May 23rd, 2013
Had a good thoughtful post all outlined last night, to fill in the blanks today, but then I got accepted to grad school for the fall, and my brain is all a tizzy with excitement. Fortunately, I also wrote a different blog post type thing last night at 3am because I couldn’t sleep with camping excitement, so we’ll just go with that for now, there might be the original post later.
You hear it all the time – “You must be in control of yourself before you can give/take control to/from another.” We bottoms seek out tops who are “in control,” and tops (one assumes) seek out bottoms who are, as well. But what does that really mean?
I thought I knew. But often power is mistaken for control. Leadership positions are mistaken for control. Confidence, physical prowess, and popularity are mistaken for control. But these are all surface things, and can have very little to do with self-control. When you dig deeper, you might just shatter the illusion.
Sometimes you do find someone who is “in control” and some of these times, you feel you are “in control,” too. Then you feel like you’ve done it right and you’re ready to jump in. But life is messy and so many things are outside our control. So many things are chomping at the bit, just waiting for the unguarded moment, to slip out of control. Often in poly and kink, you are trying new thing after new thing, that you haven’t yet learned to keep in control. And it slips, and all off a sudden you are out of control.
We are human, imperfect, flawed, and weak. Control is something we strive to maintain. It is not a place in which we can live, not if we intend to interact with the world, our partners, and sexual and kinky exploration. Some spiritual traditions may disagree, from one end of the spectrum to the other. But, for me, being “in control” is a practice of constant mindfulness and acceptance that I will slip from time to time, and tumble out of control until I get righted again.
This is most often accomplished with the help of my friends and loved ones. When we are lucky, only one of us falls out of control at a time. Other times, it feels like an acrobatic skydiving team; tumbling off one another as we fall faster and faster. But we come together in the end, and chutes are pulled and control is regained.
So, look for people who are “in control,” but also, notice what they do when things spiral out of control. Anyone can control a rowboat moored at a dock on a quiet day. How do they react in a storm?
April 18th, 2013
Or the lack thereof, really. Two articles today that piss me off.
First, we have a religious group funding a abstinence-only sex “education” speaker at a public school. The class vice-president protests and speaks out about the slut-shaming behavior and false information of the speaker, and her principal threatens her college career. Read about it Here.
Second, we have Ohio lawmakers trying to empower parents to sue public schools who appear to condone “gateway sexual activity.” And while they’re at it, they’re also seeking to reduce funding to comprehensive family planning centers and raise it for those that reject abortion. You can read about this Here.
And, because not everyone in the world is an idiot, here’s an awesome video from New Zealand:
April 11th, 2013
Once more, with feeling. Two humiliation play classes, one emotional masochism class, several blog posts, several more emails, and various verbal discussions. And it is still on my mind. Well, let’s get it out here and see if I can reach any conclusions today.
Objectification – “the treatment of a human being as a thing, disregarding his/her personality or sentience. Sexual objectification – the practice of regarding or treating another person merely as an instrument (object) towards one’s sexual pleasure.” (Wikipedia)
Objectification in play, can have two different formats. You can be used as an object – a lamp, furniture, a sex toy. Or you can be treated as a thing with no regard, or even disdain, for your personality, sentience or worth. These are two very different things. The first, being used, for me, is not at all humiliating, or degrading, though it could be for others. Being used is something I rather enjoy. The latter is specifically about humiliation and degradation, something I am struggling to define my interest in. First, we get into the semantics of those words.
“Humiliation is the abasement of pride, which creates mortification or leads to a state of being humbled or reduced to lowliness or submission. It is an emotion felt by a person whose social status has just decreased.” (Wikipedia) “Erotic Humiliation is the consensual use of psychological humiliation in a sexual context, whereby one person gains arousal or erotic excitement from the powerful emotions of being humiliated and demeaned, or of humiliating another.” (Wikipedia) “To reduce to a lower position in one’s own eyes or others’ eyes.” (Merriam Webster)
Degradation – “decline to a low, destitute, or demoralized state” (Merriam Webster), or “the process of deterioration of characteristics of an object with time” (Wikipedia), or “treat or regard (someone) with contempt or disrespect.” (Google)
Basically, as a form of play, these are about bringing someone low, treating them and making them feel like something less than they are. (Yes, yes, you can’t ‘make’ anyone feel anything, how about, creating an environment that encourages them to feel that way?) I looked these up and provided the definitions I found, because I was having trouble in my own head, with my own understanding of the terms. Humiliation is feeling bad about yourself, your actions, your thoughts, your desires. Degradation is being torn down. Degradation is generally humiliating, but humiliation doesn’t have to be caused by degradation. The two do go fairly well hand in hand.
