Through a looking glass

I was explaining to a friend of mine that being submissive, enjoying my particular kink, means looking at the world in a different way. I don't see the same things he does.

My example was a trip to a cooking store. He goes in, sees a spatula. If he thinks about it at all, it will be whether or not he needs one. Maybe whether or not it would scratch up his pans, have a high enough heat tolerance, or be ergonomically correct. If he's really OCD, he might think about whether the color matched the rest of his kitchen. He might be moved to pick it up and see how it balances in his hand.

Me? I go into a cooking store, I see a spatula. I notice how rigid the material is, what kind of pattern it has on it (striped, circles), the texture of it. I pick it up, and while I may notice the balance of it, that's not my main interest. I smack it, hard, against my palm, to feel what kind of sting it gives.

I won't even think about what I'm doing. It's not like I'm looking for a new toy, or went to the cooking store with that intention. I just do it. Because it's completely natural to me.

Maybe that's not just being submissive or enjoying pain. Maybe that's something inherent to anyone with a sensual nature. I also feel fabrics as I walk through a clothing store. Again, without thinking. But I suspect it's a combination. Not all sensualists would hit themselves to experience a sting. And not all submissives would, either.

And I realize I've always been like this, always done things along those lines. Even before I was aware of being submissive or enjoying pain. On a very basic level, this is just who I am.

How I Became a Submissive (Part 1)

What does a beautiful girl with a Masters degree in English do? She becomes a professional submissive.

There's more to it than that, of course. And that's not all I'm doing with my time. But that's what this blog is about. I've given myself a year to fully explore my fascination with pain and submission.

Before I talk about anything else, about how I love the feeling of a flogger against my skin, or the sting of a paddle against my ass, or the beautiful constriction of ropes around my body, I want to say that I have always been a good little feminist. Which may be why it took me so long to admit that I'm also submissive. Because a good feminist would never want a man to dominate her, or pull her by the hair, or chain her to a cross, or force her to beg for his forgiveness. She would never want him to punish her, or call her a slut, or put her over his knee and spank her. That would be... shameful.

But the thing I've come to realize is that I do like all of those things. And more. And there is nothing shameful about any of it. There is never anything shameful about enjoying your body, and fully exploring your nature, so long as there is consent. Knowing, conscious, consent. To deny that part of myself was far worse.

I am a submissive, and I am a feminist. One who refuses to be trapped by anyone else's rules, anyone else's ideas about right or wrong.

But now it is far past my bedtime. So I'll go to sleep and have sweet dreams of whips and chains.