Getting to this place in my mind has been a bit of a journey. Accepting that the things that turn my body and mind on do not make me a freak, or that maybe I have daddy issues and in some strange way this deals with them, has certainly been an inner struggle; one that I’ve kept certain details of to myself for fear of someone telling me I’m wrong while I’m still trying to figure it out.

I’m feeling confident now that I have figured it out, after almost 5 years discovering my kink identity, so here is my submission explained in absolutely no specific order.

1. I Totally Have Daddy Issues

It’s true, I do and I’m ok admitting it. My parents split up when I was around 10 or so and soon after my dad got a new girlfriend and three step-sons. I felt like an unimportant total outcast when I went to stay with him as suddenly I wasn’t his everyday family anymore; not that he did anything to really cause this. I moved to Ontario at age 13 with my mum and sort of lost touch with my dad for a while. There was a period of about a year and a half where we didn’t even speak and it devastated me. Before he died in 2004, we had started to have a better relationship, but I still have no idea if anything I did ever made him proud of me.

I don’t know if he thought I was a failure for being a bigger girl or for not being good at sports, like my step brothers. I have no idea why he didn’t talk to me for that time during my formative and fragile teenage years and I carry that with me like a burden. Finally, I have no idea if he would be proud of me now, were he still alive.

As a result, I crave it now; that feeling of someone being proud of me. The idea that I can be valued and special and precious and a good girl. I have no idea why, when I get that feeling, I get turned on like you wouldn’t believe. That’s too much science for me to bother trying to understand. All I do know is that I have daddy issues, which sucks, but somehow it’s great for my sex life, which rocks. I don’t really understand it, but I do not feel that I need to.

2. I Totally Dig on Sensory Deprivation

Discovering this one has been fun but pretty obvious. Even when I was younger I used to play breath games to feel dizzy. As an adult, I absolutely adore being choked. Ideally, I prefer it to be calm and not violent; though that is sometimes what I get. Giving up that control to another person that I feel safe with is such a comforting and freeing sensation, plus if done correctly, breath play feels physically AWEsome.

Also, having my sight taken from me rocks my world. Being blindfolded and having to rely on my other senses absolutely amazes me.

Again, why does it do things to my genitals? Fucked if I know, but it does and that’s great.

3. I Totally Want to Hear About That Thing You Like

While visiting a handsome man the other night after work I suddenly noticed a pattern that has been evident for years with Harvey. I absolutely adore listening to people talking about their passions. It doesn’t matter if it’s nerd culture, food, fancy clothing or sexual politics; if someone is interested in it and that comes through, I’m hooked. I love seeing people enjoying themselves and light up; it’s why I sit there quietly content when Harvey takes his first sip of booze after a long day in the office or why I’m always so happy when Steph has a crazy outburst of laughter at some dumb cartoon show. Emotions can be exciting. Passion and drive are inspiring and make me want to drop to me knees and go to town on your bits.

Also, I love role playing that I cannot speak. I remember doing it in high school art class for 45 minutes; probably because I talked too much and friends wanted to see if they could shut me up. Even after class though I stopped talking for a while. I did it again with my first boyfriend once. We role played that I was new to town and could not speak anything and we had to talk to one another just through facial expressions, mhmms and head nods/shakes.

Recently it happened with Harvey and another woman we played with. They were getting to know one another while I sat there, saying nothing, for at least half an hour. I loved it. I was completely in his control, willingly giving it to him. My brain was in such a lovely subspace that I had no want or desire to speak unless I was spoken to or given permission to. I suspect this has something to do with daddy issues as well, but hey, I’m no Freud.

4. I Totally Love Physical Sensation

I insist that I don’t like pain and to be honest I think that I am pretty bad at receiving it, but I still can’t help myself. More and more I think about being spanked, having my hair pulled or being slapped in the face. My favorite sex is that which includes at least one of those options, preferably all three. When done well, I am a puddle. An instant, malleable servicebot that does what she is told, no questions asked.

I know it’s fucked but I also like that I flinch now from years of being smacked unexpectedly. I like not knowing all the time when a smack is coming because even though I totally love physical sensation, I love even more giving up control. Feeling scared and powerless is sexy and rewarding and yum yum yum.

Also, being with a person that is hitting you to give you pleasure feels much more rewarding than someone simply abusing you. There’s a certain level of trust that has to be shared between the people involved to allow it to happen and it can be super fucking hot to find that level of intimacy and trust with a lover.

