If You Say So

Hey Friends, this post is a bit, well, sexual. If we are family or business colleagues or you just don’t want to know those types of things about me, please don’t read this! I am not interested in having awkward conversations about it. Also, for everyone, please note that this post contains discussion of rough sex, consensual non-consent, and graphic sex. Everything is written based on my experiences, and my experiences alone. Please protect yourself if this is something that might be hard for you. Thanks!

As I’ve been coming back to myself and my sexuality lately, I’ve been thinking a lot (a lot) about kink. Specifically, asking myself how I feel connected to it, now that some time away from dating has passed. Over the years beginning in 2007 onwards, I tried a variety of kinky modes to see if any would stick. Some examples include:

  • Bondage which caused, well panic. I absolutely cannot handle being held in place by rope. It’s such a hard limit for me;
  • Psychological bondage, though? Not being able to move simply because someone has told me not to? Now we’re talking;
  • Degradation I found to be annoying. Someone trying to humiliate me by being mean to me? Definitely not my jam and did not make me have any interest in pleasing them. I just wanted to leave every time;
  • Rough sex, as in very rough. Extremely heavy slaps, choking to the point of (almost) passing out, face fucking, and being thrown around like a rag doll. Fun, yes, but you can do all of those things with less … force, and they’re just as good. Honestly, control over chaos wins every time, plus having chronic pain now means I have to be a bit more gentle with myself;
  • DD/lg; Jory and I had a Daddy / baby girl relationship for a while and it was lovely. I was definitely starting to deal with my illnesses at the time, and needed the escape of cuteness in our sex lives to soften the blow of my increasingly depressing reality and he’s so lovely at it. When chronic pain made me feel like a burden, being taken care of in this super sweet way helped me feel less bad about my needs. Jory still gets the title of Daddy over anyone else, and I love when we play like this a bit, though I’m less about the cutesies as a distraction from life method nowadays.

Out of all of these different modes one thread consistently keeps appearing everywhere, and that’s (consensual) obedience.

On the surface, I am not an obedient person. I have been challenging why we have to do stuff the way we do stuff for as long as I can remember. Not so much initially in an “authority is bad” way, though I certainly believe that to be true today. I just always questioned everything. Less “why is the sky blue?” and more “but that way doesn’t work as well, so I’m going to do it my own way now”. At 7 years old in English private school, my Form Mistress wrote this comment in my Autumn term report card, which I think sums up my entire life to this point:

Samantha must listen carefully and take the advice she is given. Her few weaknesses come mainly from wanting to do her “own thing”, which in some circumstances is not always the best for her.

Now Miss Bogan was right about this; if I haven’t been happy with how a thing is being done, chances are I’ve developed my own way of dealing with it. For the longest time, I simply assumed that the way I moved through the world was the same way everyone else did. I didn’t realize that my behaviour wasn’t the norm. When a rule or suggested guideline didn’t resonate with me, I didn’t follow it, always believing that it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. I say this in the past tense, but really the same is as true for me today as a 41 year old woman as it was for me as a 15 year old kid. I have always questioned authority when it’s come to rules and guidelines. At the very least, rules are meant to be tested, but often I’d much rather break them if they don’t appear to be well thought out. Rules for the sake of rules? What’s the point!

And this next point is key. I’ve never wanted to break rules because I’m a bad person who wants to “stick it to the man”. I haven’t been trying to rebel; I’ve simply wanted to figure why we do the things we do in life. I’m not about doing things differently just for the sake of it, but I’ve also never been about doing things the same way as everyone else, just because, either. The exceptions, of course, are when it comes to societal moral and ethical expectations of us as citizens. In those circumstances, I will always go along with doing what’s right. Being a good and kind human, and sometimes going above and beyond, does rule above all else for me.

In my 20s when I was a wedding planner for a period of time, I set out with the intention of only doing non-traditional events. I worked with couples who all said they wanted to do their special day differently, but the further we went along in the process, the more traditions, they had originally said no to, kept creeping back in. It was both frustrating and enlightening, trying to understand why they felt they had to do some things that they didn’t have any real personal attachment to. I’m all about traditions – of course in the “make my own” kind of way – but it drove me batty that so many of them adopted wedding day staples they didn’t even care about. I quickly knew it wasn’t the job for me, though I definitely had a lot of fun doing it.

