my ass?
Oh, sweetheart. That’s adorable.
Are there some women who wear revealing clothing so that men will look at them?
I mean, I assume there must be. There are a few billion of us, after all.
I’ve never met one in person though.
Because I mean, you do realize we still exist even when you’re not around, right? You think we all just stop caring about how we look when we’re only surrounded by women?
You think we only want to look sexy for you?
No, precious. We don’t give a shit about what you think.
Many of us do it for ourselves.
You want to know why I put effort into my appearance? Why I like looking sexy? I’ll tell you.
It’s so that, when I’m out somewhere, I can catch a glimpse of my reflection in a window or mirror and think to myself, “… nice.“
That’s it. End of list.
If others also think I look sexy, that’s cool. If my boys think I look good, that’s a bonus. I like looking good for them because I care about what they think.
Random stranger I’ve never met? I don’t give two shits about him. He’s like lawn furniture. I don’t even see him.
And as it happens, Kazander and Sounder have both repeatedly had to tell me how people around me react to me.
I don’t notice because I don’t care.
Now of course, I’m one woman and there are a few billion of us. Not all of us look sexy for ourselves.
But most women who dress up for others still aren’t doing it for you, except in a very few specific situations (for example, I dress a specific way when I go to sex clubs and swingers clubs).
They aren’t doing it for you. They’re doing it for other women.
I mean, guys. Obviously.
Y’all can’t tell the difference between cool red and warm red. Y’all think Angelina Jolie has a “natural” look.
If I want to look good for any given man taken at random, you know what I need?
I need a low-cut shirt and tight jeans. And I probably need to have taken a shower at some point in the past week.
I mean, that’s not a particularly high bar, you know? It doesn’t exactly take effort.
Now women, on the other hand, are harder to please.
I can wear a tight, low-cut dress and a random guy will think I’m hot.
A random woman might think the dress is too short. Too tight. She might think it’s cut in a way that doesn’t flatter my body. She might think it’s too revealing, that I’ve gone from “sexy” to “trashy.”
She might think my eyeshadow is uneven, or that the color of my lipstick doesn’t match my skintone. She might think my hair is too faded, or the style doesn’t match the rest of my outfit.
You don’t see any of that. You see a thong and think she’s wearing it for you.
She doesn’t give a shit about you. She gives a shit about other women. Not you.
And this is one of my pet peeves with men, one of those cultural annoyances that haven’t died off yet.
There’s this mindset that many men (not all, again, generalities are tough when you’re talking about billions of people) have this unconscious assumption that the women around you are there for you.
That we look good for you. That we’ve dressed a specific way for you.
And dump that bullshit now. You are nothing, and we don’t care about you until you give us a reason to care about you.
Don’t like it? How about you grow a pair and start standing up to other men and start policing yourselves. Stop drowning us in your hormones every time we step out of the house.
Stop throwing yourselves at my feet and maybe your approval will mean something to me.
Maybe, if I could enjoy a drink at a bar by myself, without some random dude rubbing up on me like his dick will pay my rent, I might care about how you think I look.
But they don’t give out awards for being the 8th guy today to tell me how hot I am. And at some point, goddammit, I’m allowed to be irritated at all the adoring gerbils gathered at my feet.
I mean, think about that for a second. Here’s a visualization exercise for you.
Picture Terry Crews. The Rock. Jason Mamoa. Someone huge and muscular.
Imagine literally never being able to go to a random, regular bar by yourself without a man that size checking out your ass, or hitting on you.
Even if he immediately backs off when you turn him down, that’s not a comfortable image, is it? If it happens multiple times every time you leave the house, how long would it take before you just stop caring about literally everyone like him?
I cannot go to a bar by myself unless I’m willing to deal with that.
I’ve had a guy hit on me at like 7am, when I was walking my dog wearing the frumpiest of sweat pants and an old stretched-out Tshirt.
No. Your opinion means nothing to me.
If a guy stops me on the street to compliment my jeans, it’s because I have a pulse and a warm, wet hole that he wants to stick his dick in.
If a woman stops me on the street to compliment my jeans, it’s because I’m looking damn good in them.
So fuck off, mkay. We don’t care about you. We don’t do jack shit for you. That entitlement is stupid and we want you to knock it off.
