Car Shopping, Then and Now

My father loved shopping for cars—walking the hot asphalt lot, kicking tires, looking under the hood (all for show, he wasn’t in the least mechanical), even locking horns with the sales manager in his sweatbox office.

Back then, that was what men did—make the big-ticket decisions on make, model and price, while wives might offer hesitant input on paintjob and trim packages.

My, how things have changed—in our wife-led marriage, and so many others where the wife is empowered to exercise her superior judgment in all matters.

My wife decides if and when we will buy a car, whether new or used, what make and model, from whom and for how much. Like “The Little Woman” of yore, I may be asked my opinion on various matters, but there is no slightest pretense that I will have any real say-so on the final decision. She also knows that I will completely support whatever she decides.

But it goes farther. Before our last car purchase, at a dinner party with friends she had announced, “I’m shopping for a Ford Explorer” (let’s say) and asked what people thought of it. There were several couples present--and me, of course. Note that my wife didn’t say, “Mark and I are shopping for…” or “We’re shopping for…” Didn’t say “Mark thinks this or that.”

She offered the same conversational gambit to other people in my presence. She then made calls to several private party sellers and arranged for us, as a family, to see and test drive one. The man met us in front of his apartment, and my wife did all the talking, again using “I…” not “We.”

So when he asked, “Do you want to take it for a spin?” it was directly to my wife, and she said yes. So she did, with the man sitting beside her in front, me alone in the second seat, and the kids on the rear foldout bench. We drove around his neighborhood, with the man and my wife carrying on a lively conversation about the car’s features. The kids said a few things, but I kept quiet. I certainly didn’t want to interrupt my wife’s conversation with the seller.

We returned to his apartment house and we all got out, and the man asked my wife how she liked it. There were a few more exchanges between them and then, when we were about to walk away, she turned to me and asked, as an afterthought, if I wanted to sit in the front—not drive it, mind you, just sit behind the wheel. And I said quickly and pleasantly, “No, that’s fine.” And my wife concluded with the man, telling him that we’d be in touch. (If I had been doing the talking, I would have hemmed and hawed and maybe ended up buying the darned thing, because I’m such an impulsive and erratic shopper, afraid to say no.)

And, of course, when my wife next began visiting dealerships, I went along and was relegated to the showroom couch with the kids, while she dealt with the various salespeople. All the eventual financial discussions were made between my wife and the sales manager, with me waiting outside the office. (She did ask me later which of two colors I preferred, and scolded me when I hedged. “Give me your opinion!” she said sharply, so I did. I was flattered to see that she had already made the same choice.)

Did I feel relegated to second-class status by all this? Did I feel, oh, you know, emasculated?

I guess maybe so, compared to The Way Things Were with my mom and dad (he would have been outraged by this spousal switcheroo). But their marriage went belly up, and our wife-led marriage is doing just fine, thank you. They argued, bitterly; we don’t. (Against the rulres, don’tcha know.)

Mainly what it felt like, with my wife in charge, was right and natural. I should be the subordinate partner. My wife is a vastly better shopper, bargainer and negotiator, budgeter and planner. And her social skills are light years ahead of mine. Too often I pipe up when I should be piping down. But I’m learning.

And I’m not alone. More and more wives are kicking the tires while having hubby mind the kids and wait for her to make up her mind and close the deal. Here are a few samples, starting with Fumika Misato’s recommendations for big-ticket purchases in wife worship marriages:

“As head of the household, you control the family finances. He is required to justify his expenses to you. But there is absolutely no need for you to explain anything whatsoever about the family finances to him… For example, if you want to buy a new car, that is your decision alone, but if he wants to purchase a new shirt he must seek your permission.”

This is precisely what a current FLR blogger, Ms. Marie, did recently:

“Last weekend I took [my husband] car shopping. In the past, he would decide if and when we needed a car. He would decide on the make and model, he would decide on the budget, he would test drive, etc. This time, I told him we were going to some dealers. I told him what I wanted, I spoke with the salespeople, I did all the test driving and I had final say. And he is happy and so am I.”

