Being a sub in my first D/s relationship was like having my skin clawed off in the most chaotic but delicious way possible. New relationship energy is nothing compared to being stripped down and reshaped into that new thing called ‘submissive’. Every cell of my body seemed drenched in him. It’s the most intense thing that has ever happened to me.
I struggled so badly to see through my hypersexual fog that I barely managed to hold onto the infrastructure of my life.
He was everywhere: Dressing every morning was a protocol-laden sex-fest. Days were broken up by tasks and daydreams. I wore what he wanted me to wear and did what he wanted me to, so I felt as though he was constantly with me.
The world itself had changed irrevocably. Finding power exchange made everything I knew about myself disintegrate. Suddenly I was someone I’d never met. What were my beliefs if I was willing to do such things for a man? What of my empowerment and distrust of my masochism? What was I now that my sexuality had been reinvented?
It was exquisitely sublime, but when it ended, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had to recreate all my ethics from scratch. I missed him, but I missed the old me more because she had been familiar. I was desperate for anything that could make the world a recognisable place.
Then I found Fetlife. I made new friends. I spent as much time as I could weeding through others’ experiences of kink. Every small addition to my life added to the stability I so desperately needed.
My local kink community finally gave me a new foundation that belonged only to me. I found trustworthy people and talked.
And talked and talked and talked.
I found that kink hadn’t stolen my identity at all: it had unveiled it.