So, why are these things stuck on my brain? We tried it, it went horribly wrong. And we eventually figured out the problem: I was not fully separating self from scene. I am a writer and my own worst critic. I am a perfectionist and cannot stand failures in myself. It seems like playing with humiliation and degradation would be a bad idea. But I am a(n emotional) masochist and I’m stubborn. I don’t even like failing at failing. (No, that isn’t called succeeding.) I enjoy being beaten to a pulp, physically and mentally. I find it cathartic and stress-relieving.
So, I keep coming back to – okay, so you want to play rough? How can you do it safely? Which seems counter-intuitive right off the bat. ‘Can’t do that.’ ‘Too dangerous to self and relationship.’ ‘Why would you want to feel like that?’ And on and on. Is it just a case of wanting is not so pleasing a thing as having? Is it like the interrogation scene? What I really want is the challenge and this is the easiest way to label it? Probably. I love being challenged, mentally and physically. (Hmmm, what kinds of other mentally challenging play could I do?)
I’ve also gotten a recent inkling of kink as ritual ordeal, to come out the other side stronger. And this definitely seems like something that would be good for me – to face all the negative feelings about myself and come out the other side knowing that those feelings are false and wrong. (Not to mention that I should really get better at dealing with and accepting failure.) I am working to become stronger and more independent than ever before, and so this idea appeals to me on a personal growth level.
There we have it. A much better exploration of where my head is at with all this than I’ve managed in quite a while. Hurray for having my head back on straight again.
April 4th, 2013
I am low on spoons today: http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/wpress/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/. So, instead of writing a blog post, I’m going to link a few interesting articles for people to read.
About Same-Sex Marriage and Gender Roles: http://nursingclio.org/2013/04/02/same-sex-marriage-does-threaten-traditional-marriage/
About Silence and Consent: http://queerguesscode.wordpress.com/2013/03/22/un-memorizing-the-silence-is-sexy-date-script/
Feel free to discuss in the comments, here or there.
March 28th, 2013
Thoughts swirling around in my head. Humiliation play class this week. Still a lot of things I want to think about along those lines. The class did a good job of highlighting some of the directions I need to go. Figure out more specifics about my brain, my wants and needs. Not even necessarily to Do anything with it, maybe just so that I know myself better. Because that is never a bad thing. And finally, I’m doing it with eyes forward. Not, what happened then, but where am I now? What do I feel right now? Is there anything I still want to try? And why am I still curious? And what about that aftercare? Have I figured out what I really need there?
Aftercare’s an odd one for me. Growing up on crew, aftercare wasn’t a thing we worried about, just hand them off to the waiting partner. With ex-lover, there was certainly aftercare, but it was never discussed as ‘what I needed,’ it was just whatever was the natural progression. Sex, cuddles, sleep, more bondage, wherever we landed at the end of the scene. With him, often it ends with curling up with the girls, or kneeling with myself. More private scenes tend to end with cuddles. Aftercare, also became about reflection in writing most often, and then verbally. But aside from creating the ritual that didn’t end up working, I’ve not really sat down and thought it out, just gone with whatever happens in the moment.
This becomes rather pointedly obvious to me when I see other bottoms with their blankets and teddies, or their chocolate and water stashes. I’m cold, almost all the time, so it doesn’t really occur to me that after a scene, I should have a blanket to wrap up in. That’s not to say he’s never wrapped me up in one, it just doesn’t enter my mind that I should make an effort to have one. Chocolate or water? One or both of those things tends to be nearby when we’re scening, but it rarely occurs to me to have it ready before we start. I tend to go with an attitude of – I’ll find what I need afterward. I’m not sure this is the best plan to keep going forward with. ‘Be prepared,’ is all well and good to say, but part of taking care of myself is feeling that I am worth the time and effort to actually do it.
It is only March, but COPE is on my mind. Chance and the finiteness of time has him heading east that weekend, and so far as I know, my going with isn’t going to be an option. COPE, however, is still within my financial means. But it would mean going alone, without a partner, and that stirs up all kinds of debris in my head. Why bother? Being the topmost thought. To which smart-ass answers that going would be better than sitting home alone. The classes are usually fun, so part of me wants to go, if only for those. But that’s an awful lot of money to only go to the classes. And what about playing with friends? I dunno, I don’t do much of that. But surely, I could line up a scene or two, just to make it worth it. Or, gasp, actually be social, and chat and hang out with people, and not worry so much about the playing. Stepping out in the line of being independent, going to an event alone would not be the end of the world, especially an event with so many friends present. Time yet to decide.
