the thing I’ve been afraid to think

It’s been an exhilarating ride, these past three months, since my Darling and I decided to try and switch roles and for the first time in our lives, step into new pants (or lack thereof, depending).

It has been exhiliarating because it’s been so exciting. Because we have learned so many things about ourselves, and about each other. Because we’ve been trying new things and feeling new things and generally been on an adventure together. While neither of us realized beforehand how exciting it would be, it makes sense in retrospect.

I didn’t just identify as a sub before, despite my love of teasing. I identified as a sub. Like, that was the thing that got me juiced. The thing I looked for in partners or fantasies. The thing that made me feel safe and secure and complete and its distinct lack in the last several years were a BIG part of the reason why I came to struggle so mightily with my marriage. I didn’t ever entertain notions of dominance. From my perspective, I had enough damned dominance every day to fill two people’s lives. I run businesses for a living. Teams of people depend on me. I run our home. I take a primary caregiver role with my stepdaughter. My husband, god love him, often needs my support more than I need his. The last thing in the world I wanted was to take on that responsibility in the bedroom as well. That was supposed to be my place to relax and be taken care of.

But we sat, and we talked, and we decided to try this because nothing else was working any more and we loved each other too much to consider the alternative.

It was clear to me, though, that I was doing this to save my marriage. Not because I was actually dominant.

Sigh.

You see the prevarication, above? You see how desperately I already had all the clues I would ever need and yet still, I had no idea going in?

We played. Over the last twelve weeks or so, I’ve found my feet. Found a way to dominate that feels natural and right to me. Learned about what turns us on, what doesn’t, so many play sessions and teasing sessions and erotic encounters (daily! several times daily sometimes!) that seriously, we may have actually played more and been more intimate in the past twelve weeks than in the past year or two combined. (Yeah, it was that bad.)

But all along I’ve been terrified to admit the full and total truth. Even with all the evidence:

  • how frequently and hard hard hard I get turned on
  • how tender and loving I feel towards my Darling, especially when he is being shy, or submissive, or nervous
  • how intimate and comfortable I feel with his entire body for the first time in our lives, ever: I own every crevice… no spot is unseen, no area untouched
  • how easily we fell into all of this and how natural it has seemed, despite such a tidal change in how we interact
  • how natural and sudden dominant thoughts (totally foreign to me)now crop up within me – ogling thoughts, i-want-to-bite-him thoughts, wanting-to-hurt-him thoughts, wanting-to-fuck-with-his-head-and-get-him-all-aroused thoughts, and more.

I haven’t wanted to admit that maybe I was like this all along. Maybe I was always a Domme, waiting inside for my brain to catch up with what my instincts already knew.

Maybe I spent the last 13 years of my life trying to be a round hole when I was actually a square peg all along.

My Darling and I have circled around this conversation for a while, especially the last two months – wondering if we truly made a complicated mess out of nine entire years together because we were both too blind to see the truth.

But for me the questions are even further reaching: did I not know myself before? What does this mean about the other lovers I took as a sub, who dominated me and taught me about this lifestyle to begin with?

I don’t have all the answers. What I do know is that this is the happiest my Darling and I have ever been. While we still argue, the tension and acrimony and emotionally stunted last several years have, literally, disappeared in just twelve weeks. We love each other more than ever before. We do what feels natural to us – even when what feels natural is decidedly unnatural within the context of our relationship before. We talk more. Trust more. Hold each other and touch more.

For now, he is mine. I am not faking this. I am profoundly moved by this experience, more so every single day.

Perhaps I am, after all, a Domme.

pretty

I’ve always believed that everyone’s kink is OK, even if it’s not OK for me. I’d never judge someone (or I’d try really hard not to, at least) on the basis of an element of their kink. Hey, whatever turns you on, so long as it’s consensual, it’s all good.

That said, I’ve never really understood the women’s underwear/women’s clothing aspect of femdom/malesub BDSM. Honestly, it’s one of the biggest things I knew I wouldn’t want. Not because I think less, sexually or emotionally, of people who do it. It’s just:

Look. I’m a feminist. The idea that putting on frilly or pink or satiny clothing or panties makes someone less than, or a sissy, is kind of offensive to me. Because I don’t think being a woman, looking like a woman, feeling like a woman, should ever be something demeaning or less than or in any way embarrassing for anyone because I at my very core do not believe that having female traits is any more embarrassing than having male traits. In other words, why wouldn’t it be ok? 

Luckily, my Darling agrees with me (he’s a feminist too, sort of) and we were both on the same page about wearing frilly underpants being a no in our relationship.

