The Inner Workings of A Serial Submissive

Hope Is Not a Bird, Emily, It’s a Sewer Rat

Caitlin Seida

I don’t remember calling this

Meeting.

But here we are.

A table I never sat at,

Filled with faces I know too

Well.

Some I haven’t seen in years.

Some I tried to forget.

Some I swore I’d never become.

But tonight, no one is turned

Away.

We are all here.

Facing each other.

Ready to finally listen. 

The child who dreamed without

Fear.

The teenager who ached to be

Understood.

The one who loved too hard.

The one who swore they’d never

Love again.

The one who made mistakes

The one who could have done

More.

The addict. The healer.

The fighter. The ghost.

The one who forgave.

And the one who didn’t make it.

They have all arrived.

The younger me swings their

Legs, wide-eyed.

“Is this what we became?” they ask.

“Did we make it?”

I want to say yes.

I want to say that we got everything

We ever wanted.

But I have learned not to lie

To myself.

“We are still becoming,”

I say.

And for some reason, that

Is answer enough.

The one who made mistakes looks

Down.“We messed up” they say.

“We should have known better.”

Across the table, the one who

Paid the price answers.

“We didn’t know until we knew.”

The silence between them is

Thick.

I hold them both in my gaze.

“Maybe we were meant to be

Both,” I say.

“The ones tried, and the

Ones who failed.”

Neither of them speak again.

The one who could have done

More watches from the corner.

“We held back,” they say.

“We played small when we could

Have been great.”

The one who was too afraid to

Leap lowers their head.

“I was scared”, they whisper.

“I know,” I say.

“But we are not done yet.”

Something between them softens.

The one who loved and lost

Grips the edges of the table.

“I gave everything,”they say.

“And it still wasn’t enough.”

The one who swore they’d never

Love again tightens their jaw.

“That’s why I built the walls.”

I look at both of them.

“We had to love, and we had to

Lose.”

“We had to break, and we had to

Rebuild.”

Neither answers.

But they are finally looking at

Each other.

The one who almost didn’t make

It is quiet.

“How did we survive?” they

Whisper.

“I was sure this was the end.”I reach across the table, take their hand.

“Because of you,” I say.

“Because you broke, but you

Never stopped breathing.”

They close their eyes,

Exhaling years of silence.

The one who died and never came

Back sits in the shadows.

They say nothing.

They are barely there.

“I miss you,” I whisper.

“We all do.”

They don’t speak.

They only nod.

Some losses are too deep for

Words.

The addict slouches in their

Chair,

Arms crossed, tapping their

Fingers.

“You hated me,” they say.

“You still do.”

I shake my head.

“I never hated you. I just

Didn’t understand.”

They scoff.

“I was trying to numb the

Pain.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“I see you now.”

Their hand stop shaking.

The one who lost everything

Stares at the table.

“We had to let go,” they say.

“It was killing us.”

The one who held on too long

Won’t meet their eyes.

“I wasn’t ready,” they whisper

“Neither was I,” I admit.

And for the first time,

They grieve together instead of

Alone.

The one who forgave speaks softly.

“You can stop punishing

Yourself now,” they say.

I hesitate.

“You did the best that you could,”

They continue.

“And when you knew better, you

Did better.”

Their voice is steady.

It does not ask for permission

To be believed.

I close my eyes.

and finally, I let it go.

The one who knew the streets

Leans back, arms crossed.

“You forget about me?” they

Ask.

I see them- sharp, fast, a survivor.

I remember the nights we barely

Slept.

The hunger, the hustle, the

Instincts that never left.

“I did what I had to,” they

Say.

“And I never said thank you,” I

Reply.

They nod once, jaw unclenching.

The future me sits at the head

Of the table, watching.

They are older. Wiser, Lighter.

They have seen it all.

“What do I need to know?” I

Ask.

They smile like they’ve seen

The ending.

“Stop fighting the becoming,”

They say.

“Everything that felt like

Destruction

Was just making room for you.”

I exhale.

Something inside me unlocks.

All of me is here.The fearless and the fearful.

The wise and the reckless.

The broken and the whole.

No one is missing.

