Some comments on a couple of recent posts made me realize that it has been a while that I have really talked much at all about my submission and the dynamics that I desire. There are definitely reasons that I hide parts of myself both while blogging and in my local BDSM community. I don’t write about this regularly because my life is not in a place where my ideal dynamic is possible.
I am a submissive. To be more precise, I am probably closer to a slave-type. I have spent much of my life living for myself and found that approach does not bring me happiness nor fulfillment. What I have found is that when I choose to live for someone else, I flourish and find meaning and purpose every single day. I have been criticized in the past for being this way and had numerous cliches recited to me, explaining why I should not choose this. The reality is that the people who say these things so easily have not spent a day in my shoes, nor do they genuinely care if I am happy or not. In the end, they do not deter me, but instead drive me farther down the rabbit hole that I voluntarily entered.
More often than not, I find myself having to explain what I am to people and go out of my way to shatter the stereotypes that they inevitably will project upon me. I am not a pushover or a doormat. I know what I believe in and will fiercely defend it. I am not passive nor a drone. I exercise independent thought every day and rely upon an active mind that utilizes imagination, creativity, forethought, insight, and anticipation in order to assist with what I do. Trying to be what I am without those things will inevitably lead to a poor performance. I am intelligent, self-motivated, and competent. I am diligent, meticulous, dependable, and dedicated. I have a spine. I lack things like ambition, self-esteem, and a sense of self-worth. That doesn’t make me weak.
I do not submit lightly nor give myself to just anyone. I can only submit when there is love/connection. My submission is how I show my love.
As a sub, I am roughly equal parts service-oriented submissive and an emotional masochist. In my service-side, I want to be a reason that every day is better for her with me than without me. I want to bring about a daily life that she craves and makes her happy. I want it to be so good that she longs for it in its absence and will fiercely defend it if it is threatened. I want to be an integral part of that life and being such would make me proud and happy.
Submission is my sexuality. I do not get turned on by “ordinary” things. I cannot get off to ordinary things. If I could change this, I would. Over time, I have learned to accept it. I am ashamed of what I need. I am ashamed of what I want. My needs stem from trauma resulting from shame and rejection. The shame is rational and justified. If “most people” knew what I needed to get off, they would most likely be disgusted, offended, or appalled at worst, and comically amused at best. While there are some people who are more tolerant than others, even they understand that this information is best kept private, secret, and hidden from the world.
It is embarrassing and damaging to be fully aware of this. It also assists in my submission. When a Domme allows me to love them and tolerates me and my quirks, they create an oasis where I can safely exist. This also empowers them over me by:
- Controlling the requirements for me to enter this oasis.
- Dictating the terms for me to remain in this oasis.
- Creating and enforcing the rules that govern this oasis.
- The ability to withhold, restrict, or deny access to this oasis for any reason.
To many, this might seem unfair. I accept it. At some point, I actually began to fetishize the shame. Shame has become a core component of my submission and my submissive mental space. It is my truth. It gets me off to have it weaponized and used against me. It is a never-ending carrot and stick that keeps me trudging forwards, blindly pursuing an impossible goal that will never come: to be able to live without shame.
In its place is a life immersed in shame. Each and every day having the knowledge of the truth reinforced squarely within my psyche and subjugated to a harsh and unfair set of rules while constantly reminded of the simple fact that no one else would have me. When this happens, I love them even more. My keeper is my savior. The loneliness of freedom burns. It is a privilege to be allowed to earn my keep.
This is especially true when I know that the alternative is to carry the same shame but sit alone in the dark, masturbating to the fantasy of what I do not have. That existence feels truly empty. This is the “meta” of my emotional masochism.
I usually avoid delving into specifics, but people specifically wanted me to write about them. At various points in my blogging I have avoided doing this because I did not have any validation coming my way from a dominant women and feared the negative psychological repercussions of having my desires critiqued by Dommes and being told that they are undesirable. I am currently in a position where my style of submission is validated from outside sources, so it would hurt a lot less to have someone do that right now. I know that I am fucked up. There are people that like this fucked up version of me.
One aspect of my desires is that I have what I call a “Venus in Furs” complex. I am attracted to dominant women in fur. This stems back to how things got very twisted up for me in my youth when it came to my enjoyment of the touch of fur. A woman in fur becomes both literally and figurally, untouchable. It creates a separation that puts her into the role of the desired and myself into the role of the unworthy one who desires. It makes me weak in the knees. While this isn’t absolutely necessary, it is something that I desire.
The darker desire it to be confronted with the love/hate shame interplay that also involves fur. I am unable to accept that I enjoy it because it was made taboo for me to enjoy such things. In its place was left a void where if I am forced to experience it, I am horrifically ashamed and driven into my submissive mental space. It also arouses me, which compounds the shame. The line that is burned into my head is, “fur is for women,” and as it is, being forced to wear feminine fur items completely destroys my psyche, identity, and masculinity. I want it, but I do not want it. I cannot like it. It jams too many truths down my throat for me to swallow. If “most people” knew what it did to me, I know what they would think and I would not be able to face them ever again.
In my darkest desires, I am trapped in this state and it assists in the process of enslaving me. It is part of the price I must pay to gain admission into the oasis where I will constantly endure the storm of shame and self-loathing mixed with the fear of discovery, dejection at knowing this gets me off, and worry of abandonment and rejection because of it.
When all of this becomes twisted up in my D/s, I can be worked to the bone, punished for my miscues and deviance, and kept in constant fear of losing my place in the oasis. I become completely enslaved to someone who accepts me and I love her absolutely for it.
I most likely could do without the fur parts and be content with simply being enslaved and having a place in the oasis provided by someone one I love. However, I included it because the question was about my desires and not what I would be willing to settle for.
And… this feels like a complete personal overshare that will probably make me wishing that I could dig a hole and hide in it for the rest of the day.