So, lately I’ve been barraged with info on the Little Girl or Baby Girl model of D/s. I’ve been teased and accused of it. Dear friends write about it with descriptions I can relate to in some cases. Yet I staunchly resist such appellations.
Mind you, I don’t really care that anyone else likes this “dynamic.” To each her own. Whatever works, whatever rings your chime… go for it. Most of us who have been pursuing this lifestyle of D/s for a while are far beyond the “labels.” We just know it works for us.
The personal problem for me is the word/concept “Daddy.” My husband will never ever be my “Daddy.” I can’t regard him in this way, I can’t call him that name, and he wouldn’t go for it either. That’s just us. A lot I will admit is my own incredibly, awfully F-upped relationship with my own abusive father. A man who insisted we call him Daddy while he was emotionally and physically abusing us. Sometime in my 20s, I realized how ludicrous it was to continue speaking this tender, loving honorific to a man who did not deserve it. Daddy inferred that he had taken care of me and loved me dearly. I began calling him “Dad.” After all, he called his own father “Dad” or “Pop” (the latter of these I felt sounded a little coarse) as he would verbally abuse him. Dad, or Daddy, was a bully, pure and simple.
I do get the tenderness in that name “Daddy.” It connotes someone who loves and cares for another person sacrificially, tenderly, protectively. In The South, it’s not uncommon for women to call their husbands this. DH is a wonderful Daddy to our kids. The girls who are near 20 will still call him that now and then and I think it’s precious. I think he loves it too. Adult son would think it’s weird or sissy (and DH might agree). I have to admit, that on the rare occasion when my grown kids will say “Mommy” to me, my heart melts.
Am I a woman who desires her main man to treat her tenderly and lovingly, protectively? ABSOLUTELY! Am I screwed up by mixed signals from society that say I need to be tough-as-nails in the world to be taken seriously as a woman? To a degree, yes.
I learned I couldn’t show my emotions, which equated to weakness, in the business world. Once I knew I could trust a male colleague, they got to see more of the gentle and tender me. I am so grateful to have had quite a few amazing male mentors in the career world, but there were also an equal number of chauvinists, sexists, and opportunists. The more my quotient of male mentors grew, the less the likelihood another man would dare act ugly or inappropriately with me. In a sense, these male mentors became sort of like big brothers, and I appreciated their dedication to helping me navigate the waters of a very male-dominated career (and I “repaid” them by a work ethic and loyalty of the highest caliber–these men who protected/mentored me knew that they would get nothing but my best work and that I would strive to always make them look good). I won’t lie, it never hurt to be a tall blond with shapely long legs– I could work it, I knew I wasn’t hard to look at, and that most men enjoyed my presence because, as Athol Kay would say, it increased their status to have a good looking woman sharing their company. I recall at one function of celebrities, Harvey Korman commented to my boss about the stable of beauties he had surrounded himself with. In the environment we were in, it paid off to look your best, but hell, it was chauvinism at its worse.
But I digress. I never, ever allow my vulnerable side to show. It’s always been too much of a liability. And now this. D/s. Submission to my husband, who I think wants nothing more than to take care of me like a “real man” does. Lots of years of distrust, concern about giving over my control, worries of depending on someone only to have the rug yanked out from under me. Slowly I’m “letting” DH take care of me, his wife. He also takes care of our children, as their Daddy.
And I can’t relate sexually to someone I’d call Daddy. Maybe he will treat me as tenderly– or spank me as harshly– but NO DADDY image.
Ironically, retired life isn’t all roses and rainbows. There are stresses even in the process of planning our calendar to make sure we are taking care of everyone–visits to kids, visits to family, upcoming holiday plans, and also attempts to “enjoy” travel together. I pride myself on my “travel agent” abilities. I research and research, put the puzzle pieces of air travel, lodging, rental cars, packing, pet care, etc. all together, get DH’s approvals, and usually end up with a pretty decent trip. It is a lot of work. I have high standards. I want to be economical but I abhor substandard lodging. I balk at the usurious rates surrounding college football (hotels that triple their rates on home game weekends, and allow 2-night stays). We depart tomorrow for 8 days; a few weeks later a football game (purchase tickets, find hotels, plan travel) to see our most distant CK; and then a week later another trip to move Dad and tack on some fun time for us. Lots of shuffling of dates, calendars, credit cards. Overwhelming.