We clear? Still on the same page? Outstanding, next:
If a man needs chastity to “correct” some issue; not respecting women, masturbating, (perfectly healthy, by the way) or cheating, then this is a huge red flag not to do it. Chastity is a kink, nothing more.
You’re right. Chastity probably shouldn’t be used to fix anything (I hesitate to use absolutes here because, once again, generalities, billions of people, etc. Keep that in mind for every statement I make in this post, so I don’t have to keep writing it out).
There’s something here that caught my eye, though. You said chastity is a kink, nothing more.
Which may be true. For you.
It’s not true for me. For me, it’s a lifestyle. It doesn’t end when sex ends. Its nature isn’t exclusively sexual.
I am not you. I exist as a complete and whole human being, outside of your perception of the world.
My boys exist as whole and complete human beings, outside of your perception. They do not exist as reflections of you.
Presenting personal conclusions as universal truth is problematic.
But also, why did you feel you had to go out of your way to assert that masturbating is healthy?
That’s one of those flagged statements. There’s definitely some entitlement there.
Which, normally, is a great thing. If you haven’t agreed to give up that autonomy, you should feel entitled to do what you want with your body, when and how you want to do it (within reason, you can’t go out and start vigorously masturbating in the middle of Target).
But men interested in chastity have agreed to give up that autonomy. They are no longer entitled to do what they want, when they want. They’ve chosen to give that up.
If you don’t want to give up that autonomy, then don’t. Simple as that.
Also, If you insist on constant oral servitude, worship, obedience to your will, but give him nothing but frustration in return, isn’t this very unfair?
Yep. Welcome to Femdom. Moving on.
Won’t this take a normal man, or at least a stable functioning partner, and make him a slave, weakling, wimp, sissy, etc. – what I mean is less of a man. If you destroy his manhood, than when you want or need the “Man”, to work, to make love, to defend you, If there are times when some semblance of confidence or spine is needed, the “Man” won’t be there anymore.
Well, I mean, of course. We all know that working, defending, having a spine, and being a stable functioning partner are attributes exclusive to men, and what’s more, exclusive to a specific kind of Man™.
We also know that Manhood™ is defined as a narrow set of traits and behaviors and methods of expression, and if a Man™ possesses even one trait or behavior or desire that falls outside of that set, then the entirety of his Manhood™ is completely invalidated.
It’s because masculinity is fragile, and brittle, and external, you see.
Easily broken. Easily taken away.
It’s a finite, shared resource, that must be hoarded, jealously guarded, and protected. Because it’s shared, the mere existence of a slave, weakling, wimp, sissy, etc. threatens the masculinity of all men.
I mean, dude. Do you have any idea how stupid you sound? I’m asking honestly.
Manhood isn’t a concrete, finite thing, mkay. And y’all’s continued insistence that your masculinity is weak enough to be shattered by literally anything outside of your narrow definition makes you look like idiots.
So, because I’m in a good mood, I’ll help you out.
First, broaden your definition of manhood, because dear god, dude. You must know how utterly pathetic the current definition is.
I mean, a man isn’t a Real Man™ if he exhibits all the traits and behaviors you deem acceptable, but also happens to like fruity cocktails?
He’s not a Real Man™ if he is assertive, dominant, protective, and a natural provider, but also happens to like being pegged?
Well what if a man is driven, ambitious, a good provider, a great lover, and protective of his family, but isn’t very confident?
What if a man seems really aggressive and confident, but hits his wife and kids?
What if a man loves being a father and chooses not to take a big promotion because it would require long hours, and he’d rather go to his daughter’s ballet recital and watch his son’s baseball game? Is he not a Real Man™ if he doesn’t financially support his family?
I mean, want me to keep going? The existence of one thing that doesn’t fit your definition is enough to invalidate his entire identity?
Why fight to remove our chains, when we can simply compare their lengths? Why step outside the box when the box has these badass flame decals on it? We men are cigarettes; dangerous, and poisonous, and stupid.Guante
You see that as a sign of strength?
My god, dude.
And you wonder why women don’t give a shit about you. You wonder why we literally laugh at you when you’re not around.
It’s pathetic. It’s not worthy of my respect.
