Leather Bound #34

In the past few months, I’ve heard the word “balance” thrown into many conversations. 

Most often, it’s friends and colleagues speaking about their desire to find balance at work, juggling multiple responsibilities and sometimes multiple jobs.  Sometimes it’s about finding the right balance between personal life and professional life. 

Life, for many of us, and for many different reasons, seems to be swirling out of control.

In leather circles where the foundation of leather relationships and play is power exchange, when we speak about finding balance we often mean finding a balance of power in our lives.   (That might mean balance with our partners, our friends and acquaintances, or even within our selves.)

It’s a common perception that a good proportion of submissives in the kink and leather scenes are typically men with high powered, high paying, high responsibility careers.   They may be doctors, lawyers, investors or financial advisors—men who earn their living saving lives and livelihoods.  Consequently in their down time, they often want to relinquish responsibility.  For these submissives, subjugating their will to others liberates them from their day-to-day roles and burdens.  But it’s even more than that, I think.

For a dominant/alpha in the “real world” setting, submission in your personal life does more than simply free you from the consequences of your actions (assuming you only do as you are told as a submissive).  It also allows you an opportunity to explore other interests and desires; it allows you to pursue profoundly personal wants and needs that might directly contradict your everyday wants and needs.   

Conversely, in the fetish and kink world, we often associate power with “lower” social hierarchy archetypes—the “thug,” the blue collar mechanic, or a jock (no matter that any of those types may or may not be earning substantially more than the white collar worker).   In a society where beauty is translated into a commodity, the porn star or bodybuilder may have more power and ranking than a millionaire, and a skinny twink with traditional good looks might dominate a muscleman (if you don’t think that’s a common fantasy—check out the latest Diesel ad in “Out” magazine for a hot sneaker licking scene).

The bottom line is simple: we seek to feel whole.   Those of us who generally do not feel powerful in our daily lives seek it where we can; those who feel the weight of responsibility most of the time seek release from it when we can.

And this is why it’s so important for us to remain in touch with ourselves as people, and not be constrained by the roles we identify with.   You cannot have balance if you define yourself by a generic stereotype, no matter how exciting that stereotype is, and no matter how good of a fit it seems to be at first glance.

Constant self-evalation—not self questioning—keeps us open to our erotic potential and possibilities.

The internet has been particularly helpful to many, in that regard.  Many of us experienced our first exposure to kink play online, where cyber kinksters can share fantasies of power exchange that get their juices flowing before they’re prepared to actually go through the real deal in person.  I know I had my fair share of that play.

And, of course, for some, fantasy is all there is to pursue—trapped by life responsibilities or roles or emotional baggage, some people are prevented from actualizing their dreams.  I occasionally wonder if I fall into that category… but more on that later.

To me, it seems healthier to live and share the fantasy, whether in the real world or in cyberspace, than to deny it at all.  Recognizing our desires is healthy and healing, regardless of whether we act on it.  Knowing ourselves and sharing ourselves with others, this is what makes us feel fully developed and connected to others around us.

The beauty of finding balance in power is that it allows us to grow, to evolve, to change—or to just change our minds.  Finding balance means recognizing that we are not necessarily the same person this very moment than we were a day ago, a year ago, a decade ago...  or even an hour ago.   

We need not be enslaved by our past.  What we wished for once upon a time may not necessarily be desirable now.  To quote a very wise television commercial from my childhood: Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t.

Human beings are complex creatures, even if they play the part of a pony named Sparkles.   Perhaps especially when they are a pony named Sparkles.

Although I know it’s dangerous to speak in generalizations, as sexually-identified people who are acutely aware of what makes our dicks hard and our pussies wet, leather folk seem particularly more self-aware of our complexities than many of our vanilla counterparts. 

Although we recognize the obvious contradictions in our interests, we can nonetheless consider ourselves rational, mature adults while acknowledging enjoyment from sucking on a pacifier and wearing a diaper.   We can appreciate our own disinterest in sports, but fascination with sports figures or simply sports gear.

By looking at ourselves as full human beings, with varied and sometimes conflicting interests, we are better prepared to define and navigate a serpentine life path that allows us to explore our rich potential.   We are less likely to find ourselves emotionally paralyzed when finding ourselves at a fork in the road, because life is not either/or decision for us. 

Computer code may be binary, but our lives must not be. 

And it’s worth noting that balance does not necessarily mean equal parts.   It simply means recognizing the many facets of ourselves and giving ourselves the permission and freedom to recognize and celebrate them.

There are many leather men, for example, who identify as tops but who have at least one Master or Sir.  Are they delusional in their identification?  Trying to pass themselves off as something they are not?  I don’t think so. 

To me, these are men who recognize that their primary erotic drivers are control and taking power.  That there are other aspects to their lives and fantasies doesn’t make them any less of a top than believing in birth control or the fallibility of a pope makes a person less Catholic.

From my vantage point, a man doesn’t lose strength or power when he submits to another man.   Power is like energy, and I’m often reminded of a law of science that states that energy is neither created nor destroyed; it merely transforms itself into different forms.

When a leather top bottoms, it doesn’t make him any less powerful or strong as a man.  It strikes me that it takes a great deal of strength and courage to take command and responsibility of a scene or another person, and it also takes a great deal of strength and courage to relinquish control and trust another human being with your physical safety, your emotional well being, and your sexual satisfaction (not necessarily in that order).  In bottoming, a top doesn’t lose his power; instead, he transforms himself into another kind of partner, and perhaps even a better lover in the process.

I have often remarked – and with great sincerity—that I love the concept of versatility and this is as true for sex as it is for power.   I’m a big advocate for versatility even if I don’t subscribe to that particular skill set.  At least not right now.

I sometimes wonder whether my not getting fucked is because I still have too much emotional baggage to (literally) let someone in, or whether physically I’m just one of those guys who doesn’t like it up the ass because it does feel good to them.  It’s a fine line, sometimes, in differentiating the physical with the emotional, especially when they are tied together.

And while I’m completely happy in the top role, it would be disingenuous to suggest that I’m not curious and a bit disappointed that I don’t quite “get” the thrill that so many men experience by getting fucked or by bottoming in power exchange… although the idea of relinquishing control sometimes feels like it would be a vacation, because I generally take the reigns on just about anything that I do, I just don’t feel comfortable with letting go.

It’s not my priority to do so right now, but I’m open to that possibility in the future.

By being open to that possibility, does it make me less of a dom top now?  I don’t think so.

Although there’s no kink industry standard to define what it means to be a true Dom or a true sub, it seems to me that if you spend 90 percent of your time fucking guys or taking control of them, or even 75 percent of your time in that role, you’re a real top.   

Unless you’re living in some weird social experiment that defines your role for you, it stands to reason that you are doing the things you do because it suits your most prioritized needs (and therefore can be considered your primary role).

There’s a certain amount of misogyny and homophobia, I think, when we talk in such glowing and reverential terms of “total tops” as if they have achieved a pinnacle of masculine distinction.    (Consequently many leather tops will only bottom to these “total tops,” reinforcing that artificial social hierarchy.)

For some of us, being a total top might simply be based on what feels good to us physically (which certainly doesn’t make us superior).  For others, being a total top may be based on fear—that is, we need to control everything because we don’t have the strength to trust others.  That doesn’t make us superior… and it doesn’t make us inferior… it just makes us human.

Ironically despite the social construct that often places a premium on men who don’t take dick up their butt and who don’t take orders from anyone, it’s also widely argued that tops that occasionally bottom actually make the best tops.  That is to say, by intimately exploring the role of the bottom on occasion, a leather top is better prepared to understand the logistics of certain play and better positioned to empathize with his partners.

I think this debate boils down to what is ideologically most exciting to a person—unbalanced power in its rawest form, conquered and relinquished, or a real-life sense of balance, where we recognize the joys and benefits of being fully realized human beings.

It seems to me the former is definitely better for a play scene, the latter a healthier outlook for a lifestyle.

Despite some heavy emotional stuff taking place in recent months, I’ve found myself smiling and laughing a lot more lately.  I’ve packed on some extra weight from less healthy eating while staging the house for potential buyers and trying to leave the kitchen clean, but I’m not sweating the results (I’ve lost the weight before, and I can lose it again). 

I realize now that in delaying the inevitable demise of my relationship, trying to let fate prove to me that I was making the right decision to end it, or delaying a decision long enough to force someone else to be miserable enough to end it for me; I was putting myself in a position of powerlessness.  I made myself a victim in a situation that I had some control over.

As a result of my own inaction, I felt helpless, weak, and uncertain of myself.  Certainly not powerful, certainly not a dom top, and certainly not sexy.

In definitively choosing to end the triad relationship that was making us all so unhappy, I was able to once again find my strength.  I was able to feel good about taking the lead in putting things right, in making a better future for all three of us, even if all three of us wouldn’t be together.

I felt like someone in a 12-step group, learning to accept that I didn’t have power over absolutely everything, and that I couldn’t take on that responsibility and blame.  I had to accept that there were things that I couldn’t control or fix… and what liberation that was!  And freedom from that guilt and blame allowed me to once again focus my time and attention on what I could control.

Not surprisingly as my boy and I hunted for a new house, we once again imagined the possibilities of a new-and-improved and expanded playroom, and I began to feel sexy again.

Of course I still occasionally look back at what’s happened with regret and sadness.  It is sad when a relationship ends, and a 16-year relationship is worth grieving over.  It is a loss.

And at the office, we’ve had layoffs and reorganizations, additional responsibilities and changes in management.  I’ve had to say goodbye to a number of friends at work.  More loss, more changes taking place far outside of my realm of my control.

And yet I’m smiling these days, accepting that which I cannot change and cannot control.

In truth, it’s a tremendous comfort not to feel like I need to, or even need to try, to control everything, to fix everything, to be the constant rock. 

There’s emotional release in just being in the moment.  There’s a strange comfort in experiencing both loss and hope, sadness and joy, and embracing it for all that it is. 

In early April I’ll be moving into my new home.  My boy is ready to greet me in our new Leave-It-To-Beaver suburban home, complete with big fenced yard for our bulldog.  He’ll be greeting me by removing my shoes and fetching me a drink, and sitting on the floor at my side while I unwind.

Call me old fashioned, but South Jersey sounds like paradise.

Surrounded by soccer moms and manicured lawns I’m now planning a play space complete with a medical office, including a medical exam table and toys; a gym locker room, complete with steam unit, actual gym lockers and benches; and even a dungeon area where I don’t have to store half of my toys in hidden places because there’s not enough room for them all!

Balance is restored.