Many, many eons ago, I wrote a piece about how to spot a submissive. I’m not going to direct you to that very bland and quite embarrassing little blog because the date on it was 1st Aug 2005, which just happened to be an unfortunate period in my life (by way of explanation…I’d just left my husband, returned to Australia and really hadn’t reached my stride in snarky internet bloggery yet. At that time I was actually writing my daily journals in a book with a pen – remember those things?, because it was a task I was given by my then domly one. I typed them up many months later and thought I really should take down those first six months or so of blogs, because they are quite vomit-inducing, but I’ve kept them there as something to laugh at when the need arises.)
Anyway, someone left quite a ranty comment on that entry the other day saying what I wrote was full of shit and while I don’t disagree one bit, I did have a bit of a knee-jerk reaction when she said she was ‘sexually submissive’, but not at all like the picture of a submissive I’d painted. So I’ve been thinking, is being sexually submissive and submissive really the same thing?
A little while back when I was having angst about whether I was a slave or a submissive (for the…*cough, cough*…fifty billionth time), I pointed out that most of my problem was the fact that I was the currently the ‘dominant’ half of the relationship everywhere except the bedroom. I spend 12+ hours out of the house everyday, being autonomous and doing grown-up things and in my job, I spend a lot of time telling people what to do and presenting plans that affect a business with a turnover of 100 million dollars. I can’t particularly be ‘submissive’ anywhere except the bedroom, but that still doesn’t stop me from thinking that I’m more than a ‘sexual submissive’.
When I come home, I say hello to Master, put my collar on and generally slip into a pair of boots. He calls me ‘slave’, ‘slut’, ‘cunt’, ‘bitch’ and out of the blue will tell me to put my head to the floor or kneel in front of him. He also likes to twist my arm up behind me, pull me towards him and attempt to remove my nipple by twisting it between his forefinger and thumb. He likes to give bruise-inducing massages to my inner thigh that make me think he’d be a great bread-maker and sometimes he uses my back as a footrest. Fetching and carrying everything from cups of coffee to his favourite riding crop are a daily event and he likes to make me tell him what I am and what being a slave means.
And that’s just in the living room.
I’m not sure if any of that makes me submissive in the eyes of another, but I process my slavery (which is really just a slightly more hardcore form of submission) by reminding myself that I chose to become the property of another. I’m not sure why that fact is important to me, but I know the thought of it makes me juicy in all the right places.
Submission requires putting yourself below another person. It doesn’t mean that your needs are less important or less real, just that in the hierarchy of things, they take backseat. Can you be submissive without someone to submit to? Well, you can have a submissive personality but ultimately, unless there’s someone above you in the food chain, there’s nothing to be submissive about.
It goes without saying that I am submissive in the bedroom; I like to be the one having things “done to her” and I generally like to be tied up or held down while it’s happening. But I also like it when that feeling of being submissive or subject to another person bleeds outside the bedroom and into everyday life. While that sometimes involves buttplugs at the mall or collars under high-necked shirts at work, it generally just involves me thinking every now and then in a quiet moment that someone cares enough about me to not just want to be with me, but to own me.