5. I Totally Love Being Dirty and Naughty

It doesn’t really matter what it is. Following someone’s perverted instructions, being examined, gagging enthusiastically, rubbing them under our restaurant table. If it would normally be considered a “shameful” activity by mainstream society, then I want to do it. Being Don Draper’s dirty little secret that he gets with in the hallway, turns me on immensely though I don’t understand it. Not only do I want to do it, but I want to be freaking amazing at it. I take great pride in being a good lover and hope that everyone I am with tells me if there is something that I can do differently to give them as much dirty pleasure as possible.

Being a dirty slut fills me with glee but being a bitch? That doesn’t sit right with me at all.

6. I Totally Need to Shut My Brain Off

This one’s a given and I’ve always mentioned it in the past when talking about kink. Giving into submission lets me shut off my brain and I do not give myself many chances to do that. Even when experimenting with recreational drugs I still fight to stay focused and cannot just give into the sensations my body is going through. I always have to have some grip on control of my life; finding it hard to relax without multi-tasking at the time. I give myself so many tasks in my day to day life that I need to escape from them at times. Submission takes away that need for responsibility that I have and allows me to just be responsible to the person running the show.

In addition to turning off my brain I also like to feel for a while like I don’t have all the answers. I like to have my dominant partners explain things to me that I am certain I would understand if not with them. My brain gets a weird kick out of feeling dumb or less and I am ok with that. Completely. (I promise.)

7. I Totally Love Being Tied Up and/or Humiliated

This one is new to me but I have been tied up a few times and found that the sensation of being exposed, waiting for him to put me in the position that pleases him; standing in a way that helps him accomplish his goal, makes me feel tingly all over. Cleaning his boots, while I lay naked in a heap at his feet; you’d think it would be embarrassing. Instead, I feel immense pride and motivation. I want to do the best that I can and I am proud of myself for doing so.

I know. It’s fucked.

Leftovers

There are probably many other things that I get out giving myself to someone else. I get to stroke their ego and make them feel good about themselves. I can be the person that they tell their embarrassing secrets to that still wants to suck their dick. I want to worship people and give them compliments when they deserve them because making people feel good, feels good.

I feel comfortable now admitting to all of the things that I enjoy about D/s dynamics. I don’t feel like a freak anymore but instead feel like a woman who owns her sexuality and knows what she wants.

I want to be with people that make me feel safe. People that deserve the gift of my attention and devotion. Sometimes I want to have a Daddy but I am still figuring out what that means to me. I know that I melt when being called someone’s girl, even more so when I am a good girl. I know that having a Daddy does not mean I have to be a little girl. I can have a Daddy and still be an adult. I also enjoy being someone’s pet because it lets me feel treasured. I know that I need help being able to express out loud what I want, which is one of the reasons I am writing this all down. I know that my inhibitions are still holding me back from giving myself total happiness and this is my first step to moving forward.

And most importantly, but probably the most frustrating truth of all is that I know that I would do anything for a good spanking right about …. now.

You see, I have a confession to make. I’m a fat kid; you probably already know that. But what you might not know is how evil I am to myself because of it. How I’ve let my inner voices rule my decisions, my self-worth and my motivation for years. Forever, really. This is what I’m having trouble admitting to myself, and to you. I don’t really like to talk about my weight struggles much, outside of acknowledging that they’re there, however I have to now. I feel like I cannot move forward and share with you other sexy stories, other activist-like posts and so on, without being 100% honest with everyone about what I’m thinking all the time, under the surface. All. The. Time.

Fat in Grade 10. And obsessed with Shaq. Can you dig it?

After finally separating my self-worth from my body image, years ago, I thought I was free and clear of all that negativity. Who was I kidding? Sure, I reached a point where I realized that I could be valued as a person with opinions, fears, ideas and personality – and that had little to do with the size of my ass, but I’d be lying if I said I’ve always been comfortable with myself. Just comfortable enough to get by and fake it. I would say that’s a pretty successful and content place to be.

Then 2011 happened. 2011, or as I like to bitterly think of it as, “The year that my heart was stomped on and I allowed my confidence to be removed out from underneath me.” Never mind the fact that I had three relationships end; the most serious one of all dragged on with empty promises and ill intentions. And what was worse was that I allowed it to for far too long until I just physically could not take it anymore. But the damage was done.