I asked DH to sit with me and help me with the football tickets… it was too confusing, too many different sale sites. Things weren’t coming together as I was hoping. Hotels were outrageous. DH was getting impatient and snappy with me. When I finally hit “next” for the payment, I began to enter the info into my calendar app. I realized that was the weekend the other CK was planning to come home.
And. I. Just.Lost.It.
“What’s wrong?” he was still snapping a little.
“You’re being mean to me,” I sobbed into my hands. I don’t think I’ve ever said that to him. What a babyish thing to say.
“What? No, I’m not…I’m… well, I don’t mean to…” he begins, the tone of his voice beginning to soften with concern. He comes quickly to me on the couch and puts his arm around me.
“You are stressing over nothing. It’s OK! Why are you crying?” His voice is now soaked in sympathy. He rarely sees me sob.
Wow. This got his attention. I didn’t do it for that reason. Normally I’d suck it up and just be very pissed at him for oh, maybe the next 3 days. Or week. Think all sorts of awful things about him.
“I know it’s not that important, but I’m trying really hard, and you are snapping at me. I get to make mistakes sometimes, ya know?” I whimper.
“I’m sorry, I’m not snapping at you.” Well, now you’re not, I think to myself. But you were before. “It’s OK, DH. It’ll be OK. You put way too much stress on yourself. You are too hard on yourself. I don’t like you doing that. I’m not judging you. It’s OK!”
Wow. This is kinda good, I think to myself. It feels nice to just spill and be vulnerable and a little girl for a moment here. Yeah, he’s right. He’s one of the men in my life who doesn’t keep moving the pegs to prevent me from succeeding. He doesn’t get his jollies out of “gotcha” moments.
I allow myself to sink into his arm and take some deep breaths. I’m still beating myself up over my imperfection… and he gives me a few spanks to remind me not to let myself get so stressed…
But at least DH loves imperfect me.
Conclusion: No, I will not admit that I’m a “little” or a “baby girl…” however I won’t deny that it feels good to allow him to take over, take care of me, accept me for who I am, flaws and all. I think for me, that’s just called love.
We had a fun day today. A gorgeous puffy clouds blue-sky day. We took a little day trip to the seaside, we browsed in shops and DH had his favorite fresh seafood. It was an easy and laid-back time, no real schedule, no real agenda other than escaping the mundane ‘burbs, just being serendipitous, and eating at his favorite place.
As we strolled along and through beachy shops, I kept cracking risqué and naughty jokes to him. One store had handcuffs, and naughty dice, and he reminded me we already had a similar deck of cards at home (note to self, we need to break those out!). We saw a few t-shirts that made us giggle. At the Henna tattoo place, I mused at what sort of tattoo I would get… pointing to my bikini area and suggesting “His” with an arrow (no tattoo—not our scene and not a turn on for him at all).
I dragged him into my favorite candy shop, and we salivated over the chocolate cases. We both picked out some deliciously naughty delicacies, and he chose a dark-chocolate covered Twinkie as one of his treats. That began a whole rash of new ribald jokes… I told him I loved eating his Twinkie… and well… uhm… he mentioned the cream, not me.
It was a hot day, perfect for the floaty little sundress. His favorite blue panties and bra beneath (although he doesn’t seem to pay much attention to the lingerie issue, it means something to me that it’s pleasing to him and conjures up a good feeling. So, whenever I’ve asked him to “choose” my panties, he seems to like the electric blue ones).
As we walked along, I asked him, “Would you rather have a prude wife, or a naughty wife?” He smirked a little (signifying that my questions was loaded and he really didn’t have any choice to answer), and said “Naughty—but just the right amount of naughty…” (again, a joking reference to a SNL skit when General Patraeus’s Mistress is parodied at a book reading of “All In” and quoting a supposed dialog with the General—“Am I a dirty girl, Sir?” “Just the right amount of dirty…”).
As we sat in the upscale restaurant waiting for our food to come to the table, I excused myself to the ladies’ room. While there I slipped the blue panties off. Just as I was reaching our table, I saw the waiter with our tray… I beat him to the table by a nano-second, leaned over DH’s shoulder and whispered.
