Sexual submission vs submission

Many, many eons ago, I wrote a piece about how to spot a submissive. I’m not going to direct you to that very bland and quite embarrassing little blog because the date on it was 1st Aug 2005, which just happened to be an unfortunate period in my life (by way of explanation…I’d just left my husband, returned to Australia and really hadn’t reached my stride in snarky internet bloggery yet. At that time I was actually writing my daily journals in a book with a pen – remember those things?, because it was a task I was given by my then domly one. I typed them up many months later and thought I really should take down those first six months or so of blogs, because they are quite vomit-inducing, but I’ve kept them there as something to laugh at when the need arises.)

Anyway, someone left quite a ranty comment on that entry the other day saying what I wrote was full of shit and while I don’t disagree one bit, I did have a bit of a knee-jerk reaction when she said she was ‘sexually submissive’, but not at all like the picture of a submissive I’d painted. So I’ve been thinking, is being sexually submissive and submissive really the same thing?

A little while back when I was having angst about whether I was a slave or a submissive (for the…*cough, cough*…fifty billionth time), I pointed out that most of my problem was the fact that I was the currently the ‘dominant’ half of the relationship everywhere except the bedroom. I spend 12+ hours out of the house everyday, being autonomous and doing grown-up things and in my job, I spend a lot of time telling people what to do and presenting plans that affect a business with a turnover of 100 million dollars. I can’t particularly be ‘submissive’ anywhere except the bedroom, but that still doesn’t stop me from thinking that I’m more than a ‘sexual submissive’.

When I come home, I say hello to Master, put my collar on and generally slip into a pair of boots. He calls me ‘slave’, ‘slut’, ‘cunt’, ‘bitch’ and out of the blue will tell me to put my head to the floor or kneel in front of him. He also likes to twist my arm up behind me, pull me towards him and attempt to remove my nipple by twisting it between his forefinger and thumb. He likes to give bruise-inducing massages to my inner thigh that make me think he’d be a great bread-maker and sometimes he uses my back as a footrest. Fetching and carrying everything from cups of coffee to his favourite riding crop are a daily event and he likes to make me tell him what I am and what being a slave means.

And that’s just in the living room.

I’m not sure if any of that makes me submissive in the eyes of another, but I process my slavery (which is really just a slightly more hardcore form of submission) by reminding myself that I chose to become the property of another. I’m not sure why that fact is important to me, but I know the thought of it makes me juicy in all the right places.

Submission requires putting yourself below another person. It doesn’t mean that your needs are less important or less real, just that in the hierarchy of things, they take backseat. Can you be submissive without someone to submit to? Well, you can have a submissive personality but ultimately, unless there’s someone above you in the food chain, there’s nothing to be submissive about.

It goes without saying that I am submissive in the bedroom; I like to be the one having things “done to her” and I generally like to be tied up or held down while it’s happening. But I also like it when that feeling of being submissive or subject to another person bleeds outside the bedroom and into everyday life. While that sometimes involves buttplugs at the mall or collars under high-necked shirts at work, it generally just involves me thinking every now and then in a quiet moment that someone cares enough about me to not just want to be with me, but to own me.


Not sure what to call this one

In this week’s news, I finished drafting out the next 20 chapters of my story, which is essentially the next ‘book’ and then I realised that now I actually have to write the thing and I thought, “Fuck…”

Don’t you hate it when you just want to read the story and don’t want to spend the next twenty or so weeks writing the damn thing? Maybe I can outsource it? Lol. But I have noticed that some part of me has missed writing these past few weeks. I have very few interests and without writing taking up every spare waking moment of my life, I have a lot of time to kill which usually tempts me to stuff things in my mouth. And by ‘things’ I mean food, so get your mind out of the gutter again, people!

I’m back on the 4:3 wagon but my non-fasting days are still on the explosive side, so I’m trying to reel that back in at the moment. Hopefully, once I get back into routine, I’ll be able to get that back under control again too. Funnily enough, since putting on a bit of weight in Japan, now people are commenting that I’ve lost weight. I’m not sure how that works.

