There is a reality that many women know all too well. We are often hypersexualised before we are humanised. We're seen as exciting. As energetic. As something to experience. Too often we're approached as though we're an adventure, a fantasy, or a body before we're ever regarded as whole people with desires that extend far beyond sex.
That doesn't mean every interaction is like that. But it happens often enough that when you finally say, "No, I want more than this," it feels revolutionary.
There is also this idea that because compatible Dominants can feel scarce, especially ones who genuinely value consent, negotiation and respect, you should hold onto the opportunity in whatever form it presents itself.
I don't believe that anymore…Scarcity isn't a reason to betray yourself. If someone wants something fundamentally different from what you want, holding onto them doesn't solve the incompatibility. It only delays the hurt. Walking away isn't always losing. Sometimes walking away is the first time you choose yourself.
I had an experience recently that has stayed with me for reasons I wasn't expecting. At first, I thought what lingered was disappointment. I thought I was still grieving the ending of a connection that I genuinely cared about. But after sitting with it for a while, why it felt so different.
A dynamic had come to an end. It wasn't the ending I wanted, but it was the ending that happened, and I had accepted it. I was making my peace with it. Then, late one night, I received a message from him. It wasn't an overwhelming flood of texts. It was a conversation. There were references to things we would never get to explore because of how abruptly everything had ended. He spoke about wanting me. He spoke about things he wanted to do to me.
I happened to be awake, so I engaged…And why wouldn't I? This was someone I had cared about. Someone I had wanted a “future” with. Someone I had secretly hoped would reach out and say, "Maybe we were too quick. Maybe we should try again."
So I was receptive. I wasn't shutting the door in his face because I genuinely believed that maybe this was the beginning of rebuilding something.
Then he asked me if I wanted to be his “plaything” He asked whether I would be available when he wanted me. Whether I would come when he called. At the time, I don't even think I realised why the question unsettled me so much. My answer came almost instinctively.
No.
I told him that I wanted more than to be a plaything. That for me, it was all or nothing. Only afterwards, when I replayed the conversation over and over in my mind, did I realise why it hurt as much as it did. For me, being offered the role of a plaything felt like being asked to squeeze myself into a version that I have spent years trying to escape.
I have struggled for a long time with being sexualised. Not only in BDSM, but in my vanilla relationships too. It is so lonely to constantly feel as though people are fascinated by what they can do with your body before they're interested in knowing your mind. There comes a point where you start wondering whether anyone actually sees you beyond your sexuality. That leaves marks… and it changes how you move through life.
So when I was asked if I wanted to be a plaything, I wasn't hearing, "Would you like to play?"…I was hearing, "Would you be willing to accept less than what you've always said you wanted?"…And my answer was still no.
This isn't me saying there is anything wrong with play partnerships. There isn't. Some people genuinely enjoy them. Some people only want scenes without romantic attachment or deeper dynamics. There are people who thrive in those arrangements, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
It just isn't me.
I've always viewed play partnerships as something beautifully contained. Two people come together for a specific experience. Maybe it's impact. Maybe it's rope. Maybe it's service. Maybe it's sex. Whatever it is, it exists within that container, and afterwards everyone goes home, and for many people, that's fulfilling.
For me, it isn't….Because I don't crave experiences…I crave people.
I don't want someone to only know my body. I want them to know my routines. I want them to know what makes me laugh. I want them to notice when I'm quieter than usual. I want conversations that have nothing to do with kink. I want to experience someone outside of scenes, and I want to be experienced outside of mine, vice versa
I've spent too much of my life existing inside relationships where my value was measured by what I could provide physically. I cannot willingly place myself back into something that feels, to me, like another version of that.
What surprised me most wasn't that I said no…It was how easily I could have imagined an older version of myself saying yes. Not because she wanted to be a plaything.
She never did.
She would've said yes because having a small piece of someone felt better than losing them altogether.
She would've convinced herself that maybe, eventually, things would change.
Maybe if she stayed long enough.
Maybe if she submitted well enough.
Maybe if she proved herself enough.
Maybe then she'd become more.
But I don't believe that anymore.
When I responded to him, I tried explaining it in the only way I knew how. I told him that accepting the role of a plaything would feel like taking a child to a toy store, promising them they'll get a toy tomorrow, and then driving past that same toy store every single day without ever stopping.
Could the child survive?...Of course…But every drive past that shop would remind them of what they were promised but would never receive.
That is what accepting that arrangement would've felt like to me. Not because he owed me more or because he was wrong for wanting a plaything. But because I knew I wanted something entirely different.
He deserved someone who genuinely wanted the arrangement he was offering.
I deserved someone who genuinely wanted the relationship I was looking for.
Neither of us was wrong. We simply weren't compatible…and that is okay. It has been so freeing, not accepting incompatibility without trying to negotiate yourself into becoming someone else.
The biggest lesson I took away from this was about me. For years, I have been a people pleaser. I've accepted crumbs because I convinced myself crumbs were better than an empty table. I've stayed in situations that hurt me because at least they meant I still had that person in some capacity, and something was always better than nothing. I've shrunk myself over and over again to fit inside whatever space someone else was willing to offer me.
This time I didn't. This time I looked at something I knew wasn't going to make me happy, and I walked away from it. It wasn’t evil. It wasn’t wrong. It just wasn't enough for me. That is a sentence I never thought I'd be able to say without feeling guilty. I did feel guilty for a while.
There was a small part of me wondering if I should've just accepted it. Maybe I was asking for too much. Maybe I should've taken what was being offered because connections are hard to find.
But then I realised something. I'm not begging for love. I'm not begging for connection. I'm not so desperate to be chosen that I'll abandon myself in the process. For the first time in my life, I realised I was completely okay with the possibility of losing someone if keeping them meant losing myself. That feels so monumental.
That's what I'm proud of. Not that I handled everything perfectly. Not that I wasn't disappointed. I'm proud that I stayed kind. I'm proud that I stayed honest. I'm proud that I communicated my feelings instead of pretending to be okay with something I knew would slowly break my heart.
Most of all, I'm proud that when I stood at that crossroads, I chose myself. I've never really been the woman who chose herself. I've always chosen the relationship. I've always chosen the other person. I've always chosen the possibility that maybe one day I'd finally be enough.
This time I chose Nirvana…And that's the healthiest thing I've done in a very long time.
Compatibility matter way much more than JUST liking someone or being attracted to them.