“Will you please hold these for me?”
I LOVED IT. I finally caught him by surprise. His automatic reaction was to take what I was offering to him. Upon seeing it was my panties in his hand (neatly folded up), he fidgeted a little, glanced nervously at the waiter who was setting the tray down, and slid them quickly into his pocket.
I sat across from him with a shit-eating grin, suddenly all sweet and proper in my panty-less state, and put my cloth napkin back on my lap. He grinned at me but tried to make the reproachful, “you are in trouble” eyes.
When the waiter had left, I smirked.
“I love being naughty,” I said coyly. “And my legs are open right now,” I teased.
DH recovered quickly, and didn’t make mention of it again, a bit to my disappointment (his intention).
After he’d finished his meal, he excused himself to the restroom. Hmmmm. Would he? After all, he’d used the restroom when we entered the restaurant…
When he returned to the table, he deposited his HUGE whitey-tighties into my lap. ACK!!! I had only my teeny-tiny Coach purse with no room in it, and here was the waiter coming back to the table. DH grinned a big “I so got you back” smile at me.
“We need to get you some sexier underwear, sir,” I whispered, but then slouched down in my chair, slipped off my sandal, placed my bare foot on his crotch, and wiggled my toes. He chuckled but tried to remain straight-faced.
“DO NOT PUT THEM IN WITH MY TWINKIE!” he growled.
So I did.
We left the restaurant in our silly moods and made our way onto the beach. I cannot be near a body of water or beach without putting my feet in the water, which we did briefly. The sea breeze wafting up under my dress to my naked kitty felt so wonderfully naughty. I took the skirt of my sundress in my hands, swishing it seductively, and I kept angling my body towards his eyes, trying to get an angle where Joe Public wouldn’t seem me flashing. He knew what I was up to and kept moving to foil my attempts. At one point, I think he realized that I was naughty enough to do this, public eyes or not… and he got his flash of my naked bottom.
On the drive home, I kept hiking my dress far up my legs so as to once in a while flash him a little naked kitty. The bright sun was hitting my legs full-on (which isn’t so flattering on 50-something thighs, sigh). I noticed peaking out of his pocket were my missing blue panties. Every now and then he’d teasingly reach over as if to diddle me… but he’s such a careful driver, he didn’t fully execute the move.
I didn’t get any funishment for my naughty or bratty behavior last night when we got home… but I’m hoping he’s just saving up his energy!
Oh, and did I mention I LOVE BEING NAUGHTY?
If you’re a wife for whom things have gone flat or stale in your love life– it’s time to break out the “naughty girl.” Most of our men do enjoy this girl. Teasing your husband tells him how much you desire him and want his attentions. Anyone else have a naughty girl story? I know in comparison mine are pretty low-key… but for us old conservative lovers, sometimes it’s just the little teases that go a long way…
Monday was a challenging day for me on the submission front. All in all, I believe I did very well. However we’ve hit a point in our D/s where I’m wondering if we need a few tweaks.
DH often tells me he married me because I’m “the smartest damned woman he ever met.” That is high praise from DH, because I think he is such an amazing renaissance man—music, literature, theatre, history, politics, current events, clever humor, travel, I Love Lucy trivia–you name it, this man knows something about it. He’s the one any hostess wants at her smart dinner party because he can hold up his end of a conversation, yet not seem unapproachable or presumptuous. He runs circles around my “smarts.”
Some of my “smarts” is academic, but a lot of it is “street smarts” as a result of traveling the world, and a very shrewd (and somewhat manipulative) salesman father. I know how to schmooze people, I know how to play a situation to my advantage, and I don’t suffer fools lightly. When it comes to the various disciplines, I am a “crammer.” I cram in just enough to be able to hold my own in an intelligent conversation on most topics (even if I’ve not read a great novel, I’ll know the outline and enough about it to engage). Even though I have an MBA, the world has been my university. And, DH married me because I am smart, I wasn’t a doormat. I had opinions, I had thoughts, and I was articulate.