I watched the end of Breaking Bad and thought again that it was a very well-written and fantastically acted story. Part of me can’t help asking if that person who we think died, well, did he actually die? (I’m trying not to give spoilers so forgive my slightly confusing question.) And I want to know why Jesse was making a box in that fantasy scene. It got me thinking about Pulp Fiction and then I was all like, “Maybe that’s a metaphor for his soul.” But then I thought, “Maybe he just wanted a pretty box for his blue meth.”

I’ve got me some eye candy now that season 2 of Arrow is back, although I’m in major withdrawal for Ray Donovan. And people, I completely forgot about season four of Downton Abbey! Ahhh! Must.catch.up.on.all.episodes.

In slave news, I’ve had the punishment white boots on a fair bit this week for various offences, mostly involving my lack of enthusiasm at wearing boots. I’ve also managed to accrue 14 sessions with Mr Cane for not calling M “Master” when addressing him on Skype while I was in Japan (…and a few times since coming back too…whoops.)

In yoghurt baby news, I brewed up three batches of yoghurt this week and it was all good. I stumbled across this Caspian Sea yoghurt page in English so you can check it out if you’re interested.

And finally in music news, I’m a bit obsessed with Fall Out Boy at the moment and particularly the song The Phoenix. Body Combat 57 introduced it and My songs know you did in the dark to me so I’ve had them both on repeat for a week. That’s probably sad but it’s exactly what I do when I like something: play it, eat it or do it to death until I become sick of it and then move onto the next thing. That doesn’t sound like a particularly healthy relationship to have with things, but meh, that’s how I roll.



Japanese hotel room porn

I have a fetish for looking voyeuristically at hotel rooms. That’s why it always takes me so long to choose a hotel – because I pour over photos of the rooms and try to weigh up which floor plan would be the best and which room has a toilet with the most features (actually I tend to choose my hotel by its proximity to the 100 yen shop…)

This is where I stayed for work:


I got so used to the toilet flushing as I walked away that I had to train myself to start pushing the button again when I got back to Perth! First world problems!!! (that machine just outside the bathroom door is an air cleaner and ionizer.)


Now, is this a rainfall shower, or is this a rainfall shower?


Remember how I mentioned that amenities are fantastic? Hairbrush, toothbrush & toothpaste, razor, shaving foam, hairbands, body loofah, make-up remover gel, face wash, toner, face cream, green tea hand and body cream, cotton buds (and the little sign in there says that if I need girlie sanitary things, I can ring reception for free ones as well.)


Nespresso machine with four flavours of capsules replenished daily


I could set my bed to light, sound and vibrate me up (get your mind out of the gutter people!)


This is not a super fancy five-star hotel. It was $150/night right across from Tokyo station. (In Perth, $150 a night will get you a 1970’s busted decor room with a bed and possibly a functioning bathroom…maybe.) This hotel also has smaller, cheaper rooms for around $80/night but if you wanted to go even cheaper there are plenty of options.

This is where I stayed for my couple of free days (yes, that is a cushion shaped liked a koala no march cookie.)17th floor, 2 stops from Tokyo station. $75/night.



Hand-made choccies in fridge, iron, jasmine, green & roasted tea, room humidifier, iPod dock (behind the kettle) and a foot massager is just out of shot.


Neither hotel offers room service (which I never use anyway) but if you want a fast brekkie, the staff will run next door to the Lotteria hamburger joint and grab you a brekkie combo (sausage or shrimp burger, fries or veggie juice & coffee or tea/orange juice) for $5 and deliver it to your room.


I also stayed at two other hotels but didn’t take photos (because I am a slack bitch). The only thing I don’t like about Japanese hotels is that 99% of them have really hard beds. And I mean hard beds. But I guess if your toilet opens its own lid, you can put up with a hard bed for a few nights.

More Japan food porn you didn’t need to see

This tastes like cold tomato soup with a hint of lemon:

Tomato milk lemon

Coffee is one thing they don’t do well in Japan, so Starbucks is a very welcome sight. Fortunately it is everywhere and I mean e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e. This cranberry and white chocolate scone was also scrummy:


Even $5 sushi from the supermarket is fantastic. I especially enjoyed the raw octopus which is something I cannot find in sushi in Australia – probably because it looks and feels too much like an alien:


This is Nagasaki chanpon with two types of dressing – ginger and yuzu. It’s egg noodles in a pork-based broth with 7 types of stir-fried veggies and pork/seafood. Kind of like raamen, but not quite. It was fun to mix up the taste with the dressing.