In my own life now I love traditions because they are ones that I’ve chosen myself with purpose and intent. If a particular aspect of a holiday doesn’t resonate with us, we don’t do it just because everyone else does. We make it our own.

My relationship with obedience has been a journey, but it’s what I keep coming back to when thinking of kinky sexual relationships I want to have. We’ve clearly established that I’m not a Yes Man. I don’t blindly follow the herd. Instead, I would rather be a kind and compassionate weirdo, navigating her own way through, vs a person who never questions why they do things, or takes time to determine if what they’re doing is right or wrong. My will is extremely strong. I am 100% my own woman and rarely care what strangers think of me for it. So, why is it that when a dominant partner – or even one who’s only casually dominant – tells me what to do, that I both almost immediately fall in line and find myself often extremely turned on by it?

Part of the answer lies in the simple audacity of them attempting such control over me. We’ve established that I don’t present as a person who’s going to do what she’s told, but I’m also not a brat. I mean, I’ll tell a dominant partner that they’re being annoying for their sometimes outlandish requests, but I’ll more than likely still do them, (as long as I am comfortably, am not physically hurting myself, and aren’t going past a hard limit just to please someone). As I said above, I don’t do my own thing to be a rebel, I simply want there to be justifiable motivation behind the choices that I, and those around me, make. So when a partner tells me, for example, that I have to stay perfectly still or that I’m not allowed to talk or that I must bend over and lift up my skirt to them because they said so, I’ll do it. Partially because of the fact that they have the guts to try telling me what to do. Like, don’t they know who they’re dealing with? They think that I’m going to just put that dick in my face and treat it like the most important task I’ve ever had in front of me? Seriously? Wait, oh, that’s actually what I’m doing? Oh, ok. Fair. Why though? Oh, because they’re telling me to and they seem to be very serious about it? I mean, ok. Sorry, I mean, of course. I mean, yes, Sir!

Obedience turns me on so much because it’s often taking something so silly and turning it into something so serious. Like, ok sure, pal. I’ll just interrupt my important day to go and touch myself because you told me to, uh huh. And then, oh hey look, I’ve found myself doing exactly that. Because of the audacity, you see! Don’t discount the fact that these things are fun, as well.

At the end of the day, I really love when my partner insists I do something because they want me to. They see this strong woman in front of them and realize that, with compelling enough motivation, she will bend to their will, because they had the guts to demand it of her. Who am I, a woman on her own path, to tell this man that he’s not allowed to walk his own and insist that I follow him along. Are you really going to let him get away with taking charge like that? Oh, yes, definitely, feminist me. I’m going to likely do whatever this man tells me to, because I don’t actually have a good reason not to, but he sure seems like he’s got a good reason for me doing it. And that’s the heart of it, right there. It’s about forward motion. It’s about them deciding that this is how it is now, that they’re in charge and I’m going to do as they say. It’s about them knowing that I cannot argue with our mutual pleasure as a motivation. It’s about the fact that they’re making a choice and not just telling me what to do because they think they’re supposed to.

And also, do you know what an absolute fucking delight it is for me to take a break and not question the why of everything I’m doing? To realize that, in that moment in time, whether I’m in his bed in my house, at their feet, underneath her, or behind a screen across town, I don’t have to decide what happens next. The thinking is being done for me and I am free to be, well, free.

Let’s get back to the audacity component (because obviously I love it). I find confidence to be incredibly attractive, both in and out of the bedroom. When a lover knows what they want and goes for it, who am I to stand in the way of their dreams! And if their dreams happen to (consensually) challenge my relationship with my boundaries, isn’t that part of the fun for me? I want people to feel good, both physically and mentally. And my gosh it feels good to know that a submissive partner trusts that you have everyone’s best interests at heart. To know that you will instruct this person and they will do what you ask because they want to.