DH is wise in many ways. I’m still working on wise. One recent case of his wisdom was his decision to keep me in the back seat when it came to dealing with the resettlement of his elderly parents. As is the case with many elders, they don’t always make a lot of sense. They get cantankerous and crotchety, and yea, this is a “suffer no fools” situation for me. I can only smile and nod for so long before I’ll pipe up with a comment or piece of advice. DH on the other hand has a mercy gift a mile long. He can fix a smile on his face, nod his head at any manner of eccentricities, take the barbs, and appease his folks. It’s the “path of least resistance,” and “conflict avoidance” at its finest. And this is the way he chooses to handle a very difficult situation. I admire him for his patience, grace and mercy, which far outstrips mine. Obviously, I’d be approaching this a lot differently. And instead of (unproductively) getting directly upset or snipe at his folks, he’ll unload all that frustration to me later. I’m happy he can do that, I WANT him to be able to unload. I try to be a good listener, but this is the one male trait I have—I want to fix things that are fixable. And he’s not asking for that.
But once in a while this “smart woman” thinks, “Yes, but if we had handled it this way… maybe we wouldn’t be so frustrated now… After extending a degree of mercy, when I feel people are taking advantage of my grace, I will call them to task. I will say, “Enough!” or “your lack of cooperation/gratitude makes it extremely hard for me to help you, I’m leaving now, you let me know when you’re ready to work with me.”
So, in the past several recent times I’ve accompanied him on a visit to help the folks are settle in, he grows extremely dominant towards me. It’s like a test in total submission. He know there are suggestions ready to just fall off my tongue, and he doesn’t want to hear them. He gives me the evil eye at times, the warning glance, touch or sometimes words. He even seems to want me walking a few steps behind him! I gulp, I try to step back into submission, but then I’m also fuming at times. Sometimes I just can’t help myself, and I try ever so hard to offer my thoughts submissively. He still gets annoyed with me. And golly gee, I have some worthwhile things to share, helpful things, things he misses sometimes. I’ve even gotten a few daring, “public,” stinging swats to my bottom, half-joking, half serious, with his stock “humorous” phrase of “Woman be talking too much!”
DH certainly is perfectly capable of getting any job done. I know this, and I know he needs me to acknowledge that. We both seem to have slightly different visions about things, sort of the same way we drive differently—I see things globally/defensively, and he tends to see things straight-on/reactionary. I’m also an information wiz—although DH has finally acquiesced and graduated from a flip phone to a “smart” phone, he’s still figuring out all the bells and whistles. There are very few questions I can’t solve with my smart phone within seconds. You can’t recall the number of your old pharmacy? I’ll look it up for you. You need the zip of your new address? I’ll look it up. My father-in-law was facing such a barrage of questions at the pharmacy counter, and DH had stepped away for a moment. I was deputized. FIL says in his adorable drawl, “Golly, you’re handier than a pocket on a shirt…” I also anticipate that DH, his sibling, and my FIL will need contact info for the new pharmacy and make sure to get that before we leave. Otherwise, whenever DH was standing by his dad, I melted into submissive background.
While I was delighted to spend the day with DH in taking care of these family matters (some of which were quite contentious and necessitated me excusing myself from conversations—it’s OK, I brought my E-Reader and the hallways of the Old Folks home are way cooler than the 80 degrees in their unit!), it was also difficult for me.
I AM a smart woman. I can contribute so much, I can help. It is hard to stand by and bite my tongue when I see something that might need tweaking or a different point of view. But I also realize that in this situation, DH has voiced clearly that he wants my role to be that of only supporting his decisions. He doesn’t want suggestions. He doesn’t want “help.” He doesn’t want me trying to help my bitter in-law to look for the blessings and positives in life, and stop pulling their wonderful, helpful kids down with horrible negativity. Sometimes it’s even just a little, itty-bitty tiny thing that gets stuck in my craw (DH was repairing something with—what else—duck tape. :-) He wanted it cut in half lengthwise and was asking me to hold the tape taut while he cut with a crummy pair of scissors. Oh, my brain was screaming, screaming—you can tear duck tape! It has built-in seams along both grains! My tongue was bleeding from biting it. FINALLY, on the second piece of tape, he got the scissor ready again, and I asked as submissively as I could, “Do you want to also cut this lengthwise? Let me show you something, please…” and I tore it. His response was to joke in a sing-songy talk-to-your-pet/baby way (and I’m sorry, I hear the sarcasm) “oh, that’s so good… you are so smart… you are a good wife…” Any hint of patronizing can really get my dander up.
