The Pleasure of a Fart

This is the title of one of the last works written by the writer who penned two of the greatest American novels ever written: Tom Sawyer and, my all-time favorite novel, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I found no substantiation for this during a quick search across the Internet, so this is according to one of my college professors, suggesting that perhaps Mark Twain had gone ‘round the bend in his final years. Nonetheless, the pleasure of a fart is also an experience I am not permitted to enjoy. Around Goddess V that is. It has nothing to do with FemDom. Long before our vanilla lifestyle began to change flavor, she decreed her presence to be a No-Fart zone, with a perimeter well outside audible and whiffing distance. Nine years later she has yet to hear me blow my horn, nor I her. Okay, I’ve heard and felt a few puffs when she’s sleeping—she always seems to do it when her butt is snuggled up against me in bed—but she says she can’t be held responsible when she’s sleeping. True enough.

Interestingly enough, during an argument that ensued while we had separated for a few months after living together for a year, Goddess V accused me of being a typical Cancer and going into my shell too often. You see, I’d spent a fair amount of time by myself on our patio during that first year, and in her mind, I was mulling things over in my head without sharing them with her. She considered this unacceptable. During that particular argument I responded, “For chrissakes think about it, you damn bitch! I was out on the patio so I could fuckin-A fart without pissing you off.”

As you may well surmise, these days I would not address Goddess V in this tone. I know better now. Surely there would be hell to pay, more so than if I disobeyed the No-Fart statute, which, by the way, I have come to see as a means of showing her the respect she deserves. And Goddess V now knows that if I am chilling on our deck by myself as I often do, yes, I may be passing gas discretely. And if I happen to be thinking about certain things, whatever they may be, so be it. She now understands that I trust her enough to share everything that goes on in my head. I have no shell, no hideaway to which she is denied entrance.

When you first read the headline to this post, you may have thought you were in for a kinky read. And now you may find it a remarkable paradox to learn that a woman who finds it perfectly acceptable to strap on a dildo and mount her husband, also finds flatulence, though a normal bodily function, to be best accomplished discretely and privately. No, I’m not about to advocate the path to a successful female-led relationship (or a happy vanilla marriage for that matter) is to turn your home into a flatulence-free environment. All of our friends know about Goddess V’s rule and I often take a lot of ribbing about it. It seems that these days most men and women alike find it a ridiculous notion that one should not be able to lift a cheek when nature calls, especially when you’re in the confines of your own home.

However, this is a good example (admittedly an unlikely one) of how people change. If you had told me ten years ago that today I would have not only throttled methane up my ass, but also six and a half inches of phallic silicone, I’d have had a good chuckle over that one. Yet here I am. Yes, we change. We learn and we grow. When two people in a loving relationship do it together, and they communicate and trust and respect each other, when they are open to new ideas, oft times wonderful things happen. And with respect to FemDom, for all of you submissive wannabes who fear your wife would be unwilling to embrace this lifestyle, remember this. Life and people are often paradoxical and contradictory. Just because you may see your wife as being too structured, too “old fashioned”, too “prim and proper” or whatever, doesn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t happily turn you over her knee.

Life according to VeezKnight