And as far as making love, what? You think I want a cookie-cutter clone whose idea of “switching things up” is reverse cowgirl?
Sure, I’ll use those guys when I want that particular itch scratched, but I don’t give a shit about them. I don’t want to know anything about them. I don’t even want to know their names.
I don’t care. He’s a dildo with a pulse. I bend over and take my pleasure while he does his little-engine-that-could thing back there, and then I want him to leave.
Because it’s boring. He is boring.
I can go to any club or bar and find ten guys exactly like him. Unoriginal, interchangeable, and ultimately disposable.
There’s not a single thing he can offer me that I can’t get from a battery.
Now, take Sounder, for example.
True, he can’t bend me over and do his own little-engine-that-could thing. But holy hell, why would I want him to?
I mean, I can make a text message conversation intense enough to fluster him at work. I can change his entire headspace with a handful of sentences. I can see parts of him that no one else has ever seen.
I push him hard, and he trusts me with his body, his mind, his safety, his very identity. He chooses to follow me down paths I never thought I’d be able to explore, and he can let go and enjoy the ride because he trusts that I’ll keep him safe.
And my trust, my faith in him, is absolute. He could tell me the sky is green and I’d believe him.
And the same goes for Kazander.
Kazander is a devoted father and a loving husband. We don’t lie to each other, we have no secrets, and there is nothing we cannot talk about.
We’ve been through good times and hard times. We’ve made mistakes, we’ve hurt each other, we’ve healed each other, and we’re still here. There’s nothing I don’t know about him. There’s no part of him I haven’t seen.
That kind of intimacy, that kind of trust, means something.
Why would I want some grunting caveman when I can have Sounder tied up and trembling, his body open and vulnerable for me?
Why would I want some dudebro’s mediocre spastic thrusting when I can bring Kazander to his knees with nothing but a look, and make him beg me to hurt him?
You can’t get that from a battery.
Now, do Kazander and Sounder fit your definition of a “Real Man?”
No, they don’t.
But I have a sneaking suspicion I don’t fit your definition of a “real woman,” so it makes sense that I wouldn’t be interested in your definition of a Real Man™.
Because Real Men™ are pitiful.
I feel sorry for them. They’re scared, and lonely, and hurting, and dangerous.
But confidence is hot, dude. A man who is confident enough to drink a fruity cocktail or admit that a puppy is cute or cry in public is a hell of a lot hotter than the children running around, too terrified of what Real Men™ might think of them.
A man who can unapologetically admit that he wants to be bent over and fucked like a bitch in heat is a hell of a lot hotter than the scared, repressed… thing… who pushes those desires down beneath a mountain of warped denial, self-hatred, and resentment.
Nah, dude. That kind of emotional constipation may have been okay for our mothers, but only because they didn’t have a choice.
Hell, look at my own parents. My dad was the posterchild for Real Men™.
And because I’ve been told I have the emotional range of a goldfish, we got along, but I never knew what he actually felt for me, and because of that, I got blindsided by a pretty nasty surprise after he died.
And that’s what fatherhood means to me. Emotional emptiness, blank stoicism, and lies.
I had tons of issues with my mom, but you wanna guess how many times she confided to me how lonely it was living with the emotional equivalent of a pet rock?
No emotional intimacy. No emotional vulnerability. It’s all skin-deep, nothing real, nothing true.
The only emotion I’d ever seen him show, in 30 years, was anger.
When my parents found out I wasn’t a virgin, he walked out. My mom said, “he can’t even look at you right now.”
I felt ashamed. Dirty. Like I’d lost value to him. Like I’d done something wrong.
Like I was now less, in his eyes.
My father. The first and primary example I was given of manhood.
But it’s totally exclusively my fault for having to untangle myself from my Daddy issues. Because being raised by an emotionally stunted, egotistical coward is just a totally normal thing. More than that, those lonely, terrified cowards are lauded by people like you.
You think that’s a good thing.
Ugh, no. No one wants to live like that.
But that’s not even all there is to it.
My mom didn’t agree with me being poly. She always had shit to say, until finally, I pointed something out when my daughter was a year or two old.
She kept insisting that the man must be in charge, because that’s “natural” and “right,” and monogamy was the only acceptable lifestyle.
“Mom, it just doesn’t work. Not for me.”
