A big part of why I do this thing called ‘slavery’ is that I have a need for the feeling of being kept & protected. I wrote previously about the relationship security that I get from being someone’s property, but I’ve also recently noticed that feeling safe and secure – both mentally and physically – play a big part.
As a woman, I like my man to be a man. I’m very neanderthal as far as my thoughts on women’s roles & men’s roles are concerned and as such, I like men to do the stuff that needs doing outside the cave: killing stuff, cleaning stuff, bbq-ing stuff, while I do the stuff inside. I also like men to keep the lions & tigers away from the door and the spiders, snakes & creepy-crawly things with lots of legs out of my bedroom.
When he’s in the mood, I quite like being dragged back to the cave by my hair and he should be able to throw me over his shoulder when he’s wading through quicksand, which requires a certain amount of manly strength on his part, and a certain amount of petite-ness on my part.
I’ve always consciously or unconsciously liked men who are taller than me. Ideally, they also should not be able to fit into my clothes. I’ll never forget the day my ex-husband came waltzing out into the lounge room wearing a pair of my jeans. He was stunned that the button on the fly for girls was on the other side. I, meanwhile, was stunned that the man I married had not only fit into my jeans, but he needed a belt to keep them up.
Being ‘small’ is a fairly important part of being able to be protected and it’s also a reason why I’ve tried so hard to lose weight.
I like it when his hand engulfs mine; when I scrunch my hand into a fist and it fits into the palm of his hand.
I like it when he hugs me and his arms reach all the way around; when he envelopes and surrounds me.
I like it when I have to look up to him; when he towers over me and I feel so very, very small.