Tuesday, February 21, 2017

ARTHUR: WEDDING PHOTOS & PROPER PROTOCOL IN PUBLIC, No. 7

Two weeks ago we had a photo session for our upcoming nuptials with me dressed in a borrowed suit. (Since all my dress clothes are still back in the U.S., I'm having a suit made for the wedding, but it isn't ready yet). The three “girls” were all dressed up and made up and looking particularly beautiful. Then, yesterday afternoon, Miss Ling informed me that we all had to go to the wedding shop to look at the pictures and select the best one to be framed for the reception. So off we went, and the selection was made, a large photo, probably around 20 by 20, with Miss Ling, of course, casting the deciding vote.

Then it came to choosing the frame. We couldn't agree, and, risking insubordination, I respectfully pressed my point. In my view (though I didn’t actually say this) her choice was, stylistically, right out of the 1950s. But in this Asian country, there are culture issues at stake, and Miss Ling did not understand my objection. But, rather than make a scene, and seeing that several of the female staff in the shop seemed to agree with me, she informed me, in front of all, that she would allow me to choose, but that this was the last time I would ever have my way. Well, there was loud laughter all around at that! Miss Ling and her daughters and I were sitting side by side, with the wedding shop staff around us. To emphasize her statement, Miss Ling pointed down to her bare foot. When she does that, it is her signal for me to stop talking and to listen to her. It can also be her signal to kneel or to kiss her foot. I stopped talking.

Later, after we had left the shop, I asked her about the finger pointing. Did I react properly, or did she want me to kneel and kiss her foot to show my obedience? She said that I should have gotten on my knees and bowed, but without a foot kiss. She said that, with younger people present, including her daughters as well people in their twenties to forties, it would be appropriate for me to promptly obey her order and kneel so all could see her power and my obedience. And that is the response that she will expect
from me from now on. But with older people more her Mother's age, such a submissive response from me would be viewed as disrespectful to them as they would not have seen that and might be embarrassed by it. While younger people, if unfamiliar with such public male deference, would perhaps simply ask, “Why is he kneeling?” Which would give Miss Ling the opportunity to talk about an FLR and all its advantages.

I said that I understood and I apologized for questioning her choice, and then for my inadequate response to her hand signal. I suggested, for future reference, that if I ever fail to react to her signal properly, she simply say “Down!” If she wants me to also kiss her foot, then she should raise it close to my face. That would solve any misunderstanding. She agreed to that and went on to say that she thinks she will be doing this more at home, as well. I agreed that this is a good idea as it will help the girls get good training themselves in male-control, and they will of course be pleased to witness the way their mother continues to have the upper hand over me.

As for why no public foot kiss, Miss Ling explained that that is only allowed in front of her daughters and perhaps close friends, but not at a place of business. I did not mention that, a couple of years ago, I was told by Miss Ling to kiss her foot when helping her choose new shoes in a shoe store—and in presence of the young female clerk.

I didn't bring it up because I believe that not only can women change their mind at any time, but that they are also free to amend their rules at any time.

*

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

ARTHUR: A SPECIAL VALENTINE’S DAY IN OUR MATRIARCHAL HOME, No. 6

(Arthur’s continues the account of his submissive courtship of the dominant Miss Ling in the lead-up to their matriarchal marriage, and his ongoing devotional service to Miss Ling's two live-in daughters from a previous marriage.)

When Miss Ling marries me and we build a house together, which we both want to do, the plan is for a separate small building for the Power Room, sort of like a mother-in-law suite. (Note: The Power Room is a separate room that Miss Ling uses for my discipline sessions, giving me a serious talking-to, etc. It has one chair for her to sit, and a second chair that I lean over when being spanked, caned, etc.; otherwise I kneel at her feet. I have mentioned to Miss Ling that I would also like to have a proper pedicure chair in the Power Room, and perhaps a massage table as well, and she seems agreeable.)