March 7th, 2013
Personal identity. Gender identity. Sexual identity. Secret identity.
I think of identity as internal, as opposed to the exterior-ness of labels. Identity is who I am. It is how I feel. It is my proclivities, my interests, my views and my way of being. It is the unique combination that makes up me.
But then, someone asks me, who are you?
And I try to put it into words. These shapeless, unspoken thoughts of me. I use labels that other people have created, that other people have defined. And they are the closest I can come to create communication, but they are not the truth. Because I am so much more than words. I am so much more than someone else’s definitions. So, new words are created, but they, inevitably fall short, too. I try whole lists of words, sometimes seemingly contradictory, just to get the point across that I am more than.
More than a single concept. More than a strict definition. More than a simple category.
I am so much more than my job, my hobbies, my submission, my service, my masochism, my body, my sarcasm.
Who am I? You’ll never know. Because you are not inside me, and no matter how much time you spend with me, you will always filter me through who you are.
But sometimes I want so badly to be understood, to be accepted, to be loved. That I try to fit in. Fit into the molds society has created. Fit into the roles that someone else has defined. Fit into boxes that people understand.
And when someone does not understand, I try to explain. But sometimes words just aren’t enough. Because they do not feel as I feel, they do not experience what I experience. Their frame of reference does not allow for understanding. And I can let myself feel alienated and ashamed, or I can remember that they don’t have to understand me. My identity is not based on anyone else’s understanding.
February 21st, 2013
Boundary responsibility has been on my mind a lot lately. Who’s responsibility are your boundaries and agreements? On the surface, this answer is simple – you are responsible for your own boundaries. You are responsible for knowing your boundaries, for communicating your boundaries and for enforcing your boundaries. So, where does My responsibility begin?
If you hug me, is it my responsibility to ask if hugging is within your boundaries? If you kiss me, is it my responsibility to make sure your primary partner is okay with that? If we curl up to cuddle, is it my responsibility to ask you if your partner would be okay seeing us like this? If you ask me to play, is it my responsibility to check with your partners?
For me, all these answers are No. I am responsible for interacting within my own boundaries and agreements, and I expect everyone else to be as responsible for their own boundaries and agreements. But there’s trouble in those expectations and assumptions.
I’ve been blamed in the past, and seen others blamed, for ‘stealing’ a partner from a ‘friend’ because I didn’t ask said ‘friend’ if it was okay to play with their partner. I use quotes here because said partner ended up dating us both for quite some time and had another partner before either of us, so I’m not sure what was stolen, and the person was never someone I considered a friend in the first place. I’ve also seen the case where an outside partner came back and said ‘well, you should have known I wouldn’t be okay with that.’ No, I’m sorry, I don’t know you as well as your partner does, so I don’t assume I know better than your partner about your agreements and boundaries.
But this has bitten me in the ass, too. When agreements and boundaries have been shared with all involved, and then broken anyway. If I know a boundary of another relationship, if I’m told an agreement, then yes, I think it does become partially my responsibility to respect and uphold it. By this I mean, not pushing to break an agreement or bypass a boundary that I know to be set. The trouble comes when it turns into enforcing someone else’s boundaries and agreements for them. I’m not okay with being put in the position of having to remind someone of their own boundaries.
The bigger trouble comes when these discussions do not occur at all, and everyone starts acting off assumptions. ‘Well, I know this isn’t what she said the boundary was, but if she’s doing it, the boundary must have changed.’ ‘He never told me what the boundaries are, so there must not be any.’ ‘Everyone else is doing it, so it must be alright.’ ‘He never said I couldn’t do this.’ ‘Well, if she wants to, it must be okay for me to do it.’
And as much as I don’t want to have to enforce someone else’e boundaries, starting the discussion about boundaries is far safer than making assumptions. And it leads to healthier relationships, and stronger friendships. Communication and honesty are essential for all my relationships.
So, here’s the question: At what point do you start this discussion?
February 14th, 2013
I want to write something intelligent today, but my body wants to sleep. I want to write something deep and meaningful, but I should really be packing. I want to write something that fully expresses the emotions of these last few weeks, but I’m not sure I’m ready. I want to put it all out there, but I don’t want anyone to read it. That’s the trouble with a blog – people read and react to it, whether you want them to or not. Best to keep the private things on paper, or at least locked away in your personal files.