Having been on both sides of this one, I can say with certainty that there is a beautiful escape to be found on either side. Truth be completely told, y’all know that I also love attention and am forever simply wanting to be seen. To be validated. To matter. When a lover takes control, I couldn’t possibly be more seen than in that moment. For suddenly, everything I do is under the microscope. Am I positioning my body to be used somehow? Am I choosing my words very carefully, trying but likely happily failing to avoid the perfect slap on the face? Whatever it is, I am the centre of attention, even if I’m just being used as an ottoman. My every breath matters in that instruction, whether it’s as innocent as being flipped into a new position on the bed or as intense as not being allowed to talk for even 15 minutes. 

I am taking a break from my brain. I am being seen. I am being of service. I am making them proud. And damn, if my body isn’t responding in waves.

It’s completely invigorating to be with a lover who knows that you’re a strong, independent person, in control of your own life. Yet here you are, feeling so pulled by the possibility of not having to be in control for once that you’ll let them take over. I love being my own person but gosh I sure do like getting to take a break from myself every now and then. To immerse myself in my lover’s world. To be what they want me to be and to do what want me to do. To be used as they see fit. We know I won’t rebel, but I will be a) clear about my hard limits and b) a little sassy at times when they know they’re pushing me close to the edge of my flexible ones. For the most part though, I’ll do as I’m told. Always choosing kind, stern control over chaos and uncertainty.

Obedience brings me purpose, even if it’s temporary. It can both scare me and bring me immense joy. I can offer it to a dominant or accept it from a submissive. It keeps me both on edge and content. I get to experience the world through another person’s expectations, forgetting that mine exist.

I thought now I might share some of my favourite obedience moments from my life, some long ago and others more recent. I’ve left names out of it. For most of these, I’m the one who’s relinquished control, though every now and then I’ll treat you to a switch. I realize that I haven’t said it yet but I don’t believe that kinky compliance has to be a full Yes, Sir, no, Sir scenario. Even the smallest of actions with intent can hit the right note.

I love(d) obedience when:

  • I’m sucking his cock and he stops me to turn me around because he absolutely needs to fuck me;
  • He needs me to be quiet and, as shushing makes me moan more, he tells me to shut up while he’s fucking me. He covers my mouth, growls it into my ear. I’m in such awe of how this beautiful, kind, and funny man is using me for his pleasure in that moment that I gladly make no further sounds;
  • The way I made her look me in the eyes while she came, and again. How she collapsed into me when I told her how wonderful and pretty she was for sharing that with me;
  • The way he told me to go to the restaurant bathroom to take a photo of my pussy to send to him once I got back to the table;
  • The way I seized the moment and kissed them against my car on our first date, and they almost fell over in delight;
  • How I told her to show us both what a very good girl she was;
  • Watching his happy and proud face while I went down on her;
  • Being told not to talk and having to communicate my desires with just my face and moans;
  • When I laid underneath her, telling her how pretty she was and so good for being fucked by him on top of me;
  • When out for drinks, I spend the entire evening in anticipation, waiting for the conversation to turn dirty, waiting to feel completely naked at the table, whilst (pre-pandemic) close to so many strangers;
  • As we fuck, he grabs my hands to hold me down in place underneath his weight and motion;
  • I’m at their place and I find myself unsure of what to do. I sit on the couch. I sip my drink. I wait while they watch me squirm, knowing that I’m ready whenever they say the word;
  • He kisses me on the forehead and, just for a brief moment, I don’t need to worry or think;
  • On the drive back he says “From now on, you can only say Yes, Daddy or No, Daddy. Do you understand?”;
  • Hearing “We’re going to go to my place now and I expect you to be on your best behaviour when we get there”;
  • I stand in the middle of the room and slowly undress myself. They lift my arms up and push my legs apart. I am, inspected;
  • He scares me with the threat of a (consensual) face slap if I deviate at all from his instructions;
  • Feeling the scary, yet beautiful subspace weight of his disappointment in me if I get it wrong (and the glorious security in aftercare that makes it all ok);
  • I go into the bedroom and see that he’s already laid out our plans for the evening. I just have to show up and do as I’m told;
  • I’m grabbed by my lips, my cheeks. My face is squeezed in ways where I must look silly, but I let them grab at me however they want as their plaything;
  • He takes my coat and then tells me to twirl in my dress for him so he can really see me;
  • When he pulls me by the hair and says to me, “You’re mine”;
  • I grab his hand as he leads me to the bedroom. He pushes me down, ass up facing him, so he can appreciate and explore;
  • I wasn’t allowed to cum for days until they told me that I could;
  • He told me to fuck my partner that evening, and I got to feel like I was fucking both when it happened;
  • He’s made me crawl over to him, slowly, not dropping eye contact, staying upright, waiting to hear what’s next;
  • When I’m crying from a painful spanking session and they grab me to snuggle me close and tend to my bruises;
  • The look in his eyes when he rests his fingers on my mouth and I hold his gaze while sucking on them deeply;
  • How it never matters if I worry that I’ll look bad in a photo he tells me to take because he doesn’t think I do;
  • How only a few words can make me confess anything, simply because he’s curious and I love the attention;
  • When I know what it feels like to be her and how much I want to give her the world in that moment. To see her, to help her feel safe, to take care of what’s next.

