As I have explained previously, I have been active in the BDSM lifestyle and its communities on various levels for many years now. I admit, I started when I was quite young, and had an intense interest in the feeling of being bound. I can, and most days do, remember clearly the scent of leather as it crossed the flesh of my wrists and the instant need to run away from what I had done. It takes a great deal of trust to allow some one to bind you, particularly in the bedroom. You are, after all, at your most vulnerable; naked, wanting, bound, waiting… It's an intoxicating mix that makes my head spin when I think about it. I love it. It is a drug that can not be compared to any other, and an addiction that will evolve into a full-bellied beast that never lies dormant. You will always need it, if it is in your blood, as it is in mine.
Whew. Hang on kids. I had to take a time out thinking about that one.
Back on track. (I will probably do that a lot. ADD and all.)
Anyway, the core question on the table today is why? Why would you give up the surrender and heat of being controlled for the blood lust of control? Well, in all honesty, I think, as I have said, it stems from a need to, not a want to. Some people are, at the very core of their being, switches. That is, they want to be able to open themselves up for those dark moments of sensual release, and at other times they have to be able to release the beast and feed.
For me, the desire to switch stemmed from a love of the lifestyle itself. You see, I am an intensity junkie. My ideal “love” scenes involve guys with insane accents (Romanian, Scottish, British – just to name a few), low lights, wordless passion and a very strong need for a shower afterwards. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to get wax off the skin? It's crazy! And you really do need to wash the skin, post session, to prevent infection – at least if you play with me.) This need for intensity makes it almost impossible to have “normal” sexual activity. I crave the feel of hands in my hair, or skin between my teeth. The pressure is an overwhelming need that dives at the base of my spine. I do not know how else to explain it, other than to say it is a need so deep within me that its place has no name, and no geographic location. (I think it may be the soul. If I have one – I am not sure. I dipped my finger in it and it tasted like butterscotch pudding. That is how a soul tastes, isn't it?)
Anyway, when my dominant of about six months decided that he was on a Dr. Evil power kick, I tore the collar from my neck and cast it at his feet. (I really did love him, and while I am not that bright, I very clearly understand the difference between training and psychological abuse.) After a year or so on my own, reading and meditating (Which equals “please GAWD do not let me be a leper upon the seas of BDSM and all that could be. Let my next Dom not be a total douche, and let me keep the flexibility to kneel for hours on end – ‘cuz learning that trick SUCKED BALLS” – and not in a good way.), I decided that maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to learn how to fling some leather around. I had some gear tucked away in a box – read molding away to nothing in the back of my closet – and I was sure I could get someone to work with me and teach me. I had contacts in the local community and, really, I had the web and Youtube. I could research, watch and learn. If it was out there, I could get my hands on it.
I also had the advantage of having been initially trained by a 24/7 dominant woman. So, I had a clear understanding of the power that women hold when they so choose. The Miss had given me every tool I would possibly need. All I had to do was overcome the fear of “hurting” someone.
Admittedly, the first time I held a flogger, I was nervous. I held back. I felt out-of-place and, quite frankly, I hated it. I had no idea how to command anyone to do anything and the idea of flogging anyone was so foreign to me that I could not even begin to comprehend where to start. I was lucky in that the person I was working with did not want to be kept, rather they just wanted me to beat them. I swallowed all of this down, opened the door and stumbled my 5-inch-heeled self right into the room. I think I may have thrown up a bit first, but that's beside the point. The point is, I stepped out of my comfort zone, made a choice, stuck to it and proceeded to smacking that guy around like a red-headed step child. (Really, I don't have step kids, and if I did, and were any of them to run away or be red-headed, I would not smack them around. And I do not advocate the smacking around of run aways or red-headed step kids, so don't call PETA or whatever…). After about 15 minutes of what was a predetermined hour-long session, I was out of bright ideas. I had said not word one and had this poor guy shivering like he had been outside in the middle of winter. I had no idea how to proceed and was scared to death.
It was then that I began to realize, 15 minutes was a hell of a lot longer than I had predicted I would last when I was vomiting on the high-polish boots of my Domme friend and I really hadn't done that bad. Maybe there was hope for me yet. So, what else did I know how to do? Oh, yeah. I can shit talk. There we go…
I think you get the idea. I stumbled and stuttered my way along a few more times, never put anyone's eyes out, didn't break anything on the heels and, eventually, I picked up a great deal of confidence, then continued on to collar a female submissive. I kept her for nine months, but our needs were too far apart to last any longer than that.
The point of all this rambling is simple; I didn't want to switch. I wanted to be a happily collared sub. But, I had to adapt and overcome the mental issues I had, and assume a position within the lifestyle that I did not want. I learned a great deal, I am proud to say, and I got to experience a great deal more than I would have had I continued to stay collared (Not to mention the lack of mental scars.). Many people will tell you that there is no true switch. You are either dom or sub – that once you are in those roles, you cannot escape.
Well folks, this is not a prison, and you are not locked into your roles. If I were you, I would fully take the chance and switch. First, it gives you insight. From a submissive aspect, I now have a clear idea of what I want in my dom. I know exactly how much pain I will and will not tolerate. I know why the rules are, or should be, what they are. I understand what the dom goes through when he or she is working with me. I understand how much of a headache it is for them when I back talk, slack on my tasks or training, and what a pain in the ass it is to keep a sub in line. Domming, even though I did not want to do it, made me a better sub, just as equally as subbing made me a better dom.
So, the moral of the story is to walk a mile in another person's shoes. You may become a more effective human for having done so. (OMG! Who saw that coming?)