I do too much of that, though. Locking away how I feel. I resist reacting because it feels pointless, useless and occasionally stupid. I hate it when people call themselves stupid, but lately, I’ve found myself calling my reactions that. I’ve gotta stop. They aren’t stupid, they’re my reactions. And they aren’t always logical, because reactions are emotional. I’m allowed to be upset about things, allowed to react to things. As long as I recognize that’s what’s happening, as long as I keep working through the reaction, keep listening and talking. As long as I don’t sit and dwell and wallow in the reaction. And that’s the problem. Because if I feel like the reaction won’t accomplish anything, I try to resist it. Trouble is, that only puts a stopper in the bomb, and the pressure builds and then explodes even stronger.
Last night we were talking about things, and he gave me a heads up, and I shut down. I was reacting, but I didn’t want to react. I didn’t want to be upset because he was just trying to warn me that something might happen. He noticed and poked, and I eventually mumbled that I was reacting and it was stupid. And he looked me in the eyes and told me I was allowed to react. It was still an internal battle and the conversation that resulted wasn’t much fun either, but it kept me from stewing and wallowing. It gave me more information, and a better ability to deal with the information, process it appropriately. Otherwise, my mind would have stuck in the pothole and spun for the last 24 hours instead of being able to accept the warning and figure out how to deal with it. It didn’t make for an entirely pleasant evening, but bottling would have made for a much worse one.
I did the same at the con. Stamped down on feelings and reactions because I didn’t think they would be useful. In a couple classes, I refused to let myself cry, refused to let the emotions out because I didn’t want to call attention or make a scene. Neither of these things would have happened. The presenters had everyone’s attention, I was free to react however I wanted. But I resisted, screwed that lid down tightly. It led to an explosion later, when he said something that I reacted to. In this case, he walked away because he wanted me to feel free to react and get it out. Which I did, in spades. But again, I felt reacting at him would not accomplish anything, so I tried to keep it inside. Fortunately, even when ill, he notices these things. When he came back we were able to talk it through, and then the next day, because often I take a day to process, we finished talking it out.
It is all about these stories we write in our brains. They are written in an instant of reaction. And often, they are wrong. And I usually know they are wrong, so I scold myself and try to stifle them, but I cannot erase them unless I get them out of my head. Unless I ask. Unless I get clarification when I’m confused or unclear. Writing stories without all the facts is fine for novels, but it doesn’t work in relationships. Yes, sometimes asking is really hard, sometimes it escalates the upset, which is a hard thing for a peace-maker like myself. But not asking just strengthens the false thought. Leave a thought long enough, and it becomes your truth. And truths are even harder to erase or rewrite.
I am taking better care of myself this year. I am standing up for myself. Next step is to stand up To myself. Allow myself the freedom to react, to question, and to find the truth.
October 4th, 2012
We talk to each other every day. We communicate with people on many levels. We show our love and appreciation through both action and words. We say ‘I love you’ as often as we can. Sometimes, we say it so often, or so casually, that it loses its power. We even say it as a reflex when someone else says it. Other times, we get it right. We say it at the moment it is needed most, or by looking into their eyes and really meaning every word. We say it by our actions, a hug of support, a tender kiss, or by making a masochist cry.
A lot of people speak without thinking. Responding on reflex can get you through life, but we were given brains for a reason. Filtering our thoughts, really thinking about a question, being conscious of our replies, will get us a lot further. Some people go by the three questions: ‘Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?’ If you cannot answer at least two of these three with Yes, you probably don’t need to say it.
When you are in multiple relationships, it can be a hard balance to show everyone how special they are to you. When you’re having a threesome, sexual or just kinky play, it can be difficult for everyone to feel special, or unique. It takes careful thought, and a little extra effort, to give each person a little something just for that one.
Last night, he was hitting us both with the leather cocks. We have very different reactions, and processing mechanisms, but he was basically doing the same thing to each of us. What gave me a feeling of special was towards the end of the play, he looked at me and said “How is my pain slut doing?” This made me feel good on a couple levels. I always enjoy the possessiveness implied by “my” in phrases like that, I am his, and he is the only one I currently receive pain from, no one else. And “pain slut” was an acknowledgment of my enjoyment and arousal caused by the pain, which is very different than the engineer’s reaction. I’m not going to assume he necessarily meant all of that when he said it, but he knows me, and he often chooses his words to make me smile.
