I despise making someone I can’t let go of.
Also, I don’t think a guy would really want me. Sexually.
I’m far from sexually appealing.
Maybe that’s why I stepped into BDSM world 30 years ago.
If this is BDSM universe, I reasoned, someone ‘may’ look at me.
Maybe I’m sexually attractive to someone, I thought.
I also liked that there was negotiations.
Whom I allow access to my body and mind is entirely up to me.
Because of this, the one and only time I failed to negotiate adequately, sex felt like a violation.
For the most part, I ignored it, figuring that I was to blame.
That, I didn’t negotiate enough.
That couldn’t have happened – because I am a negotiator at work.
That hurt me, because I felt like I let myself down.
I should have negotiated better, I thought.
It took me some time to recover from the trauma of that day.
It was easier to blame myself.
As soon as a person who is interested in me sexually gets close, I immediately back away.
To myself, I say. That simply isn’t plausible. This man would hurt me.
Just like before.
Whenever a person tells me they don’t find me sexually attractive.
I’m a wreck. I am in shambles.
With a nod and say “I get it,” I wave him off.
It’s easier that way.
As if I weren’t used to it already.
I tell myself.
I can’t have someone that I can’t afford to lose.
It’s easier that way.
My heart craves for a dominant who will look at me.
Who I am.
Strong, independent but also lonely and frail.
Someone who understands me as a sub, who desires to be dominated, protected and being sexually wanted.
Maybe it’s for the best if I never get to meet my Dom.
I can’t have a person I can’t let go.
I can’t show hidden me to anyone.
If I know what it is like to be protected, it’s going to be tough.
I can’t be vulnerable.
I know I would start to want more.
I want my Dom.
It’s better I don’t. I try to say.
I don’t want to be seen desperate.
Only a person who understands me can be my Dom.
Nobody else will ever get a glimpse of “me” but that one person.
In a childlike fit of giggles.
Say I’m tired and exhausted, of life.
Asking for more and more of sex with him. Wanting wild sex.
Wanting to be dominated. Smiling in restraints.
Saying I want to feel him. His power. The connection.
I don’t trust words. I trust what I feel through the skin.
I look into his eyes. Reassurance.
Feeling protected.
Letting me be his ‘slut’.
I fear this ‘slut’ can’t act like a mature adult when I meet my Dom.
See? Isn’t it better not to meet ‘the Dom’?
I say.
Why am I shedding tears?
Because I’m a moron and can’t stop looking for a dom.