Before Miss Ling’s two daughters (Miss A, age 14, and Miss D, age 23) came to live with us, the rule was that I was always to be kept naked in the Power Room. Obviously having a separate building for our intimate rituals would give Miss Ling more privacy to express her feelings, wishes, demands and frustrations. She says she is also thinking about adding another chair or two, or perhaps even a sofa, because “You never know, I may have guests.”

The implication is quite clear. At some point I am sure the girls will be invited to witness my discipline sessions (with me clothed, of course) and maybe receive some training themselves in proper execution of discipline of the male. Perhaps one or two of Miss Ling’s cousins or even a few close friends will be invited in to witness how our matriarchal marriage is conducted.

I don't think the girls will be given authority to discipline me outright, at least not yet. More likely they will be encouraged to report any faults or misbehaving or disrespect to their Mother, who will decide what to do, in consultation with them. And if it's decided that I am to be disciplined, I am certain one or both will attend the Power Room session and perhaps even be given the cane or crop to use.

I confess that just thinking about all this can be a bit overwhelming! Like everything else in my future, it is all in Miss Ling’s hands.

*

Tuesday, of course, was Valentine’s Day—the first one for me with all three “girls.” Miss Ling told her girls that Papa had something for them for Valentine’s Day and would give it to them after dinner. So, after dinner, I was told it was time to celebrate Valentine’s and I was instructed to go to the Power Room. Normally, when I hear these words, I must strip naked and, in the Room, wait for her, kneeling with face to the floor, facing towards the door. This time she said I could sit in the chair and wait for them.

I immediately gathered my small gifts and cards and did as she ordered. Five minutes later the three girls came in. I immediately stood as Miss Ling sat in the chair. The girls stood on either side. Miss Ling told me to kneel before  her. Her daughters giggled as I obeyed. She told the girls that I had something to say, then looked at me and said, “Okay, honey.”

I said that this was a very special Valentine’s Day and how lucky I am to have three Valentines to whom I may say “I love you,” and also that I am privileged to serve. And then to Miss Ling I added a special love message about how lucky I am to be married very soon and how I know I will be in good hands for the rest of my life to serve her, to obey her and to be trained and punished as she wishes in order to make me a better person. As I said these words Miss Ling looked at her daughters and all were smiling brightly.

Then I handed to each a Valentine’s card with a message similar to what I had just said aloud. There was also a small amount of money in each envelope, which they liked, of course. Then I gave to each a small gift: To Miss D a bar of coconut soap, which is supposed to be very good for the skin; to Miss A, a tube of special body lotion; and to Miss Ling a natural shampoo health product. All gifts related to their bodies to keep them “lookin’ good.”

I then asked them if I had forgotten anything? Miss A said that chocolate is customarily given on Valentine’s Day along with flowers. “Ah yes,” I said, “I forgot.” Then I looked in my bag and  said, “Wait a minute.” And pulled out three nicely wrapped brownies fresh from the local bakery. They loved that. Then I said. “One more thing. Come outside a minute.'” And mother and daughters all  followed me to the garden and saw three hanging plants with decorative message and clay hearts. This, too, I was happy to see pleased them very much.

Then Miss Ling told us all to return to the Power Room for one more thing. The girls giggled again. Inside, I was instructed by Miss Ling to kneel before her again. She said that she and her daughters wanted to thank me for my thoughtful gifts and heartfelt words. “We are very pleased at what you have done,” she said, “and here is your special reward.”
With that, Miss Ling extended one bare foot for me to kiss, then the other, and I gave each of her lovely feet a long devotional kiss. Then she turned and nodded to Miss D, who extended a bare foot to be kissed, then the other. Miss A continued to giggle and certainly did not have to be told what to do. She, too, extended a lovely bare foot, then the other, to be kissed. After each kiss, I made sure to say, “Thank you.”

It was a very special Valentine’s Day, one I will never forget. I am such a lucky man.

Remember, men, that women all over the world like to be told that they are special, and that they like and deserve to be treated with respect and devotion. Many women—more and more, in my opinion—also like to be obeyed. Matriarchy gives women the power to ensure that husbands remain always true to their word and faithful. Female power is a wonderful thing! I wish more women—and their males—understood this!