This morning was another example. As I was getting dressed and showing him the bruises, he looked at them and said “Now, those are big diamonds,” acknowledging one of my favorite Fetlife quotes: ‘Some girls get diamonds, my bruises are prettier.’ These bruises were his gifts to me, as my screams and moans, etc the night before, were my gifts to him. These are a particularly tender set of bruises, and I’ll enjoy them all the more. Most of mine don’t stay tender past a day, but these, I feel, will make me smile as I walk all through the weekend.
Be careful of words that you share with a partner. Just like the things that are personal to a relationship, words can be special, too. If there is a special nickname people use for each other, don’t assume you can use it, too. If you have a special call and response with a long-term partner, saying it to someone else can cause hurt feelings. If you are not sure, ask. Better to feel foolish than to trigger
September 27th, 2012
Friends of mine have been talking/puzzling about their lives not being what they expected them to be. For some, this is causing great distress. So, I decided to take a look at the question.
Growing up, what did I expect out of life?
When I was little, I wanted to be an astronaut, doesn’t everyone? The stars held me in thrall. Then I found out that astronauts didn’t get to visit the stars, and sometimes their ships blew up, and I thought maybe I’d stay on earth til they got those things worked out.
Then I wanted to be a teacher. Until I found out that kids are cruel, and rude, and unmanageable sometimes. I thought maybe that wasn’t the best place for me, and maybe I didn’t even want to have my own.
So I turned back to the stars. I wanted to study them, from here on earth. Look out into them, and find the mysteries of the universe. Find other life. Figure out how life formed here. I was again in their thrall. But then I went to college, and calculus and E&M defeated me. So I turned away again.
To writing. I loved to read, it kept me entertained as a child, and I loved to write, to express myself in words, because my voice was so soft, and no one could interrupt me when I was typing or writing by hand. I could speak for myself in text, say anything and everything through writing. And I love it.
I work in a bookstore, because I love books. I love sharing knowledge, and helping people find the same joy in it that I did. I don’t teach, but I help them get the information they want. I do not go to the stars myself, but can help other people get there.
But those are only jobs and vocations, those are what I do. What did I expect out of Life?
Growing up in the church, I expected to stay in the church. I expected to be a good little UM girl all my life. To get married to a nice UM boy, and worship every Sunday, and be a part of projects and work groups. And then I got older, and there were politics, and other view points, and intolerance, and hate. My faith became more personal, less contained in a building, less constrained by specific doctrine. I still consider myself a Christian, because I feel I live by Jesus’s overriding message of Love. His words of love still speak to me, and I do my best to follow his example. I didn’t marry a nice UM boy, or even a nice Christian boy. But I did get married to a very Loving man. And to me, that is what is important.
But where did all this poly stuff come from? Surely that wasn’t “in the plan.” No, growing up, I expected to have a husband, forsaking all other so long as we both shall live. It was even in our vows. Promised before family and god. But that doesn’t seem very loving to me. To Forsake others? I didn’t date anyone in High School, but my college relationships were rife with flavors of poly. Not my first, he was a good Christian boy. But most of the ones after that. I didn’t have the understanding, let alone the language for it at the time, though. My second, still in love with his HS sweetheart, cheated on me and left me for her. I often played with him after that, even with a third friend sometimes, and still love him, though not in a romantic way. My third, had a ‘zip code rule’ that I always rolled my eyes at, but he and I had off and on things, despite his other relationships. My fourth, well, he was an odd bird, and I was trying to get back with others during that time as well. Hubby came into play that year as well, as someone I loved, but couldn’t be with. Then my fifth and sixth, openly admitting to love for hubby while dating them. Playing with others while things with hubby went up and down and round about. But things were so messy, that when I got back with Hubby after college, I made the mono-demand.
Which lasted just over three years, until we both started falling for others. My experiment exploded, so I returned to a state of poly=pain, and agreed to swinging. That didn’t go very well, either, and then we found the community here, and I softened and fell, back into poly, where I truly belong. This time, with resources, and language, and experienced people, who taught me to communicate, and to thrive in this lifestyle. Oh, it still goes up and down and sideways, but I am far better equipped to deal with it now, and far more able to accept the bumps and bruises, and keep on swimming.
