Summer Reflections on Comparison

My spouse and I spent three weeks this summer mostly camping with a couple who have been close friends for years. We went to a distant place, starting at a hotel for a few nights while we got ready for our bush adventure. During the hotel stay, my wife and I had intercourse. Specifically, I gave her oral sex; nothing more complicated than that. Usually when we are intimate, I don’t climax, so this was typical behavior. When we moved to camping, my wife felt the tent wasn’t suitable for sex, especially since the nights were cool. She decided we should wait until we returned home. Since she calls the shots, her reasoning held up. The other couple had no trouble with their tent being used for intimacy. They are an energetic pair, quick to laugh and argue. He is robust, in his early sixties, fit, athletic, and assertive; he organized this trip. He teases me about being weak because I bring my wife tea every morning and am generally yielding. He operates under the belief that he is in charge, even though his independent wife challenges him. They have a strong physical connection. We often visit their country house where their bedroom is next to ours. Being a light sleeper, I know they frequently wake up around 3 or 4 AM for sex. The rhythmic creaking of the bed and muffled groans often rouse me. This tends to excite my voyeuristic nature. Before my wife took charge of when I could climax, I would sometimes quietly masturbate while listening (she sleeps heavily and doesn’t notice). On this trip, their tent was near ours. Every few nights, the rustling of their sleeping bags or blankets woke me up in the middle of the night, along with those familiar muffled sounds—his louder grunts at the end signaling his release, followed by more vigorous movement and then quiet. However, I no longer masturbate freely without permission. My wife was asleep, so I lay there with an erection that went nowhere until sleep took me again. These frequent events made me hungrier than usual. During the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about how my friend enjoys the freedom to have sex while I remain in submission. Envy arose as he happily released his semen through regular orgasms by penetrating his wife, while mine felt uncomfortably heavy; nostalgia for when my wife seemed content with just oral service and less intercourse; and that pleasing erotic state of surrender where climax is a possibility but never guaranteed. I realized that deep satisfaction in submission often comes from this kind of contrast: I could be an ordinary man, fucking as much as possible, taking matters into my own hands whenever needed. But I chose differently. Listening to my friends together in the next tent, I deeply felt what my submission means and accepted it again despite envy and nostalgia. He doesn’t get the simpler joy of seeking and getting intercourse that I once did; nor do I lose out entirely on the subtler pleasure of giving up control for dedicated sexual service. A submissive man should remember exactly what he misses to better appreciate his rewards. There is a monk-like quality to being a man in submission.

Well said.