*

Monday, January 30, 2017

ARTHUR: HOW WILL MISS LING SHOW HER POWER AT OUR WEDDING? Post. No. 5

(Arthur’s continues the journal of his submissive courtship of  the dominant Miss Ling in the lead-up to their matriarchal marriage, and his increasing service to Miss Ling's two live-in daughters from a previous marriage, Miss A, age 14, and Miss D, age 23.—Thomas Lavalle)

Yesterday Miss Ling went looking at wedding outfits with a girlfriend who got married two years ago. They had a lot of fun, girls’ time together.

This morning in bed I asked her if she was planning to show her power at the wedding. She looked at me for a few seconds, then said “Secret.” I asked her if she had discussed something like this with her friend. She smiled and said “Yes,” so I may be in for a shock. I said I think her friend has the power. Miss Ling agreed that was true. I asked her if they discussed their female power in their relationships. She said that they did, but would say no more about it. Damn!

I’m pretty sure she wants to show her power in some manner in front of all, but how, I don't know. It’s a pretty vanilla group, and it's a conservative Asian culture. But a show of power would do wonders for Miss Ling’s standing in her family, and also with the girls’ standing with their female cousins.

And of course I think back to our proposal ceremony, and especially the part where I was ordered to kiss the feet of both girls as well as Miss Ling. That was such a very special moment, never to be forgotten by any of us. I wish and hope it will happen again, and that it could become a regular ritual in our matriarchal family.

Meanwhile I'm becoming quite diligent with my laundry duties for all three ladies. Miss D prefers to do her own wash and hand-washes some underwear. But I am permitted to do her ironing after her clothes are dry.

The other day Miss D told me she had no work shirts and had to borrow one of her mother's. After she left for work, I retrieved her dirty laundry, washed and ironed all her work shirts and pants and left them neatly folded on her bed, along with her folded underwear. I also cleaned her shoes and flip flops. During all of this, I was sinking deeper and deeper into submission. When Miss D returned from work and saw all her neatly folded clothes, she gave me a big smile and thanks. I wanted to kneel at her feet at that moment to properly thank her for not being mad that I had done this without permission and to tell her that thanks are not necessary as my duty is to serve her, her sister and her Mom. But I didn’t!

However, because of her pleased reaction, I am assuming that I now have permission going forward to do her laundry. Maybe I will ask her just to be clear. If she says yes, then that will give me the opportunity to ask if she wants me to hand-wash anything. I can mention that her Mother tells me when she wants anything hand-washed. And as for Miss D’s younger sister, Miss A, she now takes my laundry service for granted, including asking me to iron specific items immediately when she wishes to wear them.

Miss Ling has taken my laundry service, or subservience, much farther. A year or so ago she would place her clothes on the bed, no matter where she took them off. I suggested politely that she simply leave them on the floor for me to pick up and put in the laundry room, that she need not remind me, that I would be pleased to help relieve her of this simple task, and that I felt this was another way a man can serve a woman.

Her response was quick and decisive. “I like that,” she announced. “Yes, that will be your job, but I expect my clothes to be picked up promptly.”

I responded with a quick “Yes, Ma’am” and a thank-you. She initiated the procedure that very day, casually dropping her clothes on the floor, and this is now an every-day, or every-night, routine. It would be great if the girls followed their Mother’s lead, but so far she has not instructed them to do so. I do pick up Miss A’s dirty clothes out of the hamper in her room, and, as I mentioned, am hoping to begin doing the same with Miss D.

*

Today I took Miss D to the airport. She has a four-day break and went back to her home town. I asked her if she was being picked up when she lands. She said no, but would call a male friend. I suggested that she call the friend now, before she takes off, so he can be waiting when she lands.

“You are learning from your mother that the man must always serve the women,” I said respectfully, “so here is a way you can teach him his proper role, and you don’t have to wait for him to show up.”

If you begin to think this way, I went on, in time it will be natural for you, and natural too, for some of your men friends to be under your control if they want to please you. Not all men, of course, but more and more men are seeing the light.

