I apologize out of the gate for the rambling nature of this post. I don’t really know where I am going with it, I am just aware of a few thoughts that are trying to get out. I’ll do my best to make it readable and cohesive.
The past few months in the local scene has exposed me to a lot of different types of people, especially those of a younger generation that were brought up with a different set of societal views than I was. Something that has been on my mind lately is that I feel like “subs like me” are a dying breed that will go extinct within the foreseeable future.
My generation was the last one that experienced the bulk of our formative years in the “old ways.”
- “Boys will be boys” was an acceptable excuse for behavior that would now be seen as severely disturbing.
- Sexism was the norm and shedding those stereotypes was seen as “progressive” or “uppity” depending upon where you lived.
- Passive racism was still accepted even though overt racism had been mostly scrubbed from the public eye.
- Homophobia was rampant, accepted, and displayed very narrow understanding of homosexuality. e.g. all gays were male, promiscuous, and have or will get HIV/AIDS.
- Submissive men who liked powerful women were seen as weak, pathetic, and closet homosexuals.
While I am normally hesitant, reluctant, and embarrassed to share my kinks with people I meet, I’m realizing that what I do, what I need, and what I am, could very likely be seen as offensive to those who are in their early-to-mid 20s.
I find it difficult to communicate it in modern social terms without sounding like a dinosaur. I find it oddly embarrassing to describe my submissive existence as being the product of a darker age because it means that deep in my core, I too, am trapped there by my past (even if my rational self tries to accept the modern ideals).
In my childhood, the absolute worst thing you could be, was a faggot. If you were one of the unlucky few who managed to be labelled as such, this would almost certainly be accompanied by an endless barrage of behavior that would make your life miserable. You would be bullied by both boys and girls. You would be looked upon with scorn. The less aggressive types would avoid you in order to avoid being targeted. Your belongings would be taken. Your things would be trashed. People would piss in your gym locker. Books would be knocked from your hands. Wedgies, trips, slaps, and kicks would become an every day occurrence. You would eat alone and be alone. This was especially bad if you were immersed in sports as you would find yourself surrounded by the most aggressive attackers of the bunch. You would not dare ask for help because boys will be boys. The best you could hope for is that someone else would fall to a lower position before your place on the totem pole became a permanent label that would determine the rest of your days.
I experienced this briefly in pre-school with my sister’s hand-me-downs. I shed them before it became permanent. That didn’t stop the way it haunted me.
If they knew I liked to touch fur, they would call me a faggot. I hid that, buried in shame. If they knew a girl would tie me up, they would call me a faggot. I hid that, buried in shame. If they knew I cried when I felt really down and hurt, they would call me a faggot. I hid that, buried in shame. So much of my life became a matter of hiding anything private and personal from the world. Everything true to my heart became a secret. The thought of anyone finding out about me was enough to make me vomit.
It’s strange because I can talk about a lot of this openly quite easily now. I feel like the world is a more tolerant place and progressed enough to where I don’t need to bury it like I once did. I see people who grew up in an environment much different from my own and can’t help but believe that they had an easier time being their true self. Even with all of this knowledge, it doesn’t change how things affect me internally. My kinks will always be a source of shame and humiliation for me. I have accepted this.
When I see the next generation coming up, I realize that the likelihood of someone becoming another me decreases each year. While I know that not every part of this country changes at the same rate, I think it is only a matter of time before the environments needed to create someone like me no longer exist. It’s an interesting thought.