Thursday, January 3, 2013

The Money

Accepting money from G is my least favorite part about being Kept.
That probably sounds a little backwards. You might think that accepting money from him is what being “kept” is in its entirety. Maybe that’s true for some women.
I love the time I get to spend with him, frequently or infrequently. Intensely sexual or lazily relaxing. The idea of being a woman he visits at his convenience turns me on.
The word “convenient” makes a continual appearance in my thoughts. The idea of being a convenient part of his life is massively appealing. Living in an apartment he can frequent between meetings and appointments. Being ready and waiting when he says so. Supplying every sexual need he has, cleaning him up afterward, saying goodbye in a timely manner- so as not to disrupt his day. Not to disrupt any part of his life.
Maybe it’s part of being submissive. The idea of being “useful” might be a form of objectification. I’m aroused by being…  if not an object, something useful. 
But not an employee. I hate accepting his money.  And the thought of what he gives me being considered payment- deeply offends me.  And yet… I need his money. And I’m grateful for it. And there’s nothing sweeter in the world than hearing him talk about taking care of me.
I know how he views the money he gives me. It’s a gesture of affection, so touchingly intended. He knows I need it, and he wants me to be ok. There are more reasons he likes it, but the basest reason is that it allows him an opportunity to provide for a person he cares about. And I recognized him as a caretaker from the moment we met.
After the first time, I became fixated on not taking his money again…  I liked him so much, I thought by remaining fiscally independent, I’d be proving I was with him because I wanted to be– not because of the money. And I’d earn his respect by never holding out my palm.
I think my sentiments were both admirable and childish. After all, I needed his help. I still do. I learned to check my pride and accept his generosity in the graciousness with which it’s offered.
It’s still a conflict within me. I carry guilt when I ponder the amount I’ve taken. I’d love nothing more than to pay back every cent. And I don’t believe either of us can ever truly see me as his equal under these conditions.
I do want to be his equal. And it’s that rational, respectable part of me that drives ninety percent of my thoughts and actions. But then there’s that niggling, frustrating, sexist ten percent that drives the rest of me.
It’s one thing to want to be considered unequal when having sex. I believe there’s a power established between most couples in bed. Someone always wants to be more or wants to be less than the other. But when my desire to be less than him blends into my psychology during the day, my imaginary panel of feminists starts shaking their heads.
And why shouldn’t they? No one believes more strongly in women’s rights than I do. Gloria Steinem and Naomi Wolf are personal heroes. So it’s especially grating to me that I’m aroused by the idea of male supremacy.
And yet there are some feminist scholars who argue that profitable acts of female sexuality are empowering. Take for example stripping, primarily considered a profession demeaning and oppressive to women. Who’s exploiting whom? Aren’t all forms of sexual expression liberating? There can be no oppression where liberation blooms. The same arguments extend to the sex trade in all its forms. And while I BY NO MEANS consider myself in the sex trade, I do routinely engage in multiple forms of sexual expression. It would be nice to feel empowered and liberated by my current lifestyle. Instead of just feeling like a greedy girlfriend.
Although that’s the problem. These feminists would rail against what I do MORE than strippers and prostitutes, because at least they’re earning their money. I’m just taking it from my boyfriend. So… there goes my empowered feminist argument.
Too bad. How lovely it would be if I could wrap up my current arrangement in a cozy, feminist blankey.
The truth is, it isn’t political. It’s a relationship. Yes, sometimes I dislike that I need his support. And I loathe the feeling that I’m taking advantage of him. But the truth is (and get ready to hate me) I like feeling like the little woman. I like being taken care of by a big strong man who wraps his arms around me and makes me feel tiny and safe. One who has my back. One I can run to when I need help.  Having G in my life instills a sense of security I carry every day.
I just feel more ok.
This sense of security isn’t limited to the theme of today, money. The security extends to my emotions and general happiness. I like having a boyfriend. It’s pleasant for me in my heart. I like having a keeper. Someone to make me feel owned. It’s pleasant for me between my legs.
I may not be making any strides as a feminist role model by these admissions, but at least I’m being honest. Does this make me a traitor to my sex? Are there other women out there who secretly, shamefully embrace the gender stereotypes we outwardly admonish?
I don’t intend to accept monetary gifts forever. But as I intimated before, there is more to being kept than receiving money. And if I thought I’d have to sacrifice all the delicious elements of feeling owned, I would be a very sad girl.

1 comment:

  1. What a deeply evocative post. I enjoy reading how your emotions are being stirred within you like a tempestuous sea as I myself am all about passion.
    I found your post from a link you posted on fetlife. I will be reading more soon..