So back to the D/s tweaking. I’m a capable, smart woman. I know he acknowledges this in plenty of ways. I also have my own issues with self-esteem and worrying about being perfect/measuring up to EVERYONE’S expectations. When I have a GREAT idea or a helpful thought, to be denied the chance to share it is extremely hard for me. To watch people make a 3-step process into a 6-step process is hard for me. I just want it to be easy for everyone if it’s in my power. I’m not sure how to relate this to DH. On one side, I tell myself that this is an instance, because DH has asked for it, in which I just need to hunker down into my submission, smile, support, and keep my mouth shut, and try to overlook inefficiencies (this is so hard for me). I need to get my ego out of it, help only in ways that are perceived as helpful?
Or, could I ask that he allow me the chance to respectfully submit suggestions that could help the process?
Or, should I tell him that my role in all of this is best left to greeting at the door with a hug and a kiss when he gets home from these tasks, and to be there for him when he needs to unload?
Submissive doesn’t mean dumb. Submissive doesn’t mean burying our brains and common sense. Submissive doesn’t mean giving up all control in life (just to our Sirs).
But I also know that submissive means respecting and trusting his way of handling something.
And this is what’s hard about submission sometimes.
(Possibly nothing a good spanking couldn’t solve??)
You want your man to give you this dynamic. Dominance and submission. You crave it. The lifestyle calls to you. You want him in charge—perhaps only in the bedroom, or perhaps 24/7. You are wired for this.
I just recently reposted a tongue-in-cheek, but possibly too-real-for comfort essay on the difference between men and women’s brains. How men operation on a compartmentalized “box” system.
Prior to finding that little piece of humorous “wisdom” though, I’d been musing about the “work” aspects of BDSM for men/Doms-to-be.
It’s a lot of work. It takes a lot of planning, and a lot of thought. I suppose there are some out there who are naturals with BDSM, perhaps sadists, who can do it on the fly. And clearly when a man finds BDSM, D/s, and scening sexy, he’ll be motivated to put more time, research, thoughts and brain power into it. The more time and effort he puts to it, the more “natural” it becomes to enact without burning out too many brain cells.
But I want to say that for a lot of men, it’s just not the way their brains naturally or comfortably work. And it’s that “work” aspect of it that might be scary to them (or a turn off) when their woman approaches them expressing desire for the kink of BDSM and bedroom play, or a full-out D/s dynamic. They may not have a little “box” for that set up in their brains yet. The “sex box” might just be the same as the “penis box” for most men… it pulls a rather low level of energy from the cognizant brain, not too many synapses need to get involved.
Clearly there are men, especially those with high libidos, who can be motivated if a topic has anything to do with sex. If it leads to good sex, they’ll go with it, whatever. Whip my woman for more sex? Sure! I’m trying to be humorous here and not oversimplify the matter, but the more sexually adventurous and interested you are, the more likely I think you are to try things “outside your boxes.” However D/s truly does involves something far more profound than mere sex or domination. To me it’s the “thinking man’s (and woman’s)” approach to an amazing relationship. It’s deliberate, it’s thoughtful, it takes brain power and not just mere instinct or reaction.
As DH and I have evolved in our sexual relationship over the past several years, and introduced more kink, there have been plenty of times of frustration for both of us. I was asking things of him that just didn’t feel natural or were way out of his comfort zone. At times I despaired that he would never be able to clear those mental hurdles to more kinky sex. His “treat a woman gently” and “always be a gentleman” brain-boxes were pretty firmly established, and now I was messing with them big time: Spank me. Make it hurt. I want you to give me pain. I LIKE pain from you. I want you to discipline me. I want you to dominate me. This is a turn on for me… I need this… it makes me feel safe and peaceful.
I can now see how this really threw him off balance for a while. How it might have felt like drudge work, overwhelming, and how it might have given him a huge headache at times trying to wrap his weary, “boxy,” brain around it all.