Miss D is still a bit confused with this FLR approach, as this is alien to her culture, but she seems to like what she hears.

I also told Miss D that I had noticed a big load of dirty laundry in her room when I was picking up the trash from her wastebasket. I asked if she would “allow” me to take care of her laundry while she is away. She smiled and said yes, and thanked me. I reminded her that I am here to serve all three of them, just as we discussed on Proposal Day. I said that I want to do it and like to do it.

She smiled again and exclaimed “I  know!” I also told her that she need not be shy if she needs something or wants me to do something. “Just ask or instruct me. I want to serve.” She promised she would.

All in all it was a good discussion we had on the way to the airport. Tomorrow I will wash and iron some of her clothes and leave them neatly stacked on her bed, which will remind her of my proper function in the matriarchal household.

In fact, as soon I got home from the airport I went to clean her shoes, starting with her flip-flops. (BTW, a shoe cleaning always starts with a respectful kiss of each shoe at the toe and inside where the female's heel rests.)

 *

Saturday, January 14, 2017

DEBRA’S SON: MATRIARCHAL MARRIAGE, Part 3 ~ OUR GYNARCHIC WEDDING

(As explained in the previous post, Shayna arranged for us to be legally married in a quick perfunctory civil ceremony attended by her parents and a few vanilla friends. What we consider our real wedding occurred later that day, attended only by my matriarchal family and a few of Shayna’s radical feminist friends. Shayna put it together, showcasing her unique combination of humor and dominance that I had fallen so completely in love with.)

Shayna wore a dark red satin blouse displaying her gorgeous cleavage, a tight black leather miniskirt, sheer nude hose and dark red, peeptoe, four-inch pumps. She dressed me in a regular man’s suit, but all white to symbolize my virginity. (Yes, it’s true; see the earlier postings.) Days before the wedding I had begged her not to announce the reason for the color in public.

She said, “Throughout time men have expected women to value virginity, so, sauce for the goose, Dave. Besides, our guest list is so small and select that everyone knows or suspects anyway.”
End of discussion.

The Priestess at our wedding was Madison’s friend Angela, a solitary witch (i.e., not a member of a coven). She wore a long, red, wraparound dress. Shayna and I stood at the altar.

Angela read the lines below. Shayna and Angela wrote the vows, but most of the passages were selected and edited by my fiancée from English translations of the ancient Hindu text known as the The Laws of Manu. The twist was that anywhere words denoting males (husband, son, etc.) appeared, Shayna switched them with corresponding female pronouns:

“A boy, a young man, or even an old man should not do anything independently, even in his own house. In childhood a man should be under his mother’s control, in youth under his wife’s, and when his wife is dead, under his daughters’. A man should try not to separate himself from his mother, his wife, or his daughters, for his separation from them would make both families (his own and his wife’s) contemptible. He should always be cheerful and clever at his business; he should keep his household utensils polished and not have too free a hand in spending...

“A virtuous husband should be always faithful and constantly serve his wife like a goddess, even if she freely indulges her lust. A woman’s womb is her fertile soil and the seed comes from men. She owns her soil as a farmer owns land; she alone chooses the source of her seed regardless of her marital state. A virtuous husband will cherish the fruit of her womb no matter the source...

“Men, through their passion for women, their mutable temper, their natural heartlessness, they become destroyers, however carefully they may be guarded. But those men who of their own accord keep guard over themselves are well guarded. Be well guarded, then, David.”

I smiled sheepishly and nodded. There were lots of giggles and snickers from the guests.

“David, I understand that you come to Shayna a virgin, that you have never known a woman. Is this true?”

“Yes, Priestess.” (I felt my face redden and I could have crawled in 
hole.)

“Very Good. Congratulations, Shayna.”

[Hoots and giggles, mostly from Shayna’s friends.]

“Shayna, do you affirm that David is the man you have chosen for your lifelong helpmeet, to be your husband, that is, house-band, bound to your household in accordance with gynarchic principles, as you view them?”