“It worked for me and your dad for 30 years.”
I laughed. “Wait, no, it didn’t. You know it didn’t.”
“We’re still together.” (They were both still alive at this point)
I looked at her. “So you’d want your granddaughter to have a marriage just like yours?”
Silence. And interestingly enough, she never had anything to say about my relationships again.
And I mean, she was far from the only one like her. And does that tell you anything?
My mom thought my dad was a Real Man™. But there was no one she loved more than my daughter, and what was her reaction to the idea of my daughter ending up with a Real Man™?
Even better, want to take a guess at my father-in-law’s reaction to the idea of my daughter dating a Real Man?
I even had to have a conversation with Kazander about how he is and is not allowed to react when the spawn loses her virginity. Wanna take a guess what reaction he has to hide when it comes to the idea of his daughter having sex with a Real Man?
I mean, does that tell you anything? You don’t even like Real Men. You don’t trust them. You don’t want them around. You see them as villains and thieves. You see them as a threat.
Why do you devote so much of yourselves to being something you hate?
We have never wanted that. You decided it was normal and women like my mom just didn’t know any better.
I do know better. And that expression of manhood is pathetic.
It’s small. And weak. And sad.
And lonely, not just for the women you inflict yourselves on, but for you, as well.
I can’t imagine what it must feel like to live so isolated, under all that fear. Feeling like you can’t be who you are for fear of someone thinking you’re less of a man.
No. That’s not what anyone wants.
Not even you.
Long-term chastity seems to make the woman inevitably more dominant and the man inevitably more submissive and pitiful. Is this what was wanted at the outset.
In relationships that employ long-term chastity, the woman is already the more dominant partner. Chastity doesn’t create that, it’s just another way to express it.
I won’t even enter into a relationship with a man unless he’s submissive. You think he’s pitiful, I think he’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.
Different definitions, remember?
You get married with an expectation of happy equality and mutual love and reciprocity, right?
You get married with that expectation. Equality is not something anyone in a relationship with me expects. Happiness, mutual love, and reciprocity, yes. Equality, no.
I am in charge. If you don’t like it, don’t be in a relationship with me. Problem solved.
But if you enter into kink play that you imagine is safe, sane, consensual, and TEMPORARY and wind up being forced into chastity against hiw will isn’t this a breaking of the marriage contract? Is it ethical to do this to a man, even if you slowly indocrinate him into long term chastity? Shouldn’t he have a say, a safeword, a way out short of divorce?
Lying is wrong, regardless of whether you throw BDSM into the mix. Abuse is wrong regardless of whether chastity is involved.
Changing someone’s mindset or behavior is a slow, gradual process that must be discussed beforehand, and a way out, an ability to reverse the effects, must be available as long as possible. It’s also dependent on a willingness in the man.
You can’t just slap a cage on a reluctant man and expect him to willingly allow you to fuck with his head. It doesn’t really work like that. That’s fantasy, not reality.
And a Prince Albert? I hope that no woman would force it on a man, or even suggest it without a serious and honest discussion where the man has total say in the matter.
I mean, if it helps you sleep at night, go ahead and keep hoping that.
FLRs, woman as complete ruler, long tern chastity, forced feminization, cuckolding, they all strike me as cruel and very abusive unless the man really, really, likes it.
… unless the man really, really, likes it.
There you go. Congratulations, you just answered all your own questions. You took the scenic route, but you got there in the end.
I’ve never forced a man to be with me. I’ve never forced a man to do anything he didn’t want to do, outside of previously-agreed upon boundaries, and everyone I play with always has the right to tell me when something is wrong.
Every man who plays with me does it because he wants to. My boys are with me because they want to be with me. Because they really, really like what I do.
You may not like it, and that’s fine, you don’t have to. The world is big enough for us both.
But you’ve got a lot of crap you need to sort out in yourself before you can look at stuff like this with any hope of being able to grasp it.
Chastity and its effects are like calculus, while you’re operating under the assumption that 2+2=3. You’re missing a few pieces here. And you just won’t be able to understand a hefty chunk of any of this until you go back to the basics of interpersonal relationships and fix what you’ve got twisted up.
You’ve got to untangle yourself from all that crap before you can jump into something like chastity.