No part of me is left behind.

I see them.

I honor them.

I welcome them home.

And for the first time,

I feel completely, entirely

Here.

 

 Braden Collinsworth

I did the drive this afternoon for my shift tomorrow. The weather was getting so bad, that I didn’t want to chance getting stuck out in it in the early morning darkness.  But now I am stranded here at the hospital.

I promise that there is a road there somewhere in all that blowing snow. TBH, if I left the road at any time I wouldn’t have known, it all blended together.

The accommodations are fabulous with the nice, soft beds. And the food is always so good…..when the cafeteria is open. Ours isn’t on the weekends. 

This is home for at least the next 48 hours. At least I have Love, my stuffed puppy with me to snuggle with.  I don’t have to share with any patients just yet.   ?

 

I am not much for online challenges, but this is one that I think I could actually win!

 

 

 

”Always look on the bright side of life” is a phrase that I’ve heard soooo many times.  Simple words, yet not so easy to perform on a daily basis. It’s been a rough few days emotionally for me and U/us. My new task is to find just one thing to laugh or smile about and share with Daddy. 

Day #1

   No shave November has progressed into no depilation December. 

I may possibly have the same hairy appearance as the above beauty.  Daddy jokingly called me a Sasquatch last night when I crawled into his bed to give him a back rub.

I haven’t been this hairy in longer than I can remember and some hair in certain places may have even come in a shade or five different.   

But they say with age comes wisdom, so here’s a little advice from the hairy dude himself….

 

 

 

 

For years I have considered myself a masochist. I really got off on pain and could rocket into sub space with the endorphins pretty easily.  If given a choice on how a play session went, I would always choose some form of pain to be involved.  

These days I am noticing that I am wanting a softer touch and, dare I say, maybe a smidge of pampering. Add in some praise kink and I am a total melty, gooey sub. As I began to really take notice of this shift, I began to wonder WTF was wrong with me.  

I felt that this deserved a moment of pause and reevaluation, so the notebook came out to put my messy thoughts down in black and white.  

Am I getting burnt out with the lifestyle? No, I still love my journey in the lifestyle. I feel that I have truly learned how to be my authentic self and tapped into a way to express myself. I have been able to verbalize my emotions and not keep everything bottle up.   

What motivates this shift? In the past I was focused on hitting that high and the way that the pain blocked out everything else.  No stress or depression or past that I was running from.  When I think about our current scenes, it’s the feeling of connection and mutual satisfaction that fuel my need.

What’s up with this praise kink? Humiliation felt taboo and thus was a turn on.  Deep down I felt like I deserved it.  As more praise was used and took the place of humiliation, the more I found myself striving to get more and more of it.  I now truly believe that I am a “good girl”.

 

 

I’m not sure what my conclusion is with all of this, but I do know that I am shifting and changing.  I guess it’s just another new path in my journey and I am going to go with it and see where it leads. I plan on enjoying this new phase and doing my best to learn more about myself.   

I take my solace where I can when my need becomes too great to push aside. These implements of pleasure are mere imitations of what I really want. They scratch an itch, but never fully satisfy. The dark fantasy books attempt to divert my thoughts, but they only make me think of You when a particularly steamy passage is reminiscent of our scenes in the past. 

 

Your hot breath on my neck as You lean down and tell me what a good girl I am for You. The slick of Your tongue as You taste every inch of me. The mementos that You leave on my skin  with the nip of Your teeth. The animalistic rhythm that Your hips pound to as You fill me.  Your hands as they hold, cradle, roam, and pin. The way that we become one, sweaty and breathless.   The way You hold me as I fall asleep in Your arms, safe and loved. 

 

I am waiting patiently for when we will be “us” again.  Until then, I will make do with the toys and smut.  But please know that they pale in comparison to You.   ?

Can you guess what’s for

             breakfast?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Helpful tip of the day…

And I do!   Multiple times throughout my work day. It never ceases to make me inwardly giggle every time that I HAVE to hit it. It’s the immature pervert in me, but I’m sure some of ya’ll can relate.  

I always wonder if the person who put that tag on there was thinking about how it looks.  Probably not.