So much more reason I have to be grateful for the strides he’s made. Tremendous strides. In some cases, full 360 degree changes. When he had to work with so many brain boxes: kids, work, AND me… well, it was spreading things a bit thin. Now that some of those boxes don’t demand as much time… the “us” box is now being filled with so much material. We’ve cleared out cobwebs, conventional thinking, and preconceived notions from the past that didn’t serve us well. Replacing these are things we find working for us. The compromise that we love that which brings the other pleasure.
DH is a soft-touch guy. He loves to feel feather light touches, caresses, kisses, tongue and mouth exploring him and bringing his senses alive. He likes it slow, deliberate, gentle, tender. I think this is why he’s so good with babies and pets. I need to make sure that I provide him with the touch he loves, that which makes him feel loved. And when he feels loved as a result of what I do to give to him, to serve him, then I feel great!
His kink box has been filling up nicely. He’s growing far more comfortable with giving me the intense touch and sensory play I crave. Spanking me now seems to come almost naturally, as natural as a hug or kiss, and whenever my bottom is accessible, it’s likely to get a swat or two from him (mmmm!) in passing; and when we’re seriously playing in the bedroom, he has continued to test my limits—and his—with paddles, floggers, hairbrushes, and of course, his palm! I’m so encouraged that he’s arrived to an intensity where I actually start to feel the pain I crave. I have hopes he will keep pushing those limits! His control over my body, his use of restraints and sensory deprivation—all so exciting. His attentions with his fingers, his mouth, and his penis have grown more aggressive and rough, just the way I love it. It’s been such a turn on to see him grow into his sexual Dom (he’s always been the head of household around here) and willing to explore new things. It’s very exciting to see your husband’s confidence grow in his complete control over you.
It takes time, and that is a hard thing to hear when you are just starting out with this dynamic. Often it is a wife who discovers that this is what she wants, and she needs to find ways to convince a reluctant (and perhaps fearful) husband. I know my DH worried I’d twirl around and yell “psyche!” in the beginning. Most men are probably thinking in the back of their minds, “I’ll hit her, and the next thing I know the police will be arresting me for abuse, and taking my kids away.” It has to be somewhat scary to the modern man. This is where the trust becomes such an important foundation to this all. He has to feel your trust in ALL aspects of your relationship before he can build the confidence to give you something so edgy. And we women can be quite mercurial with our emotions, another very scary thing for men. It depends so much on
us to back that trust up with explicit compliance and support of his decisions and thoughts. The less I questioned or second-guessed my husband, and the more willing I was to serve him and follow his lead, the more confident he felt in expressing his Dom and taking me in hand. The more I acted respectful of his decisions, the better the dynamic could grow. I had to rid myself of all the ego and equality encumbrances that would shoot down his budding Dom behaviors (in the past, he always had to do strategic, even “stealth” Dom behaviors, to avoid negative reactions from the old me).
Moreover, it can’t feel like dreaded work. Face it, our desires and needs can be quite demanding ladies, even among the most submissive of us. In any new, or renewed, relationship, who wants to feel the burden of countless responsibilities towards a partner? Most of us do not gravitate towards “needy” people, as they are draining (often only able to “take” in a relationship). It’s not until the love and trust develop can a partner feel a desire to give, to become more sacrificial to meet the needs of the person we love. Giving to make our partner feel loved and protected and respected becomes a joy, and not work. I’m afraid in my eagerness to share the wonders of this lifestyle with my DH, I came to him with a large shopping list of kinks I wanted, that presented more of a burden to him than a joy. It no doubt overwhelmed him (and probably still does).
I hate being told to be patient, but to everyone on this blog who ever told me to be patient, they were dead-on right. I just didn’t have the hindsight I now have to realize how sage that wisdom was when it came to D/s (and still is). This dynamic can take a long time to grow. Chances are you have read some fabulously sexy blogs (or books) in which the couples took to D/s-Kink-BDSM like ducks to water. They were completely like-minded, open-minded, and out-of-their-mind ecstatic with pleasure. Within days, it seems, they were having fabulously sexy play and scenes and dynamics, and everyone was hap-hap-happy with spanks, multiple squirting orgasms, an arsenal of sex toys, and a Dom who could tie shibari knots that would make a Boy Scout blush. I was a kid in a candy store reading of such couples! I wanted it ALL, NOW! Give me the mold, and we’ll gel right into it! I wanted the Cadillac of BDSM in my life, right out of the starting gate. Instant, pre-packaged kink! Add water and go!
