Starting with Why

I often say that my ultimate goal in submission is to please my partner- to hear that affirming, exhilarating “good girl”.  I have very few bratty tendencies as a sub; I don’t want to be punished, I want to be praised- I want to excel, which is my general goal in all things. 

Love has to be earned, after all.  

The D/s dynamic allows me to shed my performative layers in favour of reacting and absorbing.  In submission I don’t need to calculate or strategize my presence to be palatable and accepted- my partner does that for me.  All I have to do to earn the acceptance that I so desperately crave is obey.  It’s a dream for someone like me who is so desperate for approval, and in submission I find release and freedom from the burden of self-management (and self-editing).  

What I am beginning to realize, though, is that while I have been turning to submission to shed my performative masks, by design my people-pleasing core remains intact.  Even in submission, I am usually still wearing a mask- sure, it’s made of lace and often soaked in cum and spit, but it’s a mask nonetheless.

In a scene, this is a strength.  I am a talented submissive, adept at being exactly who my partner wants (and tells) me to be.  I can endure almost all of what is doled out, whether via impact play, humiliation, pleasure, or cock.  I can square my shoulders, open my throat, and follow the script to earn the praise.  I don’t have to verbalize my needs (beyond “Sir, can I cum please”), because they don’t matter. I find freedom here- it may still be performance, but it is without calculation and within a set road map, which feels great.  

The final mask comes off when my partner exceeds my endurance.  I have had the benefit of some skilled partners who have an elevated understanding of my mind and my body.  These partners can see through the performance, and over time learned the buttons to push to claw off my final mask.  It’s raw, rare, and terrifying- but when it happens, I am truly free. 

These scenes usually begin with impact play and end in my tears. My partner pushes through my practiced dance of absorbing each blow and transferring it through my body.  He takes his time, dismembering my carefully curated exterior with unpredictably scaffolded blows.  He watches me fight hard for my composure, and lets me succeed- for a while.

He erodes my stability little by little, then all at once.  When my castle crumbles, my mask flies off.  I am left raw, exposed, and fully out of control.  The internal vulnerable mess that I so carefully protect is on display for us both to see.  I am there, in all of my muchness, unable to apologize for or hide it.  

Unfortunately, once aftercare takes hold, that’s exactly what I do.

I let myself bask in his arms, in my unravelling, for just long enough to find my footing- then the work begins to put myself back together.  He helps, of course- forehead kisses, affirming words, reverent touching. I do the rest- packing my tangled threads back inside me- first with a sigh, then with a joke or a quip to break the (my) tension.  

I bring us back from the depths to the surface. The scene is over, and he has to leave soon- and when he leaves, I need to be whole.  I have taken up too much space, and my walls are starting to close in.  He gave me what I craved, and I am grateful.  He tore me apart, and carefully put each piece back together- I need to be the glue.

I slip back into my armour like a favourite old hoodie, instantly relaxing into my quick wit and reflexive self-management.  I need to show him that I’m okay so that he feels like he can leave.  In truth, I am okay- because I knew what to expect, and the boundaries have always been clear.  I wanted to be wrecked, and I was- and now I am back together, as I must be.

The 24/7 dynamic, or something more immersive, would force me to continue to exist in the mess.  Sure, I could throw that old hoodie back on, but my partner will see it.  He will see the holes in the fabric, and that it’s frayed at the edges.  He will be able to pull at those strings over time, until the last thread unravels- and with it, so would I.

The idea of that is terrifying to me for myriad reasons. What if I unravel and it’s too much?  What if he leaves?  I can be the glue, but I need help putting myself back together. What if he decides it isn’t worth his effort?

As someone who has been perpetually terrified of being too much and also not enough, I can’t stand the thought of someone seeing all of me.  A glimpse, sure- but no more than that- it feels far too dangerous.

The truth is, though, that my hoodie hasn’t been fitting quite right lately.  I am yearning to be seen, to be known- by myself, and by someone else.  I don’t want to be a scene, I want to be the whole film.  I want to be a priority- to be centered, cared for, and adored.  

(Of course I would never say any of that out loud, but it’s okay for you to know).

Incidentally, I want to give all of those things to someone else as well.  I want to invest in a real relationship, not just a dynamic.  I have always said that I am not well-suited to relationships, which is a nonsense way of saying I am unable to be vulnerable enough with someone else to ever have anything real- don’t show anyone your heart, lest they break it.   In truth, I am a great partner, with a lot of love and light to give- I am attentive, fun to be around, grounded, nurturing, and enthusiastic.  Also damaged as hell, but who isn’t? 

I have long balked at the 24/7 dynamic, because I couldn’t imagine surrendering that kind of power and control to someone else long-term- it flies in the face of the confident, self-assured woman that I project into the world (and, on most occasions, into my own head).  The scene-based dynamic has always worked for me, because it allowed me to slip in and out of my masks at will.  When they get too suffocating, I can take them off for a few hours and be reset- then carefully replace them so that I can safely go about my life.  The surrender, ironically, has always been on my terms.

I want more.  I want someone to see my mess (I think), and I want them to still choose me.  I want them to commit to and revel in all of me, not just the pieces of me that I have curated for their experience.  Most of all, I want one sphere of my life where I don’t have to pretend.

I think that what I need right now is one sphere in my life where I’m not allowed to pretend.  I don’t feel like I can get there on my own- the threads are too tangled, in ways that I can’t even see.  Perhaps it’s time for something a little more stable, to go a lot more deep.