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Taken in Hand I have this fantasy sometimes of being an object. Not reduced exactly, although sometimes I would be, but more generally a possession without subjectivity. Prized, loved, valued, but not expected to be an actual person. It's a pretty selfish fantasy, of course. Freedom from the responsibilities of adulthood, from the burdens of normal human existence. There would be other burdens, no doubt, and in my fantasy these are always genuinely awful. There are parts of my fantasy life I hate. But I find myself longing for them nonetheless. The freedom not to choose how to spend my time, or the direction of my life, matched by the inability to choose not to be hurt, physically, emotionally. The two would likely occur simultaneously, often. 'No, you may not get involved in this new project, however exciting it sounds. Who would look after our home, if you spent your time outside it?' Oh yes, this is definitely a misogynist, or at the least patriarchal, fantasy. Many years ago I encountered a group online calling themselves 'Taken in Hand'. I've no idea if they still exist. Their approach was a fairly normal (for some definitions of normal) traditional household style of domestic discipline. The head of household set the direction and had ultimate authority over its members, with varying degrees of micromanagement. The women - for it was mostly submissive women in the group of course - I spoke to there told me that the peace they felt at having been 'taken in hand' by their partner was a joyful trade for the pressures of modern life. I don't doubt that some of them even really lived that way (perhaps some still do). In exchange for this peace, they committed themselves to making the home a sanctuary for their partner. Somewhere he (and it was almost always, although not exclusively, he) could both unwind from his work day, but also somewhere he could release his tensions and aggressions on his partner, without any sense of needing to hold bac These were not relationships in which safewords or limits or ongoing negotiations were common. In many cases this also combined with a cuckqueen dynamic, in which the submissive partner was either denied orgasms entirely or restricted somehow and the head of household instead focused his sexual energies on other women, sometimes in their home, sometimes elsewhere. That combination of being utterly dependent on someone and watching them exploit that dependency is fucking catnip for my emotional masochism. Of course there are problems with this arrangement. Not least because we don't live in a world where most households can function on only one person's salary. But that doesn't make the fantasy any less appealing. It seems unlikely I will ever live anything even close to approximating that kind of life. It's easy to claim that's probably for the best, and no doubt really it is, but there are times I can't help but imagine it as a way of life, and, sensibly or otherwise, I'm always filled with a kind of whistfulness. It's easy to long for a life that's unreachable, I suppose. Instead, as ever, time to recommit to taking myself in hand. Such is the life of an actual human, I suppose. Condemned to be free, etc. Sartre would be proud. |
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