My Submissive Walk
Once a month, a New Mexico FetLifer schedules and invites all the slaves/submissive/bottom identified members to an evening munch. I’ve attended the last two; of all the kink events I could attend in a month here in the desert (and trust me: we have more going on here than some mid-sized cities do!), this one stays high on my priority list. The mood is always welcoming and low-key and the company’s sweet and comfortable. Last night, I put on my Sunday evening best and attended the May Subbie Munch. I got to see Brat_toy and check out her brand. It’s in a difficult stage, all scabs and itchy–but Noah, the branding artist, did tell her that when the sensation moved from pain to itch she’s on her way to good healing. The dragonfly on Brat_toy’s back is going to be stunning–she will be the envy of body modification addicts wherever she goes, for years!
Once we’d all taken a good look at that gorgeous brand, we settled in for eating and chatting. One attendee posed a question about whether we preferred private or public play. This question was good, not just for its main content but also because it enjoined us to talk more openly about submission and play from our unique perspectives.
At New Mexico FetLifers related events, I try to listen more than I speak. After all, I certainly talk up a storm in our on-line group, and I feel that the in-person rendez-vous are a good time for me to sit back and let the group move, grow, connect–plus, those evenings are good time for me to get to know everyone better. In doing so, I find, I inevitably get to know myself better.
I’ve been thinking a lot about submission lately, about what it means to me, how it manifests in me. Listening to my peers, I noted that many in the room were service-oriented submissives. They took joy in activities such as cooking under the Master’s direction, or being solely responsible for certain household chores, or providing their Tops with relief from mundane tasks of refilling one’s drink, taking one’s plate to the kitchen, and the like.
Several of my peers enjoy being owned. The words “Master” or “Owner” fall easily out of their mouths. They proudly wear collars–many of which, by the way, are fabulously beautiful.
For me, though, submission is not about providing service or being owned. I’m happy enough to do what’s commonly polite in mixed company, and if I’m the hostess, I try to ensure everyone has what s/he needs. I don’t mind doing small favors for friends, and some of those friends may be Dom(me)s. But, I don’t think of myself as providing service to those friends; I’m treating them the way I’d expect to be treated, the way I think we should, in general, treat each other.
I’m a great baker and a good cook, and I love putting those skills to use–but again, I don’t do so out of an urge to provide service. I bake exquisite desserts because I enjoy it, the process relaxes me, and, frankly, I’m good at it. I’m not too good at following orders, outside of agreed-upon play time.
I have not felt a desire to be owned, not full-time, not 24/7. I couldn’t imagine handing the reins of my life to any significant degree to anyone. Conversely, I can’t imagine holding those reins for another person, either.
Secretly, I’ve wondered if I simply haven’t met someone to whom I’d give that complete submission. I can’t quite fathom it happening, either–I know that many submissives talk about freedom within that complete giving over, but it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around.
This is all to say I came home last night wondering just what kind of submissive I am. Am I submissive only in the bedroom? I asked myself. Not quite. After all, I don’t play only in the bedroom. I play all the time, all day, with various Dom(me)s I know. I tease and cajole, brat and entice.
Am I just submissive-light? I wondered. Not quite. I can take a great deal of pain and sometimes I crave that depth of physical agony. I know where my sub-space is and I can actively participate in what it takes to get there. I’m practiced, experienced, and not a novice at most of the play I particularly enjoy.
There are a few things I know for sure. I know that for spanking fetishists, it is more typical to be less single-role oriented. I know that for spankos, the idea of spanking, the subject, the images, sounds, and rituals, are often more integral to the turn-on than being spanked or giving a spanking. I can get off just as hard to the memory of watching a spanking as I can to the memory of receiving one.
I know that I am not a Domme. I am very good at playing one. I enjoy some aspects of dominance, particularly if it means I get to give a spanking. I do like co-topping with a more dominant partner. I especially like teasing a submissive that I, of the same role as s/he, now have some power over the scene.
I know that I will likely never find submissive joy in providing a service, task, or chore. I know that it’s highly unlikely that I will wear a collar outside of a prescribed scene.
I know that I love challenging a Dom(me). I love teasing, asking can you take me there? Do you think you can keep me under your thumb? And then I love showing that Dom(me) that I am, indeed, very obedient. That I listen well, stay in position, and swallow embarrassment to complete whatever action is charged to me. I love acting the part of consummate brat and then showing how gracefully I can receive what the Dom(me) doles out.
I love fighting back. I love pushing the Dom(me) to his/her limits (and didn’t Dom(me)s think only they pushed limits?) before acquiescing. I love the sound of my voice pleading, crying, imploring. I love being pushed as hard as I push. I love losing that battle.
An old lover once told me that having sex with me was like having a fight. It was as if, she said, I called out, How hard can you make me cum? Really? Show me what you got, motherfucker. That same lover told me that I loved making my lovers feel like “the Don.” Perhaps she worried that I wasn’t as ecstatically orgasming as I appeared to be–but I can tell you I was; she was one of the most amazing lovers ever to walk into my bedroom. She was right, though, on both counts. If a lover isn’t particularly skilled I don’t fake all the bells and whistles; I’m too old for that. But if a lover is that skilled? I want him/her to know, to feel, to rise in excitement at how excited they’ve made me.
What do I give as a submissive? I give a great show. I give consistent and honest responses. I give dramatic action. I give excellent obedience, eventually.
I’m still figuring this stuff out. One of the FetLifers last night talked about her “leather walk.” I’ve got some breathing room in my life right now, and I’m on my version therein, my submissive walk. I know I couldn’t live without engaging my submission. And now, I want to understand better how it works.