A similar outing was described by this wife-led husband in a letter to Elise Sutton: “[My wife] recently decided we needed to sell our SUV and buy a minivan. We went to a dealership where one of her female friends works, and while I looked after the kids on the showroom floor, she talked business with her friend & arrived at a deal completely independent of me, which of course was fine.”

Here’s a slight variation, with older wife and younger husband: “[My husband] was fresh out of college when we became engaged. Because of this he doesn't even have credit established as he found out when I told him he could get himself a car. He was ready to sign the papers when he was told that due to the way our finances are set up I would have to co-sign the loan in order for him to be approved. He was so humiliated when I walked into the dealership and sent him out to my car to wait while I handled the details. The female car salesperson and I sat down to finish the deal. She was so impressed with the control that I have over my husband that she gave me an extra two hundred off on the car and I signed for the loan. I had the car placed in my name. He still can't buy anything without my permission.”

Years after my own car-shopping experience related above, I came across this posting in the old Spousechat message board, which I could have written myself:

“Recently, we needed to purchase a new car for her. She said that she ‘is taking the lead on this’ and that I am only to support her when asked. I said OK since I'm open for her to have more control, or so I thought. Before test-driving new cars, the saleswoman asked for both of our driver licenses. In front of the saleswoman my wife told me to put mine away since I won't be driving any cars. The saleswoman seemed to enjoy this smackdown, and, from that point on, would only smile at me but direct all conversation to my wife. I felt like the woman in the relationship. The saleswoman would open the door for me as I sat in the back seat. They would talk about anything and everything while I was silent in back. At one point, my wife told me to walk across the street to a restaurant, while she discussed the car purchase with the saleswoman. While filling out the paperwork, my wife decided to remove me from the registration. The only paperwork I signed was to trade-in our old car. I was caught off-guard but complied. Once we got home, she had me restock her new car with the stuff from her old one, then told me to stay home, do some laundry while she showed her new car to her family and friends.”

Here’s a hubby whose wife overruled his choice of colors (or “colours”) for his company car: “Quite recently I was picking out the colours for my new car which comes with my job. I wanted a beige interior and black exterior while my wife wanted other colours. I tried to explain that, since it's a car I use all day, I may as well pick the colours. She didin’t see it that way. She ordered me to my knees and, as I was looking up at her, told me what colours I'd be getting. I happily complied. Now, every time I look at the car and see the colours she chose, I am reminded who’s the boss in our home, which is exactly what my wife intended.”

Who would dare argue that women aren’t the best shoppers? Why should car-buying be any different? And I'm talking about women of any age. For instance, I know of a woman in her upper-80s who was taken car shopping by her 40-year-old grandson. She liked a big new GM car every three years or so, and she would pay cash for it. But her grandson dragged out this particular purchase, making her wait in the hot son while he dickered on the deal and various packages of extras.

Finally she’d had enough and yelled out at him, “Vern, just give the man the money, so I can drive my new car home!”

I’ll wind this up with a final anecdote, recently sent to me by a dear “e-migo” who happily yields all decision-making to his adored and adoring matriarch wife. What is particularly noteworthy in his account, I think, is the “ordinariness” of it. It’s just the Way Things Are Now in wife-led marriages, now that wives have come such a long way from the Way Things Were:

About three years ago Lisa told me one morning over breakfast that she needed a new car. She began to shop online, without keeping me in the loop. She did tell me that she liked the idea of a used, BMW. When she learned that a local BMW dealer had two she liked, she told the dealership we’d be dropping by, then told me she wanted me to accompany her. She told me to drop what I was doing (housework) and come along.

At the dealership, Lisa spoke with a saleswoman named Kayla, while I tagged quietly along behind. The woman acknowledged me, then turned her attention back to Lisa. While they discussed the purchase options, I remained quiet. When they went out to test drive two of the vehicles, I remained in the showroom. When a salesman asked if he could help me, I explained that my wife was test driving a car.

