I live in an FLR with my wife and gave up total control of my finances and income to my wife years ago. She also makes me lock my wallet and cell phone in a safe when I get home, that only she has the code for. That way I can’t spend anything without getting her permission.

My parents got married in the 1950s and their relationship was definitely female led. As I was growing up, I noticed my mother made almost all the household decisions. Nothing really happened without her say so. She took charge of the finances, paid bills, shopped, and let my dad have only as much cash as she thought he needed.

My dad was always helpful around the house. One of his jobs was putting on an apron and cleaning up the kitchen every night. He did the laundry a lot and sometimes vacuumed. There wasn’t much discussion about it; my dad just did these things as part of his routine.

I can remember quite a bit of “motivational speaking”. My mother had a sharp tongue sometimes. If she was unhappy about something she and my dad would go off by themselves and I’d hear my mother’s voice getting very shrill. My dad was always pretty compliant after these discussions.

The first time I spanked him it was for something minor. After coaxing me several times, he kept trying to reach up for my breast. I wanted this bad little habit nipped in the bud. Frustrated and annoyed, I sighed and unzipped his trousers, pulled them down along with his boxers and walked quietly—and calmly—into my bedroom and brought out my paddle. It’s a plain wooden paddle, nothing fancy, but it is my prime disciplinary tool for boys. I stood in front of him, with his scared face looking up at me. He was still lying on the sofa when I said, “Bend over, with your knees on the floor and your arms over the sofa cushion.”

By the time I was finished, my boy was bawling. Hot tears ran down his face. He had experienced physical discipline before, so he already understood why this was happening. After finishing, I asked him, “Now, do you know why you were punished?”

In this case he didn’t, I went on to explain it to him: “There is no relationship if you don’t listen to me. Do you understand?”

He nodded, wiping tears from his face. He was young, and still trying to hide tears. So I continued, taking him gently in my arms and looking down at him. His bottom really hurt—it was so red—and he was struggling to pull up his trousers and underclothes.

“I know, it hurts a lot, but if you had listened to me, you would not have gotten punished. Do you see now why you have to listen to me? I just can’t let you do something that’s not good for us.”

He nodded again and began to calm down.

“Now go into the bedroom, take off your clothes, fold them, and wait for me. We’re both going to have some time to calm down. And when I come into that room, I expect you to be lying on that bed. Are we going to have any more problems with not listening?”

He shook his head, and did as he was told.

One was with a 78-year-old woman, Darlene, a proudly self-admitted “domineering bitch” who controlled every aspect of her marriage starting around 1960. She gave her interview at the center to a crowd of twenty, mostly women, who cheered and applauded as Darlene described her lifestyle. Her takeing charge of the marriage started when hubby acted up too much and she just totally clamped down on him, an interesting story of confrontation and female power in and of itself.