Somewhere along the way, the mixed messages full of compliments and rejection broke me. Those two separate bubbles of self worth and body image became one again and I began to once again tell myself, deep in my sub conscious, that I wasn’t worth anything because I’m fat. To add insult to injury, I actually gained weight last year and took terrible care of myself. And not just a little weight, but enough that my comforting tights that have fit for years suddenly don’t anymore. I got dressed this morning, into a favorite dress, and it was tight and I felt terrible in it. And my tights wanted to fall down. And my underwear wouldn’t stay over my belly. Because it’s too big. And I just wanted to crawl under a rock and melt away.

The reason I’m writing this out isn’t for you. I think that’s pretty clear at this point in this sappy, emo post. I’m writing this post to finally admit to myself all of the hurtful and harmful things I tell myself without realizing. This is me coming face to face with all of my inner demons and starting down the path to set them free.

“I am a lazy, fat slob.”

This is a perfect example of a sentence that I have told myself for years. Of course I would never say it out loud to anyone else, unless it was in jest; instead it’s always remained at the surface, like a little invisible monster that nobody sees but me.

I must be lazy because if I wasn’t I would work out more, right? I must be a slob because otherwise I wouldn’t feel hungry enough to eat that one bite more than you had. I must be not worth dating because I have a larger tummy than I should have for this body.

Right???

I think a lot of us fat folk tell ourselves we’re lazy far too often. We’re so used to failing that it just makes sense that we’re lazy. Might as well just accept that fact and get on with it.

If I don’t want to go to store on the weekends, I’m lazy. If I don’t put my laundry away, I’m lazy. If I don’t do anything but sit on the couch and binge on Netflix, I’m lazy. Ok, well that one counts. Point is though, I tell myself that everything I do (or rather “don’t do”) is because I’m lazy. Because everything connects to how I feel about my body and being lazy is what makes sense.

Except I’m not lazy actually. Well, on a Saturday morning I am. In fact, most mornings I am, but I prefer to call that “night owl syndrome”, not laziness. Anyway, I digress. It took a good friend pointing out to me that when I want something, I pour my heart and soul into it. Last year when I planned Digifest, and my baby, Playground, I gave my absolute all to those events. So much so that I ended up with a 5 day flu that had me barely able to walk to the toilet after they were finished. I worked about 40/50 days straight, barely stopping to pee or MSN for months leading up to the events.

And yet, my inner voice would still tell myself that I was a lazy failure. And some illogical part of my psyche would agree, and the self-hate would perpetuate.

What I’ve learned from my friends’ advice is that I can, and DO, succeed at things when I really want them. It has nothing to do with being a slob, instead it has everything to do with motivation. I succeeded at writing 220 pages of my book but have yet to finish the remaining 30. How could I be so motivated for the majority, but fail on the rest? I’ve been secretly telling myself I’m a failure for over a year because of it, but I’m sure I’m simply scared instead.

A similar story is to be told when it comes to my weight. It’s not that I have no idea how to be healthy. I’ve done so many good (and bad) things to lose weight and get healthy over the years. Bernstein, Weight Watchers, anorexia, bulimia, a personal trainer, working out at home, yoga, WiiFit, changing my diet … blah blah blah. I know the things that work, and with many of those things I’ve been relatively successful. Then something would change in my life and I’d move on to either something else … or nothing at all.

“Get back in the gym!” “Stop eating that cheese!” “Stop being a baby and just lose the weight already!”

I get it. Some of you might want to yell those things at me. Some of you might have been born with excellent metabolisms and the ability to wake up in the morning and work out without feeling like ass. You might have not had experiences with body hatred. Or maybe you have, and have gotten over it and forget how hard it is. Your parents might have never gotten divorced and lived across the country. You might have more than just one parent left alive. You might have never been mocked with fat phobic remarks like I have been my entire life. And while I don’t resent you your body privilege or ability to go go go, and while I won’t deny envying you, I will defend my right to be fucked up because of those things as the reason I am writing this confession to you now. It certainly doesn’t help that the first time I ever lost any fat I was anorexic, bulimic and an obsessive exerciser all at the same time. Because if there’s ONE thing I’m good at, it’s multi-tasking.

In order for me to succeed, I have to want to be successful. My lack of energy to try isn’t because I’m lazy, it’s because I’m unmotivated and absolutely terrified.

