I don’t know what it is at the moment, but every blog I write, I just want to start with:
“Sorry, here’s another non-kink blog with no smut, no nudity and nothing whatsoever to do with bdsm.”
I know this my blog and all, but I have a feeling I’ve got a lot of readers under false pretences – people who come here for the stuff that I used to write about, the life I used to lead, the bondage, the pics or the stuff about being owned and instead end up with nothing but food porn and talk of sneakers.
Yeah. I’m sorry. I really am.
Okay. I feel better now that I’ve apologised.
You know what I watched on Monday night?
I just had a sort of *need* to see it again and I guess there was also a curious part of me that wanted to see my reaction to it as the now me. The ‘now’ me, a.k.a post-collar and in limbo land, wanted to see how I felt about it.
The first time I saw Secretary I was sitting on my sister’s lounge with her and her husband at the time. It was 9pm, the kids were in bed and I wanted them to watch the movie so they would ‘get’ me and the choices I had made in my life. Halfway in there was that scene with her on his desk, the saddle on her back and the carrot in her mouth and I cringed. All I could think was, “Why, why did they have to make the movie so damn funky??” It wasn’t going to help her understand me, it was just going to confirm their thoughts that I was a lost cause.
There were parts that I really liked of the movie and parts that I thought summed up my feelings as a submissive well, but they were too easily lost under all the extraneous crap and sensationalism. I didn’t want a documentary, but I just wanted a movie where the people were at least half normal.
I still think that, but I felt a need to watch it again, so I did and I enjoyed it.
But I also felt a very palpable sense of loss for something I don’t think I’m ever going to get back.
The innocence. The wonder. The joy.
All are things I used to associate with slavery and submission and all are feelings I’ve lost somewhere along the way, only to be replaced by:
The impatience. The whining. The jadedness.
I thought for a while that perhaps I was getting old and ‘out-growing’ the needy, dependent persona that is me as a submissive. But I see plenty of people older than me doing this stuff for years and years and who still love every minute of it.
What’s the difference?
I’d like to be in that happy place again. The place where I knew what I was and where the voices in my head weren’t always necessarily quiet, but the place where, no matter how vocal they became, there was always just acceptance of my role and place at the end of the day. I might huff and puff but I knew I was a slave and it was good.
So what happened?
I don’t really know. But I have a couple of niggling thoughts:
Firstly, that the denial of my needs for play reached a point where I threw the baby out with the bathwater in my head. The only way I could live without those needs being met was to reject everything and anything associated with it. I just shut down that entire bdsm part of my brain.
Secondly, that I have never and will never be slave material. Quite possibly I can reach a certain level of submission, but not those depths that slavery requires.
On that first niggly thought, I guess that’s where the problem of not having matching interests comes to a head. As a submissive (but not a slave) you can possibly think to yourself that you can ‘change’ for your significant other and be happy with what you are given, but I guess at the end of the day you’re not. He likes boots, I like bondage. Yep, we’re pretty different souls as far as what floats our respective boats. Boots do nothing for me and bondage does nothing for him. I need bondage, he needs boots. And neither of us can change.
On that second niggly thought, I have obvious issues with definitions of slavery and therefore without a certain level of play and the associated trappings of slavery, the title of ‘slave’ in name only doesn’t do it for me. If I don’t believe, it ain’t happening and I’m having a really awful time trying to believe at the moment (see point about jadedness above).
The problem is that the first niggly thought is cancelling out any possibility of fixing the second niggly thought. At the moment, I can’t take play seriously, I can’t get into a ‘submissive’ state of mind and any attempt at play results in me either laughing it off, running away or fighting back/slapping his hands away/trying to kick him in the nuts.
Part of me wants him desperately to slam me back into that headspace and part of me believes that he couldn’t get me there even if he tried.
Part of me thinks I desperately need to be back in that happy place and part of me feels I’m just damn fine where I am now thank you very much.
Part of me doesn’t want the control and the choices over my life and part of me desperately wants both.
Part of me is addicted to composing dichotomies about my life and part of me thinks I need to get a life.
(I’ll stop now…but see how I’m still hilariously funny even when I’m all fucked up inside???)
Anyway, this has been one of the long, angsty, thoughtful blogs I said I’ve been brewing for a while now. It took me a while to get it out, but now it’s out. So sorry about all that.
And in lighter, less apologetic topics, Part 12 of Japan is here