I probably never told you that I’m seeing a therapist. I usually do tell people that. I don’t try to hide it, because it is both a huge relief for me and my family and a step I feel far more people should dare to take. But I’m not so fond of mentioning it in the same sentence as declaring my sexual deviance. And I did make a point to find a therapist who didn’t feel too much temptation to wrap my violence filled past with my need to be taken with force.
I am not, and even if I were, I wouldn’t admit it. Because it’s so not me, a little voice in my head went. No one can take advantage of me, and no one can put me in that position. Claim me as a sub. I am what I want to be! This of course had nothing to do with Perversecowgirl and I didn’t react to her in that manner – but in a manner I would to a human being who just want to be loved and taken care of. But it was my first reaction and it didn’t go without any weight.
It might sound ridiculous that I’d react like that – me – the one who is writing this blog about the things I want done with me, and sometimes even getting my way despite the ever escaping courage to ask for what I want or even recognizing it in the first place. I have no trouble whatsoever to state what I like, now that I’ve found out. Well, here in the pages of Past the hurt, anyway. It doesn’t mean anything to me, that I want, say, to be choked when we have sex. It has no emphasis. No value. All the negative connotations come from outside, from people reacting to it.
That’s why I don’t kiss and tell anymore. I have Wonderboy to share this with, and that’s enough. Well, Wonderboy and the internet, of course. But I mean that I don’t need anyone’s lable or anyone’s approval. I don’t approve of a lot of things that other people are doing or I wouldn’t at least want to take any part in it. And I don’t have to, so it’s all fine and dandy.
But I can’t be a submissive if I don’t approve of it. I wholeheartedly agree and to some extent share the views and (even more so) feelings of Thumper and Maymay. But every submissive woman I’ve ever read in the internet really honestly fills me with anxiety and fear and even hate against their doms.* Because it is still just too scary of a concept for me, when I don’t know if the love is really there or not. And it sound so scary. The things we want. How can any sane and loving person give them to us? So, the men they describe must be masked men, hollow men, headpieces filled with straw.
And I know, that mostly, they are not. People write about their loves and their lives just like I do. But I don’t have to see myself from the outside. I can’t judge how it seems. And I guess the problem is, that I still can’t face judging myself. I would, I’m pretty sure. If I was reading this. I’d be filled with terror for her. How stupid can she get, thinking it’s good to have a relationship like that. Or then I’m just holding on to something I’ve managed to let go off already.
After having been in therapy for only three months I’ve started to see ways people dodge bullets or replace a feeling they are too scared to show or even admit to themselves with another – mostly anger. That is my Akilles heel too. I thought I had an anger management issue, but turns out, I have a fragileness issue. Much too heavy for me to admit to myself let alone get help for. Until last spring when all hell broke lose, and it had a lot to do with my submissiveness forcing itself from under the wraps once and for all. I couldn’t live having to face my old demonds day after day with the man I love. All the real suffering, the same self that just let someone take advantage of herself over and over again, was now the empowered self, wanting the same. But by wanting it I of course transformed everything that was in the dominance, submission.
I knew it, in my head I could think the thoughts and be okay with them. What I felt was another story entirely. Skin doesn’t forget. Heart races, the body goes into shock, and after that there really is no escape. Having to face it, and my own incapability to face it, every day.
It’s not the same.
It’s not the same.
It’s not. The same.
And when Wonderboy suddenly didn’t feel like himself. When he let me see it, the fear of losing me for who he is. Who he is not ready to be yet. The fear turned into anger. And all the trust we’d built vanished.
Who is this man? How can he do these things to me? How can he? These are the thoughts I harbour when he tries to make amends. When he tries to find me again, kisses me and chokes me gently and kisses my nipples and fucks me and keeps me in my place. He tells me afterwards he did all the things you like. I nod. I do like it. I thought everything was like it used to be, he says and I can see he is sad, disappointed, worried.
How did I come to this? Who am I so afraid of that I can’t trust anyone? No one can hurt me now.
No one can hurt me now.
No one can hurt me now.