You’ll arrive in the kink community thinking you’ll have to relearn all you once knew about relationships, simply because you’ll now identify as submissive. You’ll swallow your ethical disagreements. You’ll swallow your voice and your values. You’ll swallow everything required to become a different person. You’re a sub, after all, and isn’t that a synonym for effacement?
People will tell you when yes means no and when no means “not submissive enough”, when bottoming is topping and self-will means Too Damned Stubborn. They’ll lecture you about the difference between real submission and 50 Shades of Vanilla, and you’ll realise that your opinion has suddenly become obsolete.
What does it matter, though? You’ll never have the courage to turn this kink thing into a reality anyway.
You’ll scroll through hundreds of pictures of black eyes and black thighs, black intentions and black secrets. Some of it will chill you, but you’ll remind yourself you’re new and therefore too ignorant to form an opinion about it. You’re just one more pathological addition to this sick crowd, after all.
Months will pass. You’ll find the courage to turn this kink thing into a reality. You’ll find out that BDSM is neither chilling nor sick, and that it makes you walk taller, as though you suddenly fit into your own skin for the very first time.
The course of true love never did run smooth, or so some old scribe once said, and when your dynamic collapses, you’ll think of all the times you quashed your needs as though inexperience made you a fool. You’ll realise that the values you learned as a child could have protected you if you’d only had more faith in them. Every crack in your relationship came from silencing the person you were long before you walked into this new world.
You’ll realise you had more wisdom about kink before you found the community than you had afterwards, and that your knowledge of right and wrong was alwaysrelevant.
For a while, you’ll wonder if BDSM is for you, but then you’ll meet a dominant who cares more about who you are than what your label brings her. She’ll teach you that kink is not a religion, but an expression of yourself. That’s how you’ll start all over again from the beginning, when you were whole, proud, and uncompromising.
Maybe you’ll leave her anyway. Maybe you’ll spend a year single. Maybe you’ll spend it on pick up play or leap right into your next great love. Maybe you’ll just throw the entire kink world behind you like another bad mistake. You’ll face all these “maybes” until you find the still, small point at the centre of your being that says, “yes, this. This is me. This has always been me.”
There’s only one maybe you’ll know never allow:
Maybe I’ll become a person I am not.