A Lilac Dress

In South Africa, we have a greeting that translates into English as, “I see you.” The traditional reply is, “I am here.” It’s what this six-word exchange represents that is the reason I have D/s relationships.

My power exchange has always culminated in a list:

A lilac dress.
A story about dressing in front of a window.
An arched spine.
A lying position at the end of a bed.

I have never approached my relationships with a distinct goal or idea of what they would be like. The men I’ve been with have come with equally blank canvasses, but power exchange has always evolved into a lilac dress and a very particular lying position.

How does a man push boundaries? With me, too easily. I’m the opposite of a walkover, so there is only one reason that my boundaries would tumble over with nothing more than a lazy outbreath: Sex. Apart from express limits, consent is always exchanged in small ways that aren’t spoken. There is a feeling out of what is wanted and where there are boundaries. If nothing is ever challenged and no boundaries are ever tested, there is no submission. That is the exchange for me.

If I’m doing it my way, sex is like a day at the park with Skip. If it’s his way and he won it from me (preferably slyly) it’s hurricane Andrew. The metaphor doesn’t speak about what he feels or does, but what I feel. I have always experienced the laying down of boundaries as walking towards my dom, and not as allowances. Casting aside limits is not allowing him to have more from me. It’s not me weakly submitting. When I lay them down, I am walking towards a sexual hurricane Andrew. And I like that because I like sex.

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Processed with VSCOcam with hb1 preset

You can lead a dom to a fact but you cannot make him believe it. That I like sex more than almost everything has been said time and time again. It has never been believed. “I know you told me,” said E, “but now I see.”

I see you.
That’s the missing piece of who and what you are.

E always reminded me of what else there was of me, but intensity was a part of the deal and if he didn’t see it, he didn’t see me.

I am here.

Any dom worth his title can’t see a target like that without thinking, “What am I going to do with that?” And so my doms always begin to hunt in the dark for boundaries. Which walls? How thick?

They find a wall. They breathe. It falls.
They find another. They breathe. It falls.

They find another. They breathe, and all hell breaks loose. Off I go, into the light, jumping over hedges and sprinting through fields, digging holes, running so far beyond the boundaries they thought they’d pushed through having figured out which holes, which hedges, which fields they loved. Digging deeper, running further, jumping higher. It intoxicates them until they stretch out their hands and find that their breath on a boundary is intoxicating to me, too. In aiming to please, I have taken away their control.

Now what?

The withdrawal of sex, obviously, and it’s what both of my most recent dominants chose. I can’t say who hated it more, them or me, but with both of us steeped in want there was no direction to turn but towards one another. Viewing the lustful thing they had created gave them a certain satisfaction. I saw their affection and a million shades of mischief. They were utterly aware of what I felt, what I thought, how I felt, and what I wanted.

I see you.
I am here.


These are the ingredients that end a period of withdrawal from sex:

A lilac dress.
A story about dressing in front of a window.
An arched back.
A lying position at the end of a bed.

For R, it was a sheer lilac dress that did him in. I once walked out of the bathroom having showered and dressed wearing that magic bit of cloth during a no-sex period and he whisked me up into an utter frenzy within seconds.

He was also oddly aware of how my body moved. Only the smallest arch of my back and he was done for. But the most powerful and absurd cue was me lying halfway down the bed instead of higher up. There was a 98% success rate with that one, although I’ve never figured out what it was that created the cataclysmic reaction. It was words that made E cave, and I am a master of rhetoric when crisis demands it. These were the times when my doms were most affected, most aggressive, most animalistic. This is where power exchange became a different entity.

I saw them.
They said, “I am here.”




I am not a proponent of coercion and manipulation through withdrawal of sex. That’s abuse, not D/s. Power exchange exists only when there is consent.

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