Blurred Lines

Who am I without him?

No, I am not asking in the way that I did in those first dark days when the question was actually, “how do I live my life without him in it”…I’m asking it as an honest exploration of self, of what it means to be me…me without him to reflect off of, me with only myself to answer to, me as a woman, as a submissive, as a kinky person, as an “s” without a “D”.

As a single submissive.

How much of what I desired, of what I wanted in BDSM and in sex, was really wanted I wanted, as opposed to what he wanted?

I wanted what he wanted.
I wanted to be what he wanted me to be.
I was a reflection of his desire, of his need, of his Dominance.

I was the creature he had created.

That is what it is to be submissive – and oftentimes, simply to be female. It is what our society trains us for as young women. Most women, to a greater or lesser degree, throw off that societal conditioning (and rightfully so) and become their own selves, in their own right, without the need or desire to reflect another’s image of them, to be what others want then to be. As a submissive, we embrace that conditioning. We ask for it, need it, find someone who can fulfill that need in us to mold ourselves into the image of their desire, to submit to another’s will whether that is only for a moment, only in the bedroom, or as a way of life.

Submission is, in a way, allowing oneself to be subsumed by another.

(Before everyone gets all up in arms with their own definitions of submission, and how it has nothing to do with any of the things above, stand down: this is me and my life I’m talking about. My perspective.)

This is not to say that I was not a whole, vibrant woman before W – that is, after all, what attracted him to me in the first place, and what he told me he loved about me, over and over – but when I think about all of the things that I became, and came to desire, during my relationship with W, it’s hard to separate the things that I wanted from the things that he wanted. And which of those things were things he did because he knew I wanted them? There was as much cross-over that way, as many blurred lines in that direction, as the other, this I know as well.

Rough sex
Rape play
Punitive bondage
Being fucked by strangers
Being fucked by strange objects
Predicament bondage
High heels
Fighting back
Being a cock-whore
Brutal anal sex
Being a dirty girl
Being displayed
Piss play
Cunt torture
Being whipped, caned, beaten

We enjoyed those activities, and many more…but some of them I had never considered or thought I would like, before him. Things that became an integral part of our BDSM interactions, of our sex life: waking to his fingers brutally probing my cunt before I was even awake was a normal occurrence, as was finding him on top of me, his hand on my throat or in my hair, a growled “Don’t move, cunt,” in my ear as he shoved his cock through my rings, painfully, no lube.
I never thought that would be something I’d crave – or that I’d miss. But even though that woman that lay there beneath him, gasping for breath, desperately trying to open myself to him, was not who I had pictured myself to be, before, I miss it, desperately, and it makes me wet to even think about now. I remember the time I woke to find him lashing my wrists together with the rope he had hanging from his wall and being shoved over onto my belly, his hand fisted in my hair, pushing my face into the mattress as he slapped my ass and thighs over and over, before spreading my cheeks and shoving his cock into my tight, dry asshole. And cried, I whimpered, I begged and fought him – and I loved every minute of it.
If anyone had asked me six years ago if that would be someone I could be, I would have shaken my head emphatically no…

And yet. It is who I am. I do want those things again.

Or do I? Do I simply want him to do those things again? Would it be as hot, would it work as well, with someone else? Or would I be afraid?

At the party that I recently went to, I was playing with three others, and the person playing with me was playing rough, in much the way that W used to, when he would get aggressive. I never worried that W would hurt me too much, or go too far, or not recognize when it was too much. I didn’t know this other person though, and it frightened me. It hurt and I didn’t want to hurt like that, so I said “no” and left. But if it had been W, I would never have said no, and I would have welcomed what he was doing. If I were to stand back and look at the scene from this weekend objectively, I can see that what was happening was exactly the way I had always enjoyed playing with W.

But maybe it was W wanting to play that way that made it enjoyable, that made me want it. I wanted what he wanted. I was a reflection of his desire.

As a bottom, as a single person, I have been spinning from one experience to another. Living up my singlehood, my ability to choose, my “bottomhood.” Of only doing the things I want to do, of being no one’s reflection. But I feel the call of that other way…of losing myself in another, of having my self so subsumed by him that the lines between what I want, what and who I am, are blurred. To simply be a reflection of his desire.

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