When the two women returned, they began to talk business, and, naturally, I tuned out, but Lisa handed me the keys to her old car and told me to check to make sure she’d left nothing personal in it, while she completed the transaction. I went out and looked in the trunk, glove compartment and back seat and found a few items, which I brought in. In the meantime, Lisa had signed over her old car (she was sole owner) as her trade-in and was completing the purchase of the BMW. As she wrote the check, I could tell that the saleswoman noticed that only my wife’s name was on the check (it is after, all her, account). Lisa glanced up and told me “Sweetie, run out and wait for me in the car.” I replied, “Yes, dear,” and did as told, waiting perhaps another quarter-hour in the passenger seat while my wife and the saleswoman concluded their business and, perhaps, chatted a bit more.

When Lisa drove off, she thanked me for being a good husband and not involving myself in her purchase. She said she thought she might need me there to sign something, but, as it turned out, she only used me to run that one errand.

*

Topsy-Turvy World

The other day, dining out with my wife, I was surprised when the server set the bill down in front of me, instead of my wife across the table. In fact, I was every bit as surprised as, say, a 1950s’ housewife would have been to have a restaurant check presented to her instead of to her husband.

Just for a moment, my world had turned upside down.

So firmly entrenched is our matrimonial role reversal as we go about our activities that most restaurant servers and hotel clerks and salespeople automatically gravitate to my wife and give her all the appropriate attention and deference. When we walk in to a store, or sit down at a table, it’s like I don’t exist. They always address their questions to her, as they should. I assist them in their perceptions of power, I’m sure, by default. I emit absolutely no pay-attention-to-me, head-of-household, decision-maker vibes. This is not by design, but by long practice. It simply never occurs to me. I don’t look up expectantly at approaching waiters or waitresses. If they look at me or address me, I’m not impolite, but rather than respond directly, I defer to her. Without thinking. It is almost automatic that I look at my wife when a question is asked of me.

Occasionally, if I’m feeling frisky, I may answer, proudly and cheerfully, “My wife makes the decisions.”

Frankly, I don’t think of the way we are as role-reversal or topsy-turvy. I used to, but not for years now. I think in terms of normalcy, the way things are and ought to be. Where the woman rules and the man obeys. I can’t imagine it otherwise.

And it is comforting when the world agrees with my reality, as it so often does. When she is addressed with deference, and I am ignored, all is right with my world.

It would be even more pleasing, someday, if I could experience the same harmonious feedback among married couple friends, at dinner parties and barbecues, say, or soccer games. Automatic subservience to the wives by all the husbands, with the men keeping silent but attentive when the women were talking among themselves, but always ready to respond supportively when prompted.

In fact, it is always jarring to me in social settings to see a husband question his wife’s authority, or make some macho remark, to dare to contradict her or to sound off on any subject whatever. Or actually to put her down. And I don’t need to tell you, all this happens frequently.

And when it does, it’s like being instantly transported to an alternate universe, where males are allowed to act like grown-up hooligans, much like the “Pleasure Island’ sequence in Walt Disney’s Pinocchio. I find myself looking at the wife and wondering, “Why do you put up with that moron?”

What used to seem normal now seems like Mondo Bizarro. “Curioser and curioser,” as Alice described the obvious absurdities of Wonderland.

In other words, to me it’s a life NOT lived under fully acknowledged female authority that constitutes the real role reversal, the real topsy-turvydom.

I can only take so much of this before I’m desperate to get back to reality—and my well-ordered, normal, natural, female-led and female-centric life.

Making role-reversal into the default dynamic of a marriage, of course, takes time and determination. But the reward for achieving it is the happy-ever-aftering of the storybook romance.

Ms. Lynda (of Spouseclub renown) was determined to settle for nothing less. And, so, she delighted in private and public displays of her role-reversal relationship with her fiancé (later her husband), whom she inevitably addressed and referred to as “Mr. Lynda.”

As more and more women take an active role in family leadership, she felt there should and would be more and more traditions to demonstrate women in charge. Her desire was to set an example, with appropriate public displays, of just how “woman-focused a marriage can be.”

“Has [your wife] ever made you call her Ma'am or such in public?” she asked a male Spousechatter. “I want to do that to Mr. Lynda during our [honeymoon] cruise so that everyone will know who the boss is at our house… As you know, it is often necessary for a woman to humiliate her man so he is reminded of who is in charge.”