The absolute 100% truth in the matter is that I am pretty convinced that whatever I start to do for weight loss and muscle gain – I will fail in. And this is the battle I am up against. This stupid inner voice telling me that this time will be just like the rest. That I will have some success but then I will lose focus and get fat again. That I will never NOT be the girl who takes up too much space on the subway seats. That I will always be the girl who can’t wear heels because I’m too heavy and weak to hold myself up. And of course I will always be the girl pulling up my tights or my pants because they don’t fit me perfectly as there’s just too much fat there.

I WILL ALWAYS FAIL SO WHY EVEN BOTHER TRYING???

I don’t want to think that anymore. I don’t want to be distant with my husband because I can’t bare to take his compliments when I’m hating myself. I don’t want to avoid putting my laundry away because it makes me see all of the clothes I look terrible in. I’m finally trying to start owning it. I’m finally acknowledging those inner demons and trying to acknowledge every time, or at least more often, when I feed myself hateful language. I have only just started to realize how hateful and mean I have been to myself for years. And years. And years. I have let the fact that I have a large stomach rule almost everything I do, without even realizing it was happening. What’s funny is that I am comfortable as a big girl. I *could* be a smaller girl, but I’d be happy as a curvy girl forever. I have no big desire to be skinny. I mainly just want my tummy to go away. And I want to love myself again. And feel sexy. And give my love to others.

And fit into my fucking tights.

Now I just have to figure out which direction my baby steps need to go in and who can help me along this path. Because being stuck in my own head is obviously not working for me.

Let’s do this.

Please note: I am not looking for sympathy as a result of this post. I’ll take empathy and hugs, questions about what I’ve tried and what I haven’t, followed by suggestions if you have them. I didn’t write this or share it to have you tell me I’m pretty. I AM pretty, and smart, and sexy and pretty talented at a lot of things. I haven’t forgotten any of this stuff; the narcissist in me won’t let me. I just needed to share with the world. It’s a bit of a compulsion I have. If I tell the world what’s going on, I can’t pretend it’s not happening anymore. Thank you for reading this far. You’re probably a pretty awesome person and I hope lots of people love you.

For now I’m going to treat you to a little revelation I had last night. Before I get to said revelation, I will give you a bit of back story so we’re all on the same page.

You know about my relationship with Harvey. It’s been almost five years and we’ve gone through many different phases. From curious to friends, to kinksters who need to learn more, to backburner friends. And now we’ve arrived at this nice, happy place where we’re further evolving our dom/sub relationship. Gone are the days of me trying desperately to get him to validate my existence when in subspace. They have now been replaced by more responsible and respectful lines of communication; a sense of feeling very special and wanting to please him as a result, instead of wanting to please him to prove that I’m special.

Lately, as a result of this new found closeness, I have been thinking a lot about our relationship. Why does it work? What are my thoughts on his “situation”? What do I get out of it? What does he get out of it? Why do we like each other? And so on …

Then I realized something last night.

While it definitely isn’t this way with all non-monogamous relationships, often it can be fair to say that what we get out of them is what we are lacking in our primary relationships. When I think of my need for occasional submission I have often thought that it was a desire to have somebody be proud of me and see me as special in the way that only a Dom could, that I was craving. And while I won’t deny that it is a huge part of what I need, I feel now that I have been looking at it all wrong.

It isn’t fair to me or to Steph to suggest that he isn’t proud of me and my accomplishments and that I don’t crave his approval and pride inlife. It wouldn’t be fair to say that I don’t want Steph to see me as a good girl/person, someone he can rely on and someone that he can take care of, should he choose to. He already is all of these things to me. And while it might seem like simple semantics to an outsider; me realizing that I already have this at home is a huge revelation to me. I don’t need to worry about making him proud of me because that’s a given. As his partner of almost 11 years I already have his unconditional love. I have his approval and I know I am his special girl.

What I thought I was getting out of my relationship with Harvey are things I already have at home in my marriage.

So then I asked myself, what DO I get out of it? Well, it’s still the same things, really; I’m just looking at it differently. The excitement of being validated and recognized by somebody new without having that safety net of marriage to fall back on. Realizing though, that this is not a replacement of something that is lacking and instead an awesome added bonus leaves me feeling pretty great about both relationships. The unexplainable sexual thrill in having Harvey see me as a good girl. Knowing that I have made him proud. The excitement and adrenaline of giving control to someone I trust completely now. The pain. The relaxation. The lack of thought and responsibility.

