Submission feels like stillness. The instant that fist grabs my hair or my wrists, my entire being turns into stasis and waiting. It wasn’t always that way. When I found D/s outside the kink community, I only had my ignorance to explain what I was going through, so submission felt like chaos. Delicious chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
Sub frenzy was like living in somebody else’s body, and without a term to tell me what was happening, I felt as though I’d jumped into a hot pool of lava on some planet I’d never even heard of.
Subspace was even more alien to me. I remember spending hours trying to explain to my first dom what I felt, what he was doing to me. “What crazy witchcraft is this, anyway? You have to understand this isn’t normal. This is foreign to every single experience I’ve ever had in my life. This is some kind of magic. It isn’t me. It’s you. What are you doing to me?”
Submission feels like waiting. I would listen all week for his next craving if I had to. That’s why I adore a greedy man—I’m a greedy sub. Discipline and I go together like oil and water. My most impressive talent as a sub is nagging. Usemeusemeusemeuseme.
I don’t just like D/s. I’m a glutton for it.
When we broke up, I told him some men had so much influence over your evolution as a person that they were like big planets that you carry around with you wherever you go. I knew it before I knew why: he had changed everything for me, and not being able to put it into sentences didn’t make it untrue.
The only words that came close to describing how drastically he’d changed me were “sexual orientation.” My sex drive has always been more than adequate, but he pushed it beyond the pale. I imagined stumbling on your hetero or homosexuality after a lifetime of not knowing was as disruptive as discovering D/s was to me.
Submission feels like exposure. For the first time in my life, I showed somebody everything about myself—and found out that I was worthy of love after having spent a lifetime believing I wasn’t.
Submission feels like love.