She did exactly that, as she later recounts:

“On our honeymoon, we had some ‘antique’ pictures taken. In olden times, you could tell that the man was in charge because he was always seated. His wife stood behind or beside him. My husband and I reversed it. I sat and he stood. It is a subtle thing, but, it was not missed on us and some of our friends.

"Secondly, we took a busy and full bus into a resort town off the cruise ship. I made him sit. As head of the family, I must protect him and his honor. This reversal was noticed by several people. Finally, all reservations are made in my name and I produce the credit card. This is not so unusual because women carry purses. However, several hosts remarked on the reservation being made in my name. My husband was only too happy to inform them that I was head of the family, the breadwinner, and that he had taken my name in marriage. I do not know what they thought or said behind our backs, but they all treated us with respect and said our decision was cool.”

Some additional glimpses into Ms. and Mr. Lynda’s domestic arrangements:

“I do not lift a finger at home. I lounge around while Mr. Lynda does all the work. For the fun of it, I have had him serve me while he was completely naked. He is so handsome. A naked man can be a real turn-on. I love to see him grovel before me, kiss my feet and other parts of my body. It makes me feel so powerful.”

“I never want to hurt or abuse him, but, I do enjoy letting other people know that I am the boss. Is it wrong to want people to know that Mr. Lynda took my name in marriage? Of all the lovely things Mr. Lynda has done for me, this is the greatest because it tells the world that he sees me as the head.”

She counseled “Charles,” who described his own matriarchal marriage, to change his name to “Mr. Lisa,” then (with Ms. Lisa’s permission, of course) to order stationery reflecting the change:, “Ms. and Mr. Lisa Lastname.” Which he promptly did.

“I always love when my boyfriend does something that makes a very public statement of his subservience to me. I love to walk with him when he is wearing one of his matriarchal t-shirts. He has one that says, ‘I Belong to Her,’ and another that says, ‘Don't ask me. She's the Boss.’”

“It would be a real learning experience for men to have to live in a woman's world for just a few hours. It might truly change some minds if men had to identify themselves only by their wife's name (‘This is Mr. Susan Brown’).”

“My husband will be allowed to keep his masculine name forever. However, I do intend to always address him as Mr. Lynda in public. Someone must begin to set some new standards.”

A playful, fun-loving vixen, Ms. Lynda. Also a true believer and passionate advocate, who never backed down an inch from her strong views. As she signed one of her postings, in all caps like waving a banner at the barricades, “LONG LIVE THE SISTERHOOD OF WOMEN IN CHARGE!”

My question is, How is it with you? Does it seem jarring and discordant when you see husbands acting like it was 1955? Or wives deferring to them, or putting up with secondary status? Like me, are you slightly taken aback when you hear a wife respond to an invitation with “Of course, I’ll have to ask Bob.” On the other hand, my response of “I’ll have to ask my wife” is taken for granted. So much so, in fact, that friends rarely ask my consent or opinion; they know to bypass me and ask her. And they know that her powers are plenipotentiary powers, that she never has to say, “I’ll check with Mark first.”

Anyway, this is the blessed matriarchal universe that I inhabit, which completely encompasses my thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams, and She is the radiant and powerful sun around whom I and the kids orbit, day and night. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bow and Vow, Part 2

A fatally smitten suitor down on one knee, or two, before his beloved—it’s the ritual most associated with courtship.

Once married, however, even if a husband’s “heart fills with a newlywed's happiness, there is no accepted ritual that permits him to display the intensity of [his] feelings.” (I’m quoting my own book here, by the way.)

Which is why a growing number of us incorrigible romantics, of both genders, have been practicing and advocating “courtship marriages” under various names, any of which will do:

Wife-worship marriages
wife- or female-led marriages (or relationships)
“yes, dear” marriages
Venus-on-top marriages
“Around Her Finger” marriages
“She Makes The Rules” marriages
yes, even “femdom” marriages, for the more adventuresome couples among us.

And what could be more natural in a courtship marriage than hubby playing the part of perpetual suitor and kneeling to profess his devotion? And, yes, by “perpetual” I mean doing this every day.

Yes, there are other good reasons to bend the knee to one’s beloved. For a pedicure, or as part of a weekly evaluation session by the wife. Or as preliminary to receiving correction from the wife. (While some of these may appear offbeat, they are all, to my way of thinking, essentially romantic rituals, opportunities for renewed intimacy between wife and man.)