“Yes, Priestess,” Shayna said.

The vows were next.

“David, do you promise to love, honor, cherish and OBEY [more giggles from the guests] Shayna, to live in her household, completely according to her rule, as she sees fit, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“Shayna, do you promise to love, honor, and cherish David, always keeping him as part of your household, ruling him as you see fit—well, I don’t mean you can leave the boy with any long-term injuries—[laughter from the guests] for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

Angela said, “David, do you have the key?”

“Yes, Priestess.”

“Make your pledge.”

“With this key I give myself to you, Shayna, body, heart, mind, and spirit, forever.”

The key was my chastity key on a chain, and Shayna put the chain around her neck, letting the key dangle in her cleavage.

“With the power vested in me by the Goddess, I now pronounce you
Woman and husband. Shayna, you may kiss the groom.”

As Shayna kissed me, I never felt more submissive and owned by a woman in my life. The kiss was long and got more passionate as the guests laughed and applauded. We ended up soul kissing, and I surrendered to her tongue as she silently let me know that I belonged to her, absolutely, forever.

We kept kissing, and finally the Priestess stepped down from the altar. As she walked past us she slapped me on the backside and said, “Good luck, David, you’re gonna need it.” Shayna, without completely breaking our kiss, giggled and said, “Shut up, Angie.”

Though we hadn’t planned a reception, people hung around for awhile. Mom was cordial though reserved. I knew this ceremony hadn’t been solemn enough for her in terms of Goddess-worship, but I wasn’t going to defend Shayna’s decisions. We were beyond that now.

Shayna and I left as everyone wished us well. I felt great, but I was worried about that night. I was a 41-year-old man who was going to have sex for the first time. I always knew I was hetero, and had a high libido, but I had never touched a woman in a sexual manner. I was really afraid of not being able to maintain an erection. You would think it would be the opposite, that I’d be raring to go, but I had a bad feeling.

My fears weren’t unfounded. Shayna unlocked my chastity belt and started stroking me, but before we got very far I kept losing my erection over and over. I tried to explain things to her. She said she understood, but I believe deep down she was thinking, “This just proves my theory. I should have left well enough alone and made him keep his virginity. This won’t do either of us any good.”

I told her I thought it’d help if I gave her a massage. I started rubbing her beautiful feet and moved up to her toned legs, her gorgeous ass (“birthing hips” I thought at that moment, for no reason at all), her narrow waist and up her back. I had her turn over, and she looked so beautiful I stopped massaging and just started kissing her face and going down her neck. I stuck my nose in her cleavage and inhaled her scent. I spent a long time sucking her breasts and, as I did, I felt myself get really hard, and I let my erection throb against her leg.

I moved down to her midriff, and kissed all around her belly button for awhile. Then I went to her pussy, and had my first taste of ambrosia. Finally I felt relaxed enough to try entering her. I did, and she felt so great, like liquid velvet.

I could scarcely believe it. This is what I’d fantasized about for so long. Pure ecstasy. I couldn’t possibly hold back. In less than twenty seconds, I squirted what felt like a gallon. I was so happy I didn’t lose my erection that I said, “Oh, god, Shayna, that was so good, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to go again in no time, and I promise it’ll be longer.”

She said, “No.”

“What?” I replied, surprised.

“No.” Her tone was serious and resolute. “We’ve consummated our marriage. I kept my promise. That’s it for a long, long time.”

I didn’t say anything.

After a minute or so, she said, “Don’t look so mopy. You had to know I meant what I said.”

Pathetic as it might sound, I begged, “Please Shayna, let me clean you at least.”

She didn’t say a word and kept staring at the ceiling, but she spread her legs slightly. I took a chance that she meant yes, and started licking her thighs and pussy clean.

I couldn’t complain. She had made it clear before we married that I didn’t excite her in “that way,” and she was not going to be one of those women who had sex all the time out of duty. Intercourse with her was extremely rare after that night (my birthday and our anniversary, and they’re only two months apart!).