That was the important lesson to me. It isn’t about trying to keep my head above water, that’s just a lot of thrashing around to keep from drowning, but you never move forward doing that. I’ve learned to keep on swimming, forward, through the waves, and tides. The only way up is forward, and it attracts fewer sharks if you swim fluidly forward than if you thrash around hoping to be rescued.
So, was this what I expected out of my love life? No. But it is certainly what fits me. Love, and plenty of it. To keep me going along my way.
But life is not just job and relationships. What about this kink stuff that fills my waking hours? What about the natural world and the stars I loved so much?
I grew up loving the outdoors. Going camping, going hiking, stargazing. Sitting by campfires, singing songs and exploring the woods. It is still my refuge. When things get too much. When I need to unwind. When I just need to get away. I go to the woods. I walk through the forest, I lie in the grass, I sit by the brook. Nature is still in my veins, but people now fill my heart.
I didn’t have a lonely childhood, in my mind. I had friends, I enjoyed school. I went to parties. But I didn’t have a Lot of friends, I didn’t do the social butterfly thing. I had a couple best friends. That I would spend most of my time with. I never expected this to change, and it hasn’t. I have kept my best friends, from HS and College, but they are far away. I have made a few more since, but not many. And it is with these friends that I spend my time. It is kink and poly that brought me to these new friends. And geekdom. I still do the geek-thing, gaming every week, and a group that goes to geek conventions and throws parties monthly. But the latter are also a part of my poly and kinky circles, too.
I’ve always had a kinky bone in my body, though, I didn’t know it at first. Or at least not what to call it. I found it fairly fast, though, when I got old enough. Kink, I discovered, made sense to me, and was something I wanted in my life. It became part of my regular life with my second boyfriend, growing with my fifth, and really expanding when I met daddy online, and then in person, though I didn’t find community until nearly a year after hubby and I moved back here, only just over four years ago. I tried once, just before we go married, but a missed connection kept us at bay for four years, due to moving out of state after the wedding. Kink, though, once I understood what it was, has always been an expected part of my life. And I am grateful for the people who have guided me, advised me, played with me, and taught me. Navigating the kinky community, and one’s kinky self takes a lot of work and skills that are not necessarily the norm in regular society. And it has also given me an outlet for my early desires to teach and my later desires to write. These things are a part of me and kink keeps them in my life.
What about submission? How does that fit in with my life expectations?
Did I grow up thinking about how wonderful it would be to be controlled? How much I wanted a man to tell me what to do? How much I wanted to serve him? No. I grew up learning to be an independent, free-thinking, self-reliant woman. I went away to college, I went to Ireland alone, I went to Australia to meet daddy. I moved out of the house when I got back. I found a job, I supported myself. Sometimes I fell down, and needed some help, but I was mostly independent of my parents. I got married and moved away. No longer singularly independent, but still in control. In charge of my life, working now as a couple, to be successful. So, where did this submissive desire come from? How does it fit into my life expectations?
In my kink, it has always felt like the natural role for me. At first, it was a desire to be done to, as I think it usually is. I wanted to receive all these sensations, I desired to be spanked, to be pinched, to be bitten, to be held down, to be bound. So in control, so strong, so independent. I wanted it to be taken away. At first, I wanted to know that these things were okay. That I could still be strong and independent, and in control, even though I wanted and liked these things. I didn’t have control over what turned me on, but I wanted to know that I was still in control of myself and my world. My body, my RA, took some of that control away from me, so I gained a desire to control the pain I experienced. I wanted to have the pain that I wanted, not that my body just threw at me. These things came first.
Then I met strong, dominant men, and it wasn’t just about play anymore. It wasn’t just about top and bottom. It was about Dom and sub. It was about being able to give up control, giving them control, and the freedom I found in doing so. Not just in giving to them, but in receiving as well. The give and take, the cyclical relationship, that requires love and trust and work to maintain. It feels good to submit to those I have chosen to submit to because they chose to dominate me in return. One-sided relationships happen, but they are not fulfilling in the long run. The joy and fulfillment I found in submission, blossomed from curiosity to expectation and is a part of my life I do not ever want to be without.
Expectations change as life changes us. But once we find those things that make our lives wonderful and whole, it no longer matters what we once thought we would be or do. It is what we are now, what makes us happy and fills our lives that matters most. No use worrying about what we thought would be, stay in the present, work for what you want now. Not what you thought you should have. If I’d stuck with my original plan, I’d be pretty much out off luck now, NASA’s ended the shuttle program. Expectations are helpful, but don’t let them stay stagnant while life changes all around you.