But more frequently than any of these, I think this ritual obeisance is part of what I like to call a husband’s daily devotions. It’s obviously a supplicant, prayerful posture, and prayers may indeed be spoken—to God, or the Goddess, or to a deity seen as incarnate in the beloved wife. Prayer and worship are inherent in a husband’s daily devotions to his wife, though not, I insist, in an idolatrous way, all appearances to the contrary.

But what I think those husbands are really doing down on their knees, more than either praying or worshipping (or toenail-lacquering) is simply…

Confessing.

The ritual of confession is practiced not only in confessional booths, but on psychiatrists’ couches, on bar stools (and, alas, under totalitarian regimes in interrogation rooms and re-education camps). But in female-led relationships, confession is best practiced on one’s knees.

I know this because I’ve done it as recently as this morning, and plan to do it again tomorrow (though sometimes just the act of kneeling before her constitutes my “confession”). A perfect example of this romantic confessional was offered by a cyber friend in the following FLR-type posting:

“When I catch myself doing [insert name of bad deed here], I will usually kneel before her, place my head in her lap and apologize for being such a ‘pathetic schmuck’ (her favorite term for me). That usually dispels some of the tension. I will usually also specifically apologize for whatever specifically I had done.”

Is a husband’s contrition, then, solely for the purpose of wifely absolution—or wifely punishment? I don’t think so. Usually, I think, it’s simpler than that. The husband confesses for the purposes of baring his soul before his beloved. He does (again to quote from Worshipping Your Wife) because he years to “Be Known by Her.”

The clearest statement of this yearning (and daring) that I’ve come across was by another e-migo of mine, also a frequent commenter here. I quoted it in the first part of the Bow & Vow post, but it’s so heartfelt and inspirational that I’m going to repeat a bit of what I wrote:

“Every day he gets down on his knees and affirms his adoration of his beloved. ‘I honestly don't remember the first time I knelt in front of her and just adored her,’ he writes. It just seemed natural. Down on his knees he repeats a series of daily vows that he wrote. ‘I say these to her every day, no exceptions.’”

At the heart of my friend’s morning devotions is a confession of his soul to his beloved, along with a special thank-you to her for permitting him to reveal himself:

"I very much want to serve and obey you.
I want to belong to you. I want to be your submissive husband.
This is who I am and I adore you for accepting me."

“This is who I am.” These five words are the key to my friend’s daily confessional. He wants his wife to know who he is, this guy looking up at her in utter puppydog, tail-wagging adoration. He wants to be “known by her” and, yes, to be accepted by her for who he is.

Now, I happen to know this is a very macho guy, assertive and successful in many arenas, including athletics, fitness training and retail sales. Obviously his beloved knows this side of him as well, and admires these sterling qualities. But it is psychic and physical nakedness he seeks before her on his knees, a psychic surrender that (as I can attest) often leads to a level of intimacy and ecstasy approaching religious rapture.

This is the altered state that Elise Sutton describes as the “submissive zone,” more commonly termed “subspace.”

“I felt totally naked, totally known (and owned), totally accepted by my wife,” one guy describes it.

Another puts it thus: “My sub space is experienced when I am able to humble myself before my Wife. I love kneeling before her and being at her beck and call.”

On the old Spousechat message board (excerpted in 10 parts on this site, the newlywed househusband “Mr. Lynda” speaks proudly of kneeling before his bride, Ms. Lynda, “every morning as I serve her coffee and breakfast. She is the willing partner eager to face the jungle of the workworld. Thank you Ms. Lynda. I acknowledge you as my Head and Boss. Long may you reign.”

Clearly, for these guys (and for me), kneeling and confessing, or “bowing and vowing,” is not some bizarre or edgy behavior, but a basic act of daily devotion, needful to the soul and essential to marital intimacy.

