He’ll dictate your dynamic to you like a True Dominant does. That conversation will not mention safe words. It will not mention limits. It will not mention a damn thing about your needs and wellbeing, but a dom without a list of requirements is hardly a dom at all, is he? And you’re so new to kink, so what do you know?
This is how you’ll swallow all the things your community leaders told you about safety, together with a handful of dignity and six tons of self-worth. “I’m lucky he’s bothering with a noob at all,” you’ll think. Then you’ll go out shopping for some lace and perfume. Remember that shopping trip. It will be the last time you buy anything without his permission.
Hell, it’ll be the last time you leave home without his permission.
Weeks will pass, then months. He will break your body in a hundred different ways and then blame you for your exhaustion. He’ll demand you behave like a whole person despite having obliterated your psyche. One evening at dusk you’ll look out at the sky and realise you’ve lost yourself. Your self-respect will be buried underneath his growing pile of demands. You’ll know you’ve hidden your strength somewhere, but you won’t remember where. He’ll call this the result of your inferior submission, and you’ll believe him because he’s been involved in BDSM for years.
I don’t take my role as a submissive as seriously as a religion. I will not torture myself over my unsubly failings. I won’t spend days pondering what makes me worthy of your dominance, and I won’t use my orientation as a step towards holy enlightenment. I am, you could say, a crap sub, and it took a lot of evolving to become this bad at it.
I had to experience a dynamic built out of coercion to become this noncompliant. Masochism and degradation flay the skin of your psyche right off, leaving you vulnerable to even the tiniest abuses. Submission wants to give. It needs to say “yes”. That means it needs a dominant who is guided by a stiff list of ethics and extreme respect. I do eventually become pliable, but only with a dominant who thinks as much about my wellbeing as he does his own.
If your dominance is built on fragility, you will not be able to top me, much less get an enth of submission out of me. If it’s built out of vulnerability, though, you’ll get a side of me that few will ever see: I’ll become Super Sub, Slave of the Armies of the North, Masochist to the Domly Legions, loyal servant to the true dom. I swear there’s a good sub in me. She just likes enthusiastic consent, which is perfectly compatible with submission.
I don’t get PMS, but if you talk to me today, I will cut you. If your glance gets anywhere near my giant and definitely-not-PMSing tummy, I will glare you to death. I’m literally dying of water retention right now, and yes, I do mean literally because that’s more melodramatic. I’ve whined so much this week that I’ve put myself in a horrible mood. I need to swear a whole bunch, but I’ll spare you and not type all the fucks in my head. Fuck fuck fuck. Sorry, they escaped my brain and leaked through my keyboard all by themselves. It wasn’t my fault.
Even with these catastrophic hormones and all this pain, I’d rather be a woman than a man. Penises are evil. They show themselves to the world like the huge, hulking assholes they are every time you get horny. They don’t care if you’re not wearing underwear. They couldn’t give fewer fucks if you’re visiting your mother. They want to out you as the pervert you are. There is only one way to maintain your dignity when you have a respectable sex drive: own a vagina.
Kink is as mutable as play dough. It will take on whatever shape you choose. BDSM can be a philosophy and it can be a religion. I hope never to turn it into those things because truism always seems to end in preachy, judgemental shouting. I prefer my kink to connect, and your one true way obliterates any hope of that. Submission and masochism compel me because they require a level of vulnerability that’s more intensely intimate than anything else I’ve found.
Treating kink as a cult is the fastest way out of lightness. Give your sex life that much weight, and you will soon find yourself smothered by it. There should be no “ought to” or “shoulds” about sex. Not on this slice of earth I call mine. Give me flowers, not textbooks. I would like to see into your soul, and your intellectualising about BDSM only shows me your head.
I value thought and intellect well enough. I just keep kink on a separate island. Sexuality is the most intrinsic part of my nature, so it must make a good home. Home is for love, not homiletics.
I’m the psychopathic ex your new dominant has been trying to recover from all year—you know, the one who chewed his poor, vulnerable heart into tiny pieces and then threw the shreds over a cliff before rolling in the blood. The one who made him swear off women for all eternity… until he met you. True love makes the sunset so vivid, doesn’t it?
You changed everything for him. I know your story because it’s mine, too. You met a month ago and he already wants to marry you. He’s introduced you to his kids. His parents love you, and so do his friends. He’s told you he’s never met a woman as exquisite as you; that you make him a better man. You’re healing all the brokenness I caused.
He’ll say he’s never had sex that intense. Yep, I heard it as well… until I defended one of my limits, because his subs don’t have the right to those.
If you feel you’re about to drown, stop fighting so hard. Tread water lightly, and the moon, the tide, and all your tomorrows will carry you to the shore.
If you wait to hit rock bottom before you swim up for air, you might never make it to the surface alive at all.
To keep love, you must hold it loosely, like water in your palm.
Swim all the way in. The sun won’t stay up all night.
If you can adjust your shape to fit the ocean floor as well as you can to a glass, you’ll never break. Fluidity is true power. Hardness snaps like a twig.
You can’t build a canyon with a chisel any more than you can build your character with a weekly hour of growth work. Time and continuity make for better tools.
Sometimes, you’re better off diving under the current than you are fighting the swells.
Even that which feeds every living creature gives without expecting anything in return, and so should we.
There is more beauty beyond the horizon than we can see with the naked eye, and tomorrow we will find it.
A couple of weeks ago, an internet stranger kindly informed me that I should take all the “ugly” stuff out of my Fetlife album because it detracted from the pictures of my face. I told him I was primarily built out of personality traits, not skin and teeth, but this proved too complex a point for him to grock. He wasn’t the first, of course. Two years back, another internet stranger told me my new avatar was not to his liking and if I didn’t change it, he wouldn’t send me a friend request. I wept for days after that because the mere thought of some dude I’ve never met being left off my friends list put me in a state of intolerable grief from which I will surely never recover. How would I survive without his (clearly loyal and superior) internet friendship?
That kind of behaviour belongs in the shit heap next to dinner guests who tell you your décor sucks and they won’t come over again unless you change it.