It’s all of the same things that it was before. Just now I think I will appreciate everything even more so as an addition and not a replacement.

Can I get a hi-five? Or y’know … a smackdown?

What all of these life changes have caused me to realize is that – while it’s not the prettiest comparison – my sex drive works like a compost bin. It needs interaction – whether it’s in chat, in person or through touch – to keep it well fed and thriving. Because so much of my drive is fueled by my sexuality and not just my physical bits, if said sexuality is threatened, thirsty or sad … I lose interest in basically bothering. I need that interaction, the flirting, the teasing … dare I say it … the compliments.

I’ve even pretty much lost it when by myself. Lately I have been forgetting about that beautiful thing called self-love. Forgetting it. How tragic is this??

I’m hoping that this weekend when I’m in Washington for Momentum to regain some of my drive and have it be fed. Being surrounded by so many awesome people, all talking about sex and sexuality should give me some fodder and hopefully get me back on track.

I have to admit that I find it fascinating, albeit sad, that I have been this affected and I’d like to point out to the rest of you that if someone you know seems to have a lower than usual drive lately, maybe there’s some mental loving that they need to feed their compost bin too.

After all; what’s better … a dried up, forgotten banana skin on the pavement or rich, luscious soil that feeds the whole garden?

Bye bye, anxiety

For the past two years Don and I have grown very close but our relationship has certainly been very tumultuous. In the beginning I didn’t date anyone because we barely had any alone time together and I was clinging to every moment. We almost broke up a few times in the past couple of months and there has been a lot of hurt. I haven’t wanted to date anyone else for a few reasons, but I think the biggest underlying factor has been fear. A fear that doing so would put our already shaky existence on even shakier ground. It was never that he and I were shaky. I’ve always known how he feels about me, and I’d bet that he knew how I felt, but the circumstances surrounding us, well we let them balloon into a crazy and uncertain place to be existing inside of.

Whenever we would hang out there was an air of desperation that hung over the two of us. I felt that we spent more time clinging to the moments that we had that we almost couldn’t enjoy them as much as we should have been able to. Desire is a tough beast, but we were suffering its bad sides instead of enjoying the anticipation that it can bring.

Then recently things got better. We hit rock bottom and started coming out the other side with a much clearer vision of the road ahead. When he left today I wasn’t feeling sad that our time was ending. I was looking forward to seeing him again because I feel like I can say with certainty that I will. I can let go of this sinking feeling that every time will be either the last time or the last time for many, many weeks or over a month. All of the things we’ve talked about forever might have a chance to finally come to fruition.

So what does this have to do with Crush? Well, I’m not 100% sure but I suppose at my core I am built to be non-monogamous. I become monogamous in certain relationships to protect myself and / or those around me, and I’ve been doing that with Don. Now that I suddenly feel a sense of security with us though, I don’t feel that letting Crush into my life is as much of a risk. I know it leaves Don feeling insecure and I hate that. If he started dating someone else it would likely be very hard for me, at least in the initial transition stage. As long as we were having our time together, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad … y’know after a while of it being pretty bad.

I really like Crush and he’d have to be something good for me to let him into my life. He’s said to me before that in the dating world the bar for men is set pretty low as so many of them are such dumbasses that women end up accepting that, but such is not the case for me. I already have a wonderful husband and a wonderful lover. My life and heart are satisfied and not needing anything else. The bar for me and other men is set really freaking high so letting anyone in is a really big deal. The point here is that I want this and if anything it makes me value my other relationships even more. It’s a bit difficult to get used to proper compartmentalizing again and sometimes things bleed over from one person to the next, but that’s just part of being human.

It’s hard to accept that something we want causes someone else pain. It’s hard to not feel guilty, selfish, mean and awful. Even though non-monogamy speaks to me at my core I am still very sensitive as to how others react and get torn up when someone feels bad. Especially since one of my favorite things to do is be a personal ego boost for those that I care about. Helping someone feel good about themselves gives me such a high and I thrive on it and I hope that it will continue. I don’t want Don to feel bad but I have to remind myself that all I can do is reiterate where I’m coming from and how much I care about him. The rest is up to him.

Knowing that Don and I are really good, probably the best we’ve ever been is a very positive feeling. It seems strange to say that as a result I feel better about dating someone else at the same time, but I cannot deny that it’s true. There is something very healing about letting go of that anxiety and accepting that we are great, no matter who I’m out with that evening.