Mister Donuts’ old fashioned, cream-filled cruller and custard donuts.


Green tea and strawberry ice cream in a roasted black sesame cone:


Tokyo-style octopus balls covered with monja topping (complete with a Tokyo skytree toothpick! Whee!)


Teriyaki chicken burger, fries & acerola soda at Mos Burger (’s not all about the sushi and it’s what you need when you’re hungover…)


But the sushi is of course fantastic (even with unorthodox plates but with pretty lotus root):


And the winner of the unfortunate drink name is…Slat….which sounds like ‘slut’ when you say it in Japanese. Pomegranate and orange girlie alcoholic beverage complete with orange pulpy bits.


And we can’t forget the handmade chocolates that were put into my hotel room fridge everyday. I didn’t have the same ones twice (but forgot to take photos on the other two days..doh!):



Based on these small selection of photos ( I still have more…) you would be correct in guessing that I put everything in my mouth that crossed my path. I ate with wild abandon but now I have a three-month-old Tokyo food baby belly that I need to fast and sweat off. Pray for me.

The ex

I met up with my ex-husband while I was in Japan – you remember the one I divorced because I discovered I preferred to be tied up and beaten? It’s been 8 years since I left him but I’ve managed to meet up with him every time I’ve been back to Japan since.

It’s always weird when we meet up because it’s kind of like a date but now he’s remarried and has a two-year old son and I’m a slave with a collar. Life is very strange like that.

This time it was a little stranger because our meeting ended up like a bad comedy movie script. We went out drinking and after seven, eight or nine drinks (I can’t quite remember…damn Japan and its $15 all-you-can-drink-for-two-hours specials!!!) both of us were very, very drunk. Fortunately I was less drunk than he was and managed to drag him back to my hotel after spending half an hour trying to wake him up when he passed out in mid-conversation while we happened to be talking about my wedding dress…

Yes, it gets stranger.

My hotel room was on the ‘ladies floor’ (no men allowed!) and I thought it would not be the best thing to have him in my room even though he was only semi-conscious and it would only be for a few hours. So I asked at the front desk if they had a spare room and they did so I paid for it and escorted/dragged him there. We spent ten minutes trying to get his shoes off and I then spent ten minutes trying to roll him into bed. He has always been one of those people who could fall asleep anywhere, anytime and he sleeps so deeply you normally have to give him a swift kick to get him up. I was having serious deja vu as I wrestled him into bed. He only had the suit he was wearing with him and I wasn’t about to undress him, so I figured there was nothing else I could do. I wrote my room number down on some paper and left it next to bed. Then I headed up to my room.

That was 3am.

The next day he rang me about 10am and thanked me for the room, saying it was the best night’s sleep he’s had for a very long time. I told him to take a shower because I knew he’d be fiercely hung-over but he said he didn’t want to appear too ‘fresh’ because then he’d have a hard time explaining that to his wife…

So we had lunch together and did a bit of shopping and then we parted ways – him heading back to his wife and child and me heading to the 100 yen shop for a final shopping blitz. It was a very strange 36 hours. Bizzaro factor max.

During our dinner, one topic of conversation was whether I was thinking about getting remarried. I said I had no interest in marriage part deux or of course having children and he said he was relieved. Somehow the fact that I needed a ‘different’ life to the one I would have had with him made him feel better about us parting ways. He has told me before he was sorry that he couldn’t give me what I wanted in that way.

This time as I listened to his tales of married life, being a father and shitty employment conditions in the land of the rising sun, I saw what could have been my life flash before my eyes and it made me nauseous. As least, I think it was that and not the toxic mix of sake, plum liqueur and several cocktails that listed ‘jelly’ as one of the ingredients that were churning around in my stomach.

I had a bit of a cathartic moment – that perhaps I had made the right decision after all. Not perhaps for him, but for myself. Well, maybe for him too, because I probably would have been horrible to live with, trapped in a life that didn’t have any meaning for me.