If “needful to the soul” sounds like exaggeration, let me assure you it’s actually understatement. You can get a better idea of the pent-up emotional intensity involved from this anecdote shared by Kathy in her popular “Femdom 101” blog. It occurred when she was “volunteering” at a local femdom “studio” in order to learn more about her husband’s submissive yearnings and was introduced to an older male customer:

“[He} just wanted to kneel at the feet of a woman. All of his life he had fantasied about kneeling naked at the feet of a lady, and being allowed to kiss her feet. Even more than that, he had a desire to tell someone of his need for submission. This was the deep, dark secret of his life. Even his wife of over forty-plus years had no idea of his submissive needs.
“We spent some time talking. I then let him take off my shoes one at a time. I then gave him permission to kiss each of my feet, and then let him suck on my toes. This older man actually broke down and cried. I wanted so much to cradle him in my arms. I wanted to kiss him on the cheek and tell him that [I] understood. Then it occurred to me that there are so many poor men like this sweet baby.”

Any wife who is initially put off by the sight of the man she married down on his knees again ought to reconsider , and realize that this posture is really a return to and continuation of passionate courtship. One wife who discovered this shared her feelgns on the Around Her Finger blogsite:

“He looked so incredibly loving kneeling at my feet. For the first time, I felt empowered. I can't really explain why, but it made me feel so very close to him.”

Kathy’s experience with the older gentleman who wept as he kissed her feet gave her a special insight into submissive men in general, and to her husband in particular. She shares it beautifully here, so perfectly that I think I’ll end the posting with it:

“One of the special moments in my life was the first time John knelt at my feet, and we talked as mistress and [husband]. In my view the first time a man has the courage to kneel at his wife's feet is a very special occasion. This special little physical act often helps a couple transcend many of the boundaries that have kept their marriage arrangement from moving forward.
“This may seem strange to many of you, but that moment John knelt to me for the first time, was as much of a romantic occasion as our first kiss. [Now, five years later,] there is never a day that John does not get down on his knees in front of me… This is the most intimate time of the day for us. It is when we communicate the best.”

Lighting Her Cigars, Addendum

This is really not a continuation of the previous discussion on submissiveness vs. obedience. I happen to enjoy Ms. Becky Sue’s definition,* though I can see how others might view it as a distinction without a difference, like “lawyer vs. attorney.” Obey or submit, does it really matter so long as the wife’s word is law and loving female authority reigns supreme?

(Of course it does matter in Ms. Beckie Sue’s household... and her husband knows to obey, not simply submit.)

But I just used this title because I came upon the top photo of Monica Bellucci surrounded by adoring sycophants--Che bella ragazza! And thought I better at least post something, along with an apology for being so scarce around here of late. I am involved in finishing a fairly fat novel (I hope), and subjected to more than the usual daily distractions. But I miss the community here. The solution may be to post a lot more frequently, but less verbosely. Briefs rather long-winded screeds. That’s my current resolve anyway.

PS: Another Italian beauty… (I know, she's English, but her name is Italian.)

* “A submissive male is one who seeks to serve a wife for his own satisfaction and pleasure. An obedient husband is one who understands female superiority and the need to always focus, support and serve that superiority.”--Beckie Sue

Lighting Her Cigars, Part 2

Part 1 on this topic posed a couple of questions dealing with female led relationships. I’ll start with the first one: Is servility to a woman incompatible with manliness?

Before I ever got around to writing this follow-up post, Lady Grey answered my questions as follows:

“What Dom wants a wuss at her disposal? Controlling an ‘A’ personality type man, bringing him happily to his knees before you, to be served not in a servile manner, but in a deeply grateful manner...well, I'll opt for that every time. Having an intelligent man who is perfectly comfortable in his manhood and who responds to your unspoken commands, to your gestures, your shrugs, your raised eyebrows, your tapping feet, and who can anticipate your needs and knows what to do to satisfy them...well, to me that's a real man. A man worthy of control, of rewards, and even punishment if need be.”

I think she’s saying it depends. One guy could respond to “your shrugs, your raised eyebrows, your tapping feet” in a Type A, manly manner; while another guy could do the same thing wussily, as it were.

Manly or even macho servitude to a woman is inherent in the Knight-Queen model of wife worship. The knight is servile to his lady or queen, obedient to her every whim, yet intrepid and brave in carrying out her commands and commissions in the world.