Thanks for reading, as always. <3

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Who I Was Is Not Who I Am

This week has been tough. Physically, I’m still going through an awful migraine flare that’s almost reached two full weeks as I type this. Mentally, well, I’m sure my last couple of posts reveal my secrets, but in case they don’t, melancholy would certainly be the right word to describe where my head is. A lot of tears have been shed this week as I’ve revisited my old self and how she moved through the world.

At first I was convinced this feeling was related solely to Tuesday’s reunion and, while there’s definitely feels to work through there, I’m realizing this goes much deeper. This isn’t about another person, whether a friend or lover or both. This is about me; the woman I was before and the woman who I’ve become.

When I started dating Jory in January 2015, most of my other flirtationships slowed down, ending soon after. He and I casually dated a wonderful woman together for a while, but eventually it became just the three of us. It was never really intended to be that way, but it seemed to work out so we stuck with it. When dating we sort of developed a ddlg style relationship. Kink with a side of care – made more important as I started to get ill.

We didn’t realize that only 2 years into the relationship that we’d all end up moving in together; like everything else, it just sort of … happened. Unfortunately, no one really tells you that, when you move in with your husband and your boyfriend into a three person domestic situation, it’s hard to continue any sexual power based relationship dynamics. There’s dinner to cook, to-do lists to write, sleeping arrangements to sort out. It became a lot less of a priority to be those people as we had a new and exciting family life to foster and grow (and also much less privacy, something both relationships need to give the other now and always).

Truth be told the last 6 years have been very hard personally and the past few days is really the first time I’m actually admitting it to myself. The intense sadness has nothing to do with my living situation; they’re both wonderful partners and any hiccups the three of us have usually get worked through pretty quickly. It does, however, has everything to do with my illnesses. Horrible medical moments that have given me a broken nervous system that’s afraid of anything that in the past would have delighted my senses. 

Looking back, 2015 was sort of the last year I had … fun. It wasn’t just my extra-curricular dating and sex life, it was everything. I could go out for drinks and dinner with friends and not get a migraine. I could attend events in support of people I cared about. I could live my life without having to consider how upset my body would get for staying out late. I was, for lack of a better word, free.

Seeing M the other night, someone I met in 2014 when I still felt both fun and free, made me realize how long these past 6 years have really been. Catching up, talking about sexy memories, harmlessly flirting, and just having a fun time with each another; I was reminded of who I was when we met. Pain was just around the corner back then but I still had some life in me to be more mischievous. 

Then symptoms started in 2015 and the next 3 or so years were filled with lots of diagnostic style appointments, an MRI that gave me intense panic and claustrophobia for 4 years, and days of trying to keep it together at my 9-5 WFH gig. In 2017 I started developing heart block. 2018 was a nightmare trying to get it diagnosed and then get the pacemaker. 2019 was spent feeling worst than I did before the pacemaker because they had my settings wrong. I had weight loss surgery that November because I could barely move on my own thanks to the pacemaker settings, which were thankfully finally adjusted. 2020, well, we know what that was. The pandemic was the start of the most pain I’ve ever experienced in my life as stress causes my body to flare up so much and no yoga or deep breathing can compete with the stress of a global health crisis. 