I keep thinking that life isn’t a box of chocolates. It’s an episode of Breaking Bad that is peppered with references you don’t get until much later on and that you can’t appreciate until you’ve seen the big picture.

the ex


I’ve been back for two days now and I officially have Japan-drop (which is like sub-drop but more sucky). When I return to Australia after every visit to ‘the land of happiness’ as M calls it, I emotionally sink like a stone and feel a sudden urge to claw the eyes out of everyone around me. I’ve been travelling between Australia and Japan for 18 years now and I’m at the half-way point where I’ve had Japan in my life for exactly the same number of years as I’ve lived without it.

When I’m in Japan it’s like my brain goes into over-drive with everything wanting my attention and it takes me a while to get over it and while I thoroughly enjoy my time there, as I get older I’m finding less and less that I would like to live there on a permanent basis (long-term quality of life is kind of sucky there).

Anyway, above and beyond my week of work filled with meetings and business dinners, I also had 5 days to myself during which I ate, shopped, ate, ate some more and soaked up the best that Japan has to offer. I did a *lot* of eating. I had intended to try and not gorge myself, but that intention went out the window within the first six hours of landing. There is just so much yummy goodness everywhere and it’s almost impossible to ignore all the things just begging to be eaten around you.

Like square vanilla bean custard cream puffs:

P1230151with artistic white chocolate art on the top:


And pumpkin sponge, chestnut cream, salted caramel layer cake topped with three types of vanilla cream puffs:

P1220972And the Japanese wagashi sweets like yomogi dango (mugwort pounded rice balls with azuki bean paste):


And of course melon bread, it’s the one thing I always, always have while I’m in Japan (and usually several different types. This time I think I had 4 different types.)


Funnily enough 99.9% of my photos feature food. That’s partly because I felt less embarrassed taking photos of food because everyone does it and partly because I don’t feel like a tourist when I’m there so I tend not to take photos of scenery.

Along with the sweet stuff, I also had copious amounts of ‘real’ food. Unfortunately with one of my travelling companions not able to eat fish, there was a lot of meat. Meat, meat, meat. I’m not a heavy meat eater and so it was pretty challenging for me (I ended up passing a lot of my meat to the most canivorous member of our team.)

This is some pretty pricey thinly sliced wagyuu for shabu shabu (it gets poached quickly in stock before being dipped in ponzu or a sesame sauce for eating) :


And these were lamb chops at a french restaurant that were way too rare for my liking:


Ultimately I’m at my happiest eating this:


Isn’t it beautiful?


And in terms of raw fish, this gives me a sushigasm:


Tsubugai (sea whelk/sea snail). It’s chewy and crunchy and makes the best sushi. ever.

I think the ‘food’ item I was the happiest about was being able to purchase some Caspian Sea Yoghurt culture and bring it back with me. I conceived my yoghurt baby just an hour ago and in about 12 hours or so I should have my first batch. It’s the only culture I know of that allows you to make yoghurt at room temperature and once you’ve made some, you just keep saving a small amount of starter to make your next batch.



You may now refer to me as the Yoghurt Queen from here on in.

I’ll write a few more posts about Japan over the next few days (I still have 120 photos of food I haven’t shared so prepare yourself…)


I’ve been in Japan for 10 days and I’ve filled my time by lining up for an hour to eat this:

Tsujihan’s zeitakudon (raw tuna, bream & snapper on rice which, after you’ve eaten it, they fill your bowl with broth and you have a soupy rice porridge) a.k.a heaven on earth

Followed by this for dessert:

Sweet potato, chestnut and salted caramel pancake with vanilla bean ice cream. The pancake alone was 1.5 inches high…

I’ve bought $3 shirts and $10 bottles of whiskey and I’ve got a bag full of rice and gadgets. Today I’m on a mission to buy a new rice cooker.

Did I mention I had a hotel room that came with a Nespresso machine (complete with endless capsules in 4 flavours), a graffiti wall (complete with pens to ‘express’ myself) and a toilet that had buttons to open the lid and lift the toilet seat (just washing and blow-drying your bum is sooooo 2012) ?


It don’t get much better than this.