Can we apply those courtly standards to household chores, like polishing her pumps and hand-washing her lingerie? That’s the case I’ve been trying to make in my book and blog posts, under the general heading of Domestic Dragon-Slaying. I admit it’s kind of a stretch, but it is doable, and Lady Grey apparently agrees.

You’ll find unquestionably macho types--black belts, ex-linebackers, cops, weight-lifters--who relish being ordered about by a diminutive pistol of a wife or girlfriend. I could cite dozens of such testimonials, but I'll spare you this time. Take my word for it.

When my wife objected to my early signs of seeming servility (“Don’t be a sycophant!”), it stung. She was right, of course (when is she not?). I was overreacting to her musings and suggestions, flying off the handle to do stuff she hadn’t asked for. I had to dial back my fawning impulses drastically.

My solution was to be responsive, even anticipatory to her needs, but in a more laid-back way. I took as my model Rhett Butler catering to Scarlett with his lazy, tomcat smile, but catering all the same. Or maybe a guy from a moving van asking the lady of the house, “Where do you want I should put down this piano, lady?” Ready to serve, no big fuss about it.

But male servility and male submissiveness remain loaded terms as far as mainstreaming FLRs, and oxymoronic terms for some.

Even Beckie Sue, who contributed two stirring guests posts on female superiority (here and here, draws a sharp distinction between submission and obedience:

“I never liked the idea that some men are submissive. Men are by nature obedient. Through school (in the past), sports, military, and jobs they are required to be obedient; much more so than women. It is their nature to be obedient and to work. It is the nature of the female to be sexual/sensual and to direct the men in their lives.”

Beckie Sue describes her gradual journey from an egalitarian to a matriarchal marriage as a natural evolution, in which both she and her husband feel comfortable and fulfilled in their basic natures. So her guy is not submissive, she insists, although he is completely (and willingly) ruled by Beckie Sue in almost every aspect of his life, and has certainly surrendered almost all authority in the relationship to her.

At one point, as an example, she informed him that his paycheck would henceforth be direct-deposited into her private checking account, and that he would surrender his debit card and be allowed only $10 spending money, which she would replenish as needed. When he raised initial objections, her answer was that her decision was final and permanent.

“Of course he wasn't happy when I told him of this. But afterward he said his happiness isn't important, his only happiness is to see me happy. Which I am.”

This power imbalance is standard policy in many wife-led marriages and female-led relationships. A woman calling herself “Melissa” explained in a letter to Elise Sutton how all issues were amicably settled between herself and her husband Patrick:

“The First Rule of Our Relationship: We discuss; I decide; he obeys. In cases where my mind is already made up, or I feel strongly about a particular issue, the need for discussion is obviated and Patrick is simply informed. This eliminates the need for discussion in about seventy percent of all cases, allows Patrick to concentrate on his engineering career and leaves other issues in my far more capable hands.

“The Second Rule of Our Relationship: We have Absolutes; I have absolute freedom; he accepts and lives under my absolute control; this applies to all aspects; there are no exceptions.”

Which brings me to the second question raised in Part 1 of this post: “What is the proper role of power in an FLR/perpetual courtship marriage?”

This, too, elicited a quick and authoritative response from Lady Grey: “You ask ‘what is the role of the unequal balance of power in a FLR?’ I'd answer that the inevitable imbalance of power in such a relationship is the very ESSENCE of the relationship. A balance of power would make a FLR unworkable.“

But Beckie Sue’s ascension to the seat of power in her marriage was based on her gradual realization and acceptance of the “fact of female superiority”, which, she says, “is only natural.” So natural that her teen-aged daughters have found themselves elevated by degrees to a level just beneath their mother’s. Husband and son, meanwhile, have also come to accept the naturalness of this female-ascendant state of affairs, from which has flowed a willing, even enthusiastic deference on their part to female rule of the household.

It may, in fact, have been the avowed interest of Beckie Sue’s husband in wife worship that launched all these role reversals in their marriage. In this sense, she is only fulfilling his exalted vision of her.