I’ve been so focused over these years on simply getting through each day that I’ve rarely given myself to grieve for my past freedoms from disability. I barely remember feeling less pain and it sounds impossible that I ever experienced none at all! I do sometimes have flare-ups where I reflect on how much it’s bringing me down that week, but the grief I’m presently feeling is so much larger than any random flare could bring on its own.

The grief this week is me realizing how much I am missing the woman I was. The woman who was known as flirty, as fun, perhaps even an “expert” on non-monogamy, according to local news media. The woman who had the energy to build community and host events. To push her own boundaries. The woman who was stepping more into her pansexuality, felt confident in her skin, her kinks, her gender, and her size. 

I’d almost forgotten about her, not by choice, but by circumstance. My world is so much smaller now, though I wish it wasn’t. The other night at the Skydome reminded me that I used to be more than this shell and it’s hit me emotionally like a ton of bricks.

I used to float on air when new romance came my way. Dating sucks, but it was still a fun challenge of sorts. (That is before all the apps turned dating into a swipe fest based first on looks, something that is very hard for this demisexual to compute!) I sought out people to boost me up in different ways than I got at home, while I boosted them up in exchange. I found myself seduced by new kind words, knowledge, experiences, and confident vulnerabilities. I would feel heartaches so strong that I thought I would never recover but the highs always made the lows worth it, eventually. 

My sentimentality and emotions haven’t been fed in the same way since because survival has become the driving factor, keeping everything else buried and out of reach. I used to drift off into daydreams of new people, new places, new ideas, whereas now I just drift off because the pain has a grasp on all of my focus. The range of emotions I would feel was so much larger than what I usually feel now; Tuesday reminded me of this. Don’t get me wrong; I am very in love with both Steph and Jory and am not reminiscing on past lives because of a failing in them, or our bonds. 

In fact, there are needs I used to have outside of my marriage that are met more consistently at home now, by both of my partners! The urge to meet new people is lessened, but I still miss the … variety, the opportunity. The excitement of new relationship energy. Revealing the road map to a new and unfamiliar body. Seeing myself through the eyes of someone new and learning things about worlds I hadn’t traveled to yet.  

Getting back into dating is not at all the point of this post, though I’m always open to new flirtationships because I love that. The real point of this reflection is admitting to myself that the choice was taken away from me. Living with two partners vs. one does make it harder date other people – and Jory and I have never experienced me dating someone else besides Steph since we’ve been together – but we never really even talked about it because illness took all of my energy before we had the chance. 

I went from being polyamorous by nature to being monogamous by force and now I don’t know where I actually fall on the scale.

Who knows. Maybe I would’ve stopped dating naturally if I hadn’t gotten sick. Maybe if I still had energy, having two wonderful partners at home might have meant I’d have gotten a lot more social satisfaction from friends and loved ones and all of my needs would have been met. Now those needs are ignored because the pain takes over everything. It’s like glitter that gets into everything but in a much less sparkly and much more depressing way.

The only thing I can say for certain is that I am finally, maybe really for the first time ever, openly grieving what disability has stolen. There is an anger in me now that I haven’t really felt before and I need to work through it before I figure out next steps and truly start to learn what it is I need now. People often tell me I’m strong and brave and maybe that’s true; but it feels more like I had blinders on that helped me stay alive. Had I ever stopped and truly realized the gravity of what I’ve actually lost, it might have been impossible to come back from. 

So while it hurts a lot now, the other night at the game was also a great reminder and gave me a softer place to land this week while the tears fell. A reminder that who I was can still be who I am. We are a sum of our parts, our past, our memories. I just need to accept that I can both make space for who I was to co-exist with my current self while knowing that won’t always be in my control. 

But I am more than my illness and, as much as I can, I refuse to let it continue to completely define me anymore.

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