She does allow me to perform cunnilingus if I really beg for it. I just have to be intuitive and make sure I don’t pester her often. Occasionally she likes being begged, but usually she’s annoyed and I get nowhere.

One time I kept begging to lick her pussy and she said, “No, but you can lick my ass.”

That was okay—more than okay! I loved it! Diving deep between the cheeks of her heart-shaped ass and tonguing her rosebud were sheer heaven for me. 

As for enforced chastity, it’s still difficult, but I’ve learned to live with it. I have to take a break from even the specially made device sometimes, but I’ve learned to control myself (usually) when not wearing it. Shayna allows me two orgasms by masturbation a month to “clean the pipes.”

After the honeymoon I sold my house and moved into hers. She didn’t want to leave the area or her job, and I was pretty sure I could set up an accounting practice there. It was a slow start, but I’ve built up a good home business in this area and it’s still growing. I was able to pay off her mortgage and began having the house repaired and remodeled as she desired.

We’ve been married five years now. Shayna is 30 and I’m 46. We enjoy time together, we’ve remained affectionate, and our bond grows stronger as the years pass. Life has gone on mostly as before, but there have been two wonderful surprises in our lives. Shayna gave birth to a boy in 2013, and we found out she’s going to have a girl this coming April of 2017.

We’ll be raising our kids in a matriarchal, or as my wife prefers to say, a gynarchic home. I feel so much more sure of myself now because I’ve done it before. The difference is I’m raising a son, but my dad helped raise me in a matriarchal home, and I have those experiences to draw on. I’m still close to my parents, and my mom is gracious and accepting of my choices. I’ll always love and honor her for that. I’m happy, healthy, and so is my ruling wife and our growing family. Despite what anyone might think, I feel incredibly blessed to be right where I am.


*

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

DEBRA’S SON: OUR MATRIARCHAL MARRIAGE, Part 2


(Previously I described how Shayna and I met in an online chatroom, her uncompromising gynarchist views and our eventful first femdom weekend together at her semi-rural house.)

On the fourth weekend, I think it was, she introduced me to two female friends both about her age, Nikki and Madison. They weren’t gynarchists like Shayna, but definitely fellow travelers. They treated me like a butler if they wanted a drink or a snack, but mostly they ignored me. All three liked to go out clubbing together.
Shayna looked so hot in a short, tight, low cut club dress and heels, and she often went commando. Being chaste even part time had made me so horny I constantly fought the desire to fall at her feet. I wasn’t used to having masturbation restricted at all, and I had a hard time dealing with the intensity of my lust. Sometimes I begged her to let me out, but she said I was probably jerking way too much at my home already.

Shayna usually came back from clubbing either really late or early the next morning. Later, when Nikki and Madison visited again, I heard all three women talk about the hot guys they knew. I must have been acting disapproving or jealous, because after the
women left, Shayna made it clear that abstinence wasn’t for women. Women had already been subject to enough chastity in history. She wasn’t ashamed of her high libido and would continue to be sexually active no matter how our relationship progressed or how long it lasted. She had a steady guy at the present time, and while she wasn’t in the habit of bringing home dates, privacy was essential if she did. She’d phone me before he came, and I would stay in another part of the house until he left. Afterward, I was to conduct myself as if nothing had happened—no jealousy, no passive aggression, no sullen moping. If I overheard or saw things, oh well, but I was NEVER to ask her any details of her sex life.

Of course, I agreed.

One night while Shayna was out she sent me a text saying, “Bringing him home. Go in top door and STAY THERE.

By “top door” she meant the door at the top of the stairs that run along the outside of her house. In other words, go directly to the second story and stay out of sight.

I walked up to the second floor and stayed where and as Shayna ordered. In a few minutes I heard my car drive up (she was using my car because her battery had given out that day). I heard two car doors slam, and then I heard the front door of the house open. I could hear a little of what was going on below—Shayna giggling and a man’s deep voice. I couldn’t hear much more than that, but I tried to picture what might be going on. After several hours I thought I heard the front door on the first floor shut. Good, I thought. She’s taking him back to wherever.