Then, we started playing with butt plugs and learned pretty quickly that actually, those gently sloping silicone things don’t actually stay in your ass very well at all. One or two good squeezes is all it can take to make it shoot out of there like a rocket. I have no idea why no one ever seems to talk about this. But I’m telling you now. All of your fantasies of walking someone around (or being walked, depending on which side of the fence you’re playing on) wearing a butt plug pretty much go up in smoke when confronted with the silicon skinny reality. Even bigger ones? Same thing. Shooty McShooty.

Disappointing.

So then: I had to start looking for a new butt plug. One that would stay in. What I wanted was simple. I wanted something with a small base (easy to sit on) but broad enough not to get lost up there. I wanted something with a tiny stem that was easy for anal muscles to cling to. And then a nice deep flare that would seat and stay in. Too much to ask? Nay nay. Unfortunately, the only butt plugs that fit this description come with a crystal at the end, all sparkly and bright.

Hrm.

So on one hand I have the desire to not feminize my sub because in my world that would make him more powerful. You see? And on the other I have a very anal greedy sub who I wanted to walk around in a butt plug without having to strap him in like international luggage.

Needless to say, I bought the plug – with a clear crystal, natch, since it would be more masculine. We tried it for the first time last weekend. And I learned something about sparkly (and by inference, feminine) things.

What if it turns you both on not because it’s bad or less or humiliating, but because it’s pretty and your boy has never in his life had a chance to be pretty?

I was amazed at my reaction to seeing that crystal sparkling in the groove between his butt cheeks. It was pretty. I liked looking at it. And it didn’t make him less of a man to have it there. It made him more of a man.

My man.

See? Learning things.

the cock reflex

For years, I’ve been slow to arouse. Like, it takes a loooong time to get me simmering. Sure, that wasn’t the case before, but I was older, with more responsibility, more stress, a kid in the house – it really didn’t seem like a stretch to imagine that all of these together were affecting my sexuality.

Hrm. Well. Then we switched roles.

And now I can go off like a rocket. Deep, throbbing, lovely feelings down there. But getting used to the whys of these deep throbbing lovelies has meant getting used to a whole new world of me than I’d ever known before.

Things that now make me go off (that never did before):

  • when he looks shy, or embarassed, or blushing. (If he hides his face, look out! Sexual frenzy!)
  • when he moans, of course – but especially when he whimpers with need
  • when he shoves his greedy ass at me when I’m spanking, flogging, or even just touching him
  • when he trembles with need

Suffice it to say that now, I get a rather large number of opportunities in a week to be heavily, deeply aroused. But that’s not all. It’s the new instincts that come with this arousal that are hard to understand and a mindfuck to deal with, especially after 13-odd years of identifying as a sub.

I get… hard. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s like my clit is just bigger now, like a small cock inside of me. And when he’s vulnerable and sweet and stretched on a rack of denial and want and sensation, it…

Well. It makes me want to fuck something. Actually, it makes me want to fuck everything. 

I literally spent the first four weeks we played in these new roles feeling like a dog – that I just wanted and needed to hump up against the world and find something to shove my (and now THERE’s the question, yes? what the hell would I shove?) something into something. I honestly don’t believe I’ve been so turned on in my entire life as I have been the past 2.5 months while my Darling and I have been learning about these new roles.

I’ve begun to call it my cock reflex, because that’s really what it feels like. As though my entire life I’ve never understood how men felt, wanting to grab things and stick their cocks into them, hump up against things, and generally just thrust with their hips to soothe the unbearable sodding ache. Until now.

I’m even different now when his face is buried between my legs. (Yes, folks, since Vikki left you last, she actually learned to appreciate, enjoy and even come from cunnilingus. See the history.) Before I would screw my eyes shut and focus on the sensation and eventually, slowly, get over my shit enough to come. The idea of grabbing his hair or head was anathema to me, and something I only did occasionally, lightly, because I knew it turned him on.

[Aside: as I tell more of our stories from our past, like the one above about me grabbing his head turning him on, you’ll begin to untangle and unravel, as we are, the reality that there were hints all along. But I digress.]

Fast forward to now. I grab his head, his hair, but my favorite is to grab two hanks of hair or his head above his ears on both sides and move his lips up and down my clit until it feels like the world’s smallest blowjob. Sweeeejesus. I could fuck that face into infinity.

The natural extension of this, of course, is for me to get a cock of my very own to wear and fuck things with. But that’s a story for another day.