There are obvious power perks for the wife who asserts and exercises primacy over her husband. As Beckie noted, “What woman wouldn’t want to have a marriage where what she said was final, where her husband would obey her and desire her? What wife wouldn’t want a home where the housework, cleaning, laundry, washing dishes, scrubbing the bathroom, was her husband’s job; she would be free to pursue more fulfilling interests? How many would enjoy those more fulfilling pursuits during the day while he is at work earning money for her to enjoy? What wife wouldn’t love to have control of his paycheck and manage all the finances? What female wouldn’t love to be worshiped as a goddess?”

(I found an interesting echo of Beckie Sue’s above quote in an old Spousechat posting from “Charles,” aka “Mr. Lisa”: “Lisa is the envy of all of her female friends, business associates, and female neighbors. What woman would not want a live-in housekeeper, cook, handyman, chauffer, butler, manicurist/ pedicurist/ masseur, personal assistant, laundry person, errand boy, and bedroom partner?”)

But there may be even more fundamental reasons for a wife to tilt the balance of marital power decidedly in her favor. A persuasive exposition of this can be found in “Vivian’s Domain,” re “Power and Beauty”(excerpted on my blog):

“…for most women, even attractive ones, it is not possible after years of cohabitation and child bearing to become beautiful enough to inspire the kind of awe that will motivate her husband. So, what can a woman do? She can understand this: Not only is there power in beauty, there is beauty in power! The ‘take my breath away’ kind of awe that a man feels when he sees a stunningly beautiful woman is similar to the feelings he had as a young adolescent toward women of power in his life—teachers, neighborhood moms, and strict women in general. In order to make your husband a better man and a better spouse, you need to make him eager to win your approval and fearful of earning your disapproval. You must exert the kind of power that grabs his attention, makes you beautiful to him and takes his breath away. You must make him adore you again!”

Power vs Superiority

For the FLR blogger I’M HERS, female-led relationships are all about power, not about female superiority. As he explained it in a May 6, 2011 posting: “The question I keep asking myself is this: Is [my wife] Katie my superior? When I bring the topic back to Katie and me, there is but one variable: power, and Katie has it all. I gave it to her. She’s the ‘professor’. She judges me; assesses me; makes the rules; gives me the syllabus with all the requirements needed to ‘pass her course’. She is the final judge. Does that make her superior? I don’t know and it really doesn’t matter. I am not in love with Katie because she is superior and I am inferior to her in every way. If that were true, why would she ever be attracted to me?... it’s not about what Beckie says [i.e., female superiority], it’s about a power exchange… Dominance and submission have all to do with power and nothing to do with a comparison of talents, intelligence and other such qualities.”

Obviously I agree with both I’M HERS and Vivian that a fully empowered wife is sexy. But, in my case, that’s putting the cart before the horse. Yes, my wife possesses and exercises the power in our marriage and family, to an extent that any monarch might envy. But I didn’t cede that power to her, nor did she appropriate it.
What happened is, as far as I can tell, my wife’s accretion of power occurred over many years, incrementally, even insidiously, as a natural by-product of her superior judgment, follow-through, practicality, memory, social savvy, strength of will, completeness of psyche, emotional range and maturity—yatta ta yattata.

I’m thinking that it was very like the tidal upward mobility of women in the workforce, especially in the professions. Yes, they now wield more and more power, and it is increasing dramatically year by year; but that power did not come their way via an abdication by males, or a storming of the citadel by women (though I do not deny the effect of advocacy, in opening up previous all-male citadels). Mainly it seems to have come about because, once in the door, a preponderance of women quietly and unarguably demonstrated not only equality with men, but a surprising superiority.

Thus it has been with my wife and me. Things go better when she is in charge, when I seek and follow her advice. Whenever I got angry with her (as I used to do), I would eventually realize that I was being childish, petulant and invariably wrong. When she became angry with me (which still happens from time to time), I would eventually see the error of my ways, realize that she was right (again!) and was owed an apology.

So, yes, in our house she is enthroned and empedestaled, worshipped and obeyed. I found my level and she found hers, simple as that. So, yes, power is sexy, but it flows, at least chez moi, from my wife’s superiority, at least some of it attributable to her gender.

And I consider myself a smart guy, by the way, but part of my smarts is recognizing that she truly is my better half.

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