Online now
Join us!
Sign up Sign In

Musings of a Submissive

Vignettes and glimpses into a sometimes kinky, but a lot of times vanilla and boring life.
4 months ago. Tue 14 Aug 2018 08:44:14 PM IDT

I just want to preface this with how amazing people have been to me on here. Honestly, I’ve been writing knowing that I get to keep some sort of anonymity which has allowed me to be totally raw and open and vulnerable. I suppose I was figuring people would just gloss over it. I never expected to find the genuinely nice people that I’ve found on here. Thank you kind people of the Cage. I’m not used to feeling... cared for? I don’t know if that’s the right term but it’s a new feeling to have such genuine people give a shit about a (somewhat) stranger. In my day to day life, I have a mask that hides the majority of my sadness. Very few people see behind it and even then, they don’t see it fully. Yet all of you have seen some very very very raw places that I haven’t shown anyone in my day to day life, and have been met with kindness. I think being able to hide is helping with being able to get it out. Thank you for that.


I’m still in the funk, but the fog is lifting (painfully slow but it is lifting). Over the years with the self- help/care and eventually seeking professional help, I’ve learned a few things about dealing with my own depression, anxiety, and insecurities. Maybe they’ll work for you, and maybe they won’t. But I know what has helped me, and if it helps someone else or at least helps them find what works for them, then it’s solid information to share. It’s a flashlight that can help someone else in the tunnel.


1) I realize that anxiety and depression are things I will carry with me for the rest of my life. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn how to manage it down to the size of a pebble. For years it was like I was Atlas with the world on my shoulders but with help I’ve been able to manage it down to the size of a boulder. It’s still heavy, but nowhere near where it was.


2) The more I try to run from feeling the depression and anxiety – the harder it will hit and the longer it will last. Instead of pretending that nothing is wrong, I have to feel it. It doesn’t mean that I can’t still occasionally laugh or be happy while still feeling it over all, but I still have to process and feel it. My own name for that state of depression/anxiety is called “The Suck”. I just have to sit in The Suck and process it. I’m a human, not a robot. It simply isn’t possible to be all one emotion all the time. I can be depressed while laughing and having a good time, and I can be happy while feeling sad and down at the same time. It’s okay to be an oxymoron.


3) Writing has proven to be beneficial for me, especially at the beginning of The Suck when it’s the most intense. I can get everything I’m feeling out onto physical/virtual paper. It’s a release of everything circling in my head. It also allows me to go back and read it, to get a bit more clarity from the fog of everything in my head. It gets me to my next point.


4) When I’m in The Suck, introspection is key (at least for me). Why am I feeling the way I’m feeling? Is it a combination of things? Is it one thing? What about that thing(s) is making me feel this way? Is it everything and nothing at the same time? Because if it is – that’s ok too. Is there anything I can change and/or do better so that it doesn’t make me feel this way next time? What are the things that I can control? What are the things I can’t control? What am I being rational about and what am I hyper focusing on? The answers to these questions may not initially fix it or make me feel better, but at least I can identify the who’s, what’s, where’s, when’s, and why’s. That way when the fog does life, I can be proactive in identifying triggers/stressors so I can be a bit more prepared for the next time. I can also work on those things. The only way through is through. Not over, not under, not around. Sometimes you have to be like Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption and go right through the shit to get out of the metaphorical prison you’re in (I don’t recommend actually escaping from actual prison- you’re probably there for a reason and will be in a hell of a lot more trouble than what it’s worth).


5) It’s okay to genuinely laugh when you’re in the suck. Sometimes there are situations that pop up that are actually funny or that genuinely make you happy. That means the light is starting to poke through. You might want to fight it. I’d be lying if I said I don’t try to fight it. But it’s important (again for me at least) not to fight it. Let it in. It’s scary and something I’m not used to and it’s going to take a while to get used to and that’s ok. It might even help lift the fog and give you traction to get out of The Suck just a little bit.


Again, these are all tools I’ve collected through my own journey with and without therapy. What has worked for me is doing a lot of work on myself and finding the tools above. That’s included seeing a therapist, taking a low dose of anti-depressants that has proven to work for my body, and having anti- anxiety medication on hand just in case a panic attack blind sides me. It may not happen for months or even years, but it’s still better to be prepared than to be hyperventilating in a room full of people who don’t understand what’s going on. It’s not a comprehensive list, and it may not work for you. I’m not a therapist or a doctor. But I am someone who’s lived with the “invisibles”, the anxiety and depression and panic attacks, long enough to know a thing or two. And if it helps me, then maybe it will help someone else. Maybe it won’t, but if I can share something that helps someone else, then please, take my flashlight. We’re in this tunnel together.

4 months ago. Sun 05 Aug 2018 04:31:45 AM IDT

I don’t let people in and see me at my lowest. I have a hard time actually letting my therapist fully see me like this. I can talk to her about it but I always have my rock face on when I do it. It’s just so instinctual for me. She's seen it fully once or twice, and has been fantastic as she should be. But the only time I did FINALLY let my entire guard down outside of a therapist's office was with ex-best-friend. He is the only person in this world that has seen me in my lowest of lows and highest of highs. He was a soulmate, and I believe that’s why I was able to drop everything and let him see me so raw and vulnerable, even before I’d realized he was my greatest love. 

God he fucking broke my heart. The one person I give literally everything to - every part of my soul - and it all ended with him using it to hurt me further. It felt like a little child was giving their most valuable possession to the one person they love the most, only for that person to swat them away and tell them they’re a stupid and meaningless child (much like with my narcissistic mother). Looking back, I literally can’t feel the way I felt with him then. I remember it. I trace where it used to be. And it makes me so fucking angry that he destroyed me like that. It makes me angry that he’s the greatest love of my life. It makes me angry that even when I see him or hear his voice or see a picture of him that I literally am devoid of any feeling. Yes, he’s still alive and still him. But the him I knew and loved so deeply has died, while the imposter that inhabits him now begs for me to give it a chance. Why couldn’t it have been someone who would have cherished the gift of my raw broken gypsy well meaning soul? Why did he have to be the one to break me?

 

Anyway, this is hands down my absolute favorite song -specifically, this version. If you start it at 3:53 and watch till the end - god damn the electricity between Stevie and Lindsey. The hate and hurt and love and obsession and threats and everygoddamnthing about their relationship -  it’s all in that interaction. 

 

 

 

4 months ago. Fri 03 Aug 2018 05:24:43 AM IDT

Is it "all the people I don't want to talk to contact Isla" day or something?

First, it was burrito dude. The back story about his name isn’t as sexual as you’re thinking it is. Two and a half years or so ago, I was on lunch break at Chipotle. I had just walked in and saw some coworkers and stopped to talk to them. I saw this guy awkