Ask Heather

This is the place where I answer all the questions spinning through your dirty little minds. All y’all. Have a suggestion? A burning question that needs answering? (Actual burning necessitates a visit to the doctor, sweeties.) Email me at heathercole@vaginaantics.com and please, remember to ask nicely y’all. 

 

ASK MISS SEXUAL MATTERS

 

Dear Heather

I do have a question for you though and I hope you don’t mind me asking and feel free not to answer it, but I’m just trying to understand the Sub thing more. So……

I can understand giving yourself up as Sub to a Dom in a sexual context, but I find it harder to understand how, as an obviously strong and self-assured woman, you keep that going in your day-to-day life.

I’m referring to the situation when you and your fella are at the table and you miss a message from him and are mortified that you missed it and want to put your head in his lap.

Please don’t think I’m disapproving of this, but if someone had have done that to me I’d have told them to feck off and stop bossing me about. Sooooooo my question is….. what is the motivation for living the Sub life as a lifestyle choice as opposed to a sexual episode thing?

Is it that it’s an instinctive feeling that dominates your being? Where does the feeling of satisfaction at being beholden to someone come from?

Sorry if this sounds rude, I’m not disapproving (as if I’d have a right to), but I find it fascinating that a woman who seems to self-assured and confident within herself would wish to have someone dictate their movements or feelings.

Hope you don’t mind me asking.

Anonymous

 

Dear Anon:

I don’t mind you asking these questions at all, because I ask myself the same ones a lot. Plus you’re so very polite… how can I resist answering?

To begin with, I have no definitive answer as to why I’m submissive. I suppose you could compare it to being bisexual. God made me this way. *shrug* It’s trite but true. There are some genetics at play, I’m sure, because my father is extremely submissive. He’d rather die than admit it, but the man can’t make one decision for himself. His wife does. Add to that my rural, traditional upbringing and throw in a dash of God’s great sense of humor = Heather Cole.

As to my particular brand of submission–there are hundreds of versions of submission like there are styles of kinky or flavors of ice cream. It’s not a feeling of being beholden to my Sir, rather, it’s the drive to please him. When we are in the space of Dominant and slave, my only focus is him. My mission is to please him in whatever way he desires whether that’s by baking him brownies or wearing a butt plug or crawling behind him wearing a collar and leash. I get off on making him the center of my universe for that span of time.

Have you ever wished that someone would take control of your life for just a little while so that you didn’t have to make all the decisions and shoulder all the responsibility? In my opinion, my submission is an extension of that wish. Together Sir and I make a safe place for me to do exactly that. He gets to dominate and command me while I get the joy of not having to decide a blessed thing. I’m focused solely on pleasing him in whatever way he wishes. I am free. I am his.

Yes, it’s a complete contradiction to my daily persona! I’m fully aware that I don’t want my Dom to control everything about me. In fact, I need more autonomy than many of the other slaves I know. For example, I’d never permit him to dictate what I wrote or how I raised my child. However, when he and I are together, I find great freedom in allowing all my emotional walls to dissolve so that I can place my entire being into the hands of my loving Dominant. I want him to hurt me, mold me into the thing he desires then to use me until I’m nothing but a spent pile of limbs on the bed.

I believe that submission, just like sexuality, is fluid. There have been times in my life where I’ve locked that submission away so that I could roll up my sleeves and get to work and other times where I was nothing but a submissive pain slut living in the moment of pleasing my Sir. I’m sure I’ll ride those fluctuations again. But even when I put her away so that I can live some other part of my life, she’s there. Patiently waiting in that dark closet to come out. When she does? Well, the words “sexual apocalypse” have been uttered.

Thank you so much for writing!

Smooches,

Heather

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Dear Heather:

I was wondering if you could invite me to a fetish party as an observer some weekend.

Thanks in advance,

Mr. RSVP

 

Dear R:

Considering that I have never met you in person, I must decline your request. I’m flattered that you’d want me to be your hostess into our kinky community, however, I’m so new to it my own damn self that it would be the newbie leading the newb. Babes in the canes, my dear!

This is what I suggest; we both attend a munch. We pull on our big girl panties and RSVP on Fetlife to meet other like-minded folk at a restaurant wearing *gasp* regular clothes. We slap on our nametags and eat a grandslam (I require extra bacon) while listening to others talk about the goings-on of the lifestyle and we answer get-to-know-us questions. I’m certain that before we finish our last bite of pancake, there will be an invitation to a party. Providing that you’re not a sex offender and that I don’t laugh loudly like a donkey. (It happens when I’m nervous.)

The thing about play parties is that they most often happen in private homes. Because of this, no one has to invite us to anything. The host or hostess may only extend the invitation to people they’ve known (and liked) for a while. It’s their party so they can invite whomever they wish and cry if they want to.

Parties vary depending on who is hosting, but there are some general things to expect. Nudity is one of them. Remember, dear R, there are no rules that say you must attend in your birthday suit. Although if you feel inspired to tie a bow around your *cough* this is the crowd that would no doubt appreciate it. You will not be expected to get naked, nor will you be expected to play if you don’t feel comfortable. Do expect others to get naked or be in various stages of undress or lingerie or nipple clamps and plastic wrap. I like to wear a dress, but my girlfriend often brings several changes of lingerie. If we choose to play, we usually get naked. Or as Liri likes to exclaim, “why are you still wearing clothes?!”

There may be a sheet hanging in front of the door so that Old Neighbor Jones doesn’t peek in while walking his cockapoo and see Sally from carpool tied to the St. Andrew’s cross. Walk past the sheet and you will find people chatting, food and snacks and maybe music. If people are playing, typically they don’t mind others watching. After all, they came to a party. However, give them space and try not to interrupt unless they actively encourage you to ask questions or get in on the fun. I’ve had a couple moments where I had to stare a little bit before realizing, “hey, those people are fucking.” Then I was like, “oh, spinach dip!”

My first party actually began as a traditional housewarming. I brought a pie that I had baked, I circulated and chatted and met new people. I traded BBQ tips with a grandmother, petted the dogs and took a tour of the house. Eventually the co-workers left and the grandmother said goodnight, and an extra-large rubbermaid container was brought out, chock full of floggers and dragon tails. Rope appeared and clothes vanished, and the party moved to the basement.

I played that night. It was the first time I attended a party on my own, and it was the first time that someone other than my Master (now ex) flogged me. I was nervous and giddy, and I felt a little out of control. For the first time I was going to scene without my M, but I had rules. There were boundaries that I wouldn’t cross, and I made sure that the person topping me knew them. If he had tried to coerce me beyond those boundaries, I would NOT have submitted. And here lies the most important rule of a play party, dear R. No one should try to convince you to do something that you don’t want to do, whether it’s to use a toy or leave the party with them. Coercion of any kind is unacceptable. A creeper is a creeper is a creeper; no matter if you’re at a bar with friends or a play party.

Play parties give us a good cross-section of the kinky populace, all up close and naked. When we attend, we learn about others just as they learn about us. It’s a way of establishing ourselves as positive members of the community. It can be social and educational. It can be a boatload of fun. However, it’s just as easy to brand ourselves bad play partners, or even worse, dangerous ones. I intend to be the former, R dear, so I’ll see you at the chips and dip. Bow optional.

Smooches,
Heather

 

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Dear Heather:

My partner and I are beginning to explore more dominant/submissive roles in the bedroom. We’re experimenting and like to switch who is dominant, but she really gets off submitting and allowing me to do “whatever I want.” We have a couple fantasies we’d like to enact, and we have our safewords picked out. I was wondering if you have some suggestions about what we should (or shouldn’t) do as beginners to kink.

Thanks,
Anonymous

Dearest Anon:

First let me say congratulations! Exploring and being open sexually to the needs and desires of your partner (and knowing yourself) are a wonderful start. Keep up the good work, because open communication in the bedroom is crucial to a fulfilling sex life. Choosing a safeword is also important. Remember, if there’s a gag involved in your fantasy or the person submitting can’t vocalize for some reason, make sure that you have a hand signal that acts as your safeword.

What I can’t stress enough is aftercare. That’s right…AFTERCARE. My darling Anon, if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, don’t fret. Many people don’t know about this crucial piece of good sex play. Aftercare is so important that absolutely everyone, regardless of sexual preferences, should practice it. What I’m saying, Anon, is that those moments after your fantasy has run its course, when you’re together in the aftermath of orgasm glow and bodily fluids, hold her close and tell her how fucking amazing she is. Personally, I think everyone should do that after sex. Heaven knows that I didn’t do it enough in my twenties. If I could, I’d go back in time and thank every one of my sexual partners. Even that quickie in the bathroom.

In the world of kink, aftercare is supposed to be the last part of every scene. In fact, many submissives include it in their negotiation of a scene as an essential aspect of their play. After the excitement and fun, the resulting vulnerability for a submissive can be scary if they’re not tended to after the scene. Some submissives want to be held and stroked, others want to be left alone and untouched until they’re out of subspace. It can be anything really, just make sure you ask your partner what she needs after all is said and fucked…er, done.

Here’s an example: Last month M celebrated my birthday with me, and I had a special, super-intense scene which I had requested. M likes to surprise me, and not only was this scene longer than usual, but not one kind word escaped his lips. I was beaten in my most tender places. He took a cane to my thighs if I cried, and I swear he left me alone for what seemed an eternity. (I was blindfolded and tied so time was unreliable.)  At the end of my birthday scene, I used my safeword because I had convinced myself that M hated me. His mindfuck was that superb. I was physically and emotionally undone. Imagine a puddle of crying goo. That was me.

As soon as the safeword was out of my mouth, I was unhooked from my bonds. The blindfold came off, and I curled into the fetal position on the bed. I was sobbing into my hands when I felt the bed dip behind me. M slid his arms around me and held me, murmuring that I was such a good pet for enduring what I did. That he was proud of me and loved me. Gradually I stopped crying and relaxed into his embrace. I have a favorite position with my arms tucked to my chest and my face buried in his neck as he wraps his strong arms around me. I floated in subspace, and M reassured me. His excellent aftercare was what enabled me to continue being completely open with him.

Anon, it sounds like you and your partner are giving this a lot of thought, for which I commend you. And I say this to all our readers: aftercare shouldn’t be an option, it should be a requirement. If you have one ounce of respect for your partner, whether it’s an hour of fun or a lifetime commitment, take care of that person. Tell them thank you for getting your rocks off. Ultimately, we’re sharing a connection. Honor it.

Yours in sexual matters,

xo Heather

 

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Dear Heather:

–Anonymous

 

Dear Anon:

This question made me chuckle a little bit, because I have a hard enough time keeping track of my own shenanigans. If I had to keep up with Nikki’s too…dear Lord, I’d never have time for anything else. The truth is that Nikki and I are two very separate, real people. She is my best friend, and I met her at the same time that I did my Master. In fact, in the early stages of our friendship, we joked about being a threesome. Like the Three Musketeers but naked and fucking. Oh, and not French. The specifics of our meeting are the subject of an upcoming post. You’ll get all the juicy (we like orgasms!) details soon. We “disappear” because both of us have demanding personal lives.

As to the Dom part of your observation, Nikki and I are both submissive in the bedroom. I’m submissive out of it when M is around, but most of the time we’re headstrong, stubborn and independent women. As Nikki has written in her post about eDoms, one shouldn’t make broad assumptions based upon the label “submissive.” This advice applies to all sorts of labels generally speaking, don’t you think? All of us are complex, contradictory humans.

Thanks so much for your question!

Smooches,

Heather

 

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From M.R. via Twitter:

Neighbors watching “adorable” grandchild. Child is loud very early in morning. Proper response: loud sex or VERY loud sex?

 

Dear M.R.

Because a child is involved, I recommend loud sex. That way the grandparents can offer a somewhat plausible explanation (“They’re moving furniture!”) but still get the fucking point.

Smooches,
Heather