BDSM Article, for you.
Being a submissive is possibly the most honest thing I do.
Not very long ago, I acted on an urge that had been quietly threading itself throughout my being. I faced fears that had been hauntingly insurmountable all of my life.
I went Into The Attic.
I was not such a brave, free spirit that I did so without extensive (see: terribly obsessive) research. I read every single blog post, looked at every model… I wanted to know who it was that I was going to allow to completely control me. To direct me, to see all of my flaws and to see how I act when all of my learned behaviors are stripped away to instinct. That’s a beautiful thing, being so naked. Experiencing yourself not only without clothes, but without control, dignity, familiarity. But I digress…
I felt overwhelming nausea on the car trip there, for my first shoot. I had no idea that I was on the cusp of one of the most important events of my life to date.
I got to the shoot location, and, after about five minutes of staring at the door, knocked.
I was greeted with a smile and ushered inside. He talked to me in a calm, mesmerizing drawl that made me wonder how He would segue into what was showcased on the site– such a raw, powerful, intimate look at what is hiding beneath the surface of so many girls.
Soon enough I was being led around to get pictures taken, to get the signature Interview. I couldn’t stop talking, asking questions, pointing out things I knew (or thought I knew). Everything was eerily calm– all smiles and quiet voices and thoughtful gestures. That, I think, is where the tension started to grow inside my mind. I knew that something was coming, but not what. It was like walking into a pitch-black room with your hand outstretched: you hope for a smooth wall beside you, but deep down you fear that you will touch a monster.
Soon enough, it was time to get behind the camera and actually do what I had come to do– to stretch out my hand in the dark and see what was there.
The segue? It happened.
When I heard my name come out of His mouth, something started to change– I was no longer what I pretended to be when going to the grocery store, or when at my day job, or around the in-laws. I could feel that slowly, all of what I had made myself into– every piece of me that I had chosen to accentuate or hide when I presented “me” to the world– was going to be tested. I was going to be tested.
I heard the words, “Let’s get started.” My stomach knotted. I paid rapt attention to everything He did.
He left, moving where I couldn’t see Him. I felt my curiosity morph into a mixture of delight and fear. He was letting it sink in, giving me a few moments to ruminate on whatever I chose: the pain of the ropes around me, the awkward, undignified way I was exposed, why I was even in there…
I heard Him whistling, the cracking of a whip, the loud clanging of things. I heard the boot-clad thumping of His footsteps– the noises He made startled me– I knew He was priming me for when He came back. Every noise told me that things were different now, and that sort of communication was something that I wholly did not expect. It was so clear without words, I just knew.
When He came back into view, it was done. Nothing was clothed in the sugary falsehood of everyday living, of trying to be acceptable even if it means being someone less than yourself– that was cast aside. Now it was time to see what was left. What was I made of? He wanted to see.
Different positions, tools, punishments, rewards, orgasms (which can be punishment or reward, I found out…) passed, and I found myself sobbing, giggling, moaning, whimpering, and everything in between.
His expectations are high. He always illuminates the fact that– in everything– I have a choice. If I’m in pain and I feel my limits approaching, I can choose to buckle under the weight of responsibility, to retreat into a place that I think will offer me something nicer– or I can transcend that. I can calm my self down, suck it up, and endure. If you make the latter choice just once, you are always going to remember it. It will change you, you will have a knowledge of yourself that is deeply powerful. You will think of that feeling the next time you are faced with the challenge of pain.
I was introduced to someone that I have had the great pleasure of getting to know better– me. Who I really am when it comes down to it, when I have nothing else but endurance.
Where WAS I all this time?! I have found in me a much more amazing person than I could ever craft, one that is profoundly strong, one that I now know there is no shame in hiding, no guilt to be had for embracing. I will not go back. I will love who I am when I’m shaking the very chair I’m tied to, when I’m at the last bit of my limits (the ones that are really only dictated by my mind), when I am being challenged on every level. I will embrace that, because nothing is more true to me.
Bondage, for me, is intoxicating. I don’t drink, smoke, party, do any sorts of drugs… but this, wow. I can think of no better high than three feet from the ground with the cutting embrace of those ropes. What better relaxation than surrender? That moment when you know another snap of the whip is coming? Amazing.
I owe a huge, gushing thanks to the lovely Attic folks: for going above and beyond the call of duty– in more ways that I can count; for giving me the best introduction to the BDSM world a girl could ever hope for; and for listening to me ramble and geek out about all of the cool things I read on the Blog. Your patience and advice has been invaluable, and I promise to bake cookies next time!
With much love,
Naomi
…and if I find her addressing me as “He” again, versus “he”, I’m going to beat the Holy Shit out of her.
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