Instantaneous D/s and BDSM was not to be for DH and me, and the more acquaintances I’ve made over the past two years here in D/s blog land, the more I’ve realized I’m not alone. Many have to go the slow road like I did. And practice lots more patience, unlike I did!
Above all, it can’t feel like work, or a burden to a partner.
This is making the rounds on Facebook, and it made me giggle a little. Then it made me pause. Yikes. It’s sort of scary when you think about it. This would make “scening” a highly evolved skill for a man, IMHO. Women want all the BDSM boxes wide open and overlapping.
What do you all think?
I stumbled upon this blog. True to my mercurial style, I’ll follow a sexy post with one like this. But they are wise words, and I don’t care what your dynamic is, this is what men need. If you’ve committed yourself to being a submissive woman, then doubly so. I couldn’t find a way to officially “reblog” so I’m stating up front this is copyrighted material from Club 31 Women: http://club31women.com/2013/10/the-highly-rated-habit-of-respecting-him
Let the wife see that she respects her husband. (Eph.5:33)
Oh, okay, got it. Seems fairly straightforward.
Except that this respect-thing strikes me as rather vague. Undefined. I’m not trying to be difficult either, it’s just not as clear as I’d like it to be.
Not like love.
I know what it looks like to love. That’s an easy one. Love is when you spend time with me. Listen to me. Care about me. Look after me. Take a keen interest in my thoughts and ideas. (Chocolate can help too.)
No, love is an easy one to figure out.
But respect? That’s an entirely different matter.
Apparently, it’s an important matter though. So important that you’ll find respect toward the top of his list. Yes, respect is highly-rated among the men. I’ve even heard it said that they would rather be unloved than disrespected—is that wild, or what?
Now the fact is that I do respect my husband. I really do. I guess it’s the showing of it that gets to be something of a challenge.
Because you’ve heard how we each have our own unique “love language”? Well, I suspect that there must be some kind of a “respect language” too. You know, “what says respect to him” or something along those lines.
So one day I just up and asked him. Straight out. “What makes you feel respected? By me?” And I waited for his answer.
After a while, he mentioned a thing or two. Things like how I’ll talk positively about him in public. Or how I’ll ask him, rather than tell him what needs to be done around the house. Then added how I’ll stop what I’m doing to greet him when he comes in the door.
These were meaningful things to him.
But for the most part? I was on my own to figure out what made him feel respected. I made it a point to study what made him smile, as well as what made him flinch. I tried to notice what seemed to work – and what didn’t work. After a while, I found that much of respect fell into these 4 categories:
Trust him. Somehow a man instinctively knows if you believe in him–or not. For instance, how you respond to his decision-making speaks powerfully to him. Is your first response to question him? Challenge him? Or do you save that “coupon” carefully? He needs you to trust him and his final decisions.
Admire him. He’d like to know that you are his biggest fan – hands down! No one should admire him more than you do. My personal goal? I never want anyone who works with my man to think more highly of him than I do. I want him both to see it in my eyes and to hear it from my mouth.
Be loyal to him. Fiercely loyal. You’ve got his back and he knows it. Your children should know it too. In fact, there should be no doubt in anyone’s mind where your loyalty lies. No one would dare say anything disparaging about your man in front of you because that is simply not done.
Honor him. Both in private and in public. So that he doesn’t have to concerned about what you might say to him or how you’ll represent him in front of others. You never want to demean him or bring him down a notch. Quite the opposite. He can even be confident that you’ll respect his wishes when he’s not around—your regard for him goes that deep.
So why not ask your own husband what makes him feel respected? (Just don’t be too surprised if you have to wait a while for him to answer.)
Take to heart whatever he shares with you and then add to that list from what you’re able to learn by watching him.
Pray about it and ask God to show you the ways you can lovingly respect your husband.
You might be surprised to see what a difference it makes in your marriage.
*This is an excerpt from The 7 Habits of a Highly Fulfilling Marriage, now available free for subscribers to Club31Women. Click here for more information.
In His grace,
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