But that was wishful thinking. From one of my upstairs windows I saw Shayna running with this hunky young blond guy toward the above-ground pool she had in the yard. They were both nude. It was a hot night and dark, with a sliver of moon, but I could just make out what was happening. They were hugging and kissing in the water, and I heard her squeal as he bit her neck and then her breasts. He was really aggressive and drove her wild. I could see why she wasn’t attracted to me in that way.

After a while he climbed up and sat on a small wooden deck that’s level with the top of the pool. Shayna, while still in the water, glided over and started performing fellatio on him. She was incredibly expert and relished what she was doing. She teased him with her hands and tongue, and then she took him all in, her head bobbing back and forth in rhythm. This guy was just casually leaning back, as though he’d had it a hundred times before and was slightly bored. If it had been me, I would have been out of my mind with ecstasy. But it wasn’t me. I was upstairs in a chastity device with blue balls and dribbling precum while peeking through a curtain at my goddess and her stud.

While this was happening, a cloud covered the moon and I couldn’t see anymore. I could still hear, though, and I listened for a little. I felt a hundred things all at once. I was angry and jealous but obviously turned on. I was even proud of her in a weird way. I closed the window curtain and went to bed but tossed and turned all night.

The next morning Shayna’s stud had a friend pick him up. I did my best to keep my promise. I acted like nothing happened and so did she.

All that aside, as the months went by, Shayna and I went places and did things together, got to really know each other and slowly formed a closer bond. We shared affectionate kisses and embraces, but if I attempted anything sexual, I was sharply rebuffed. Despite that, I fell hopelessly in love with her, and one day I told her so.

She replied, “I love you, too. I never thought I’d run across a guy with your background.”

“Then marry me,” I said.

“Are you sure, Dave? You know what kind of marriage it will be.”

“I know.”

“Things will be basically as they are now.”

“Can’t we at least consummate our marriage on our wedding night?” I said, with a hopeful grin.

“I love you, but not in that way. Besides, you’re not circumcised. I don’t have sex with uncircumcised guys.” 

“I’ll get circumcised.”

“Ha! Is that a fact? Okay, then. If you do, we’ll have a traditional wedding night, but after that, expect very little sex. That’s not what I need from you. Remember what I said about the types?”

“I know, I know.”

“I just can’t faze you, can I? I don’t believe you’re for real.”

“I love you, Shayna, and I’m for real. I promise
things will be exactly the way you want them in every area of our lives. Forever. I promise.”

“Then let’s set a date. For your circumcision first.”

I did get circumcised, and though it was more of an ordeal than I thought, I healed relatively fast. We set a wedding date for 13 months to the day after we met online.

During our engagement we met each other’s families. My mom and my fiancee liked each other, but there was some tension, mostly due to personality differences. Shayna was impressed by my mother and her matriarchal history, but Mom thought Shayna’s attitude toward the spiritual aspects of matriarchy (and a lot of other things) was too light and casual. Mom took her Goddess-centered beliefs seriously. Shayna felt that while the Goddess was important in gynarchy, it was utilitarian, best used as a concept to empower women rather than taken too seriously as an actual entity. There were other differences, too, but Mom told me afterward in private that she basically approved. If I was sure about Shayna, she was happy for me. Dad, my sisters, and nieces were happy too.

We visited Shayna’s family next. Her parents don’t relate to matriarchy or anything resembling it, so we had to be a normal vanilla couple when were there. They were very nice, but I could tell they thought I was way too old for her. I liked them though.

Shayna and I had a quick perfunctory civil ceremony by a judge, just to make sure our marriage was legal in our state. Her parents and a few vanilla friends attended that. But what we consider our real wedding was performed later the same day. It was private and small, attended by my family and a few of Shayna’s radical feminist friends. Shayna put it together, using her own ideas and borrowing some from my account of a matriarchal wedding of a friend of my family. It bore her own stamp without a doubt, reflecting her unique combination of humor and dominance that I fell so much in love with. I’ll have to leave some things out due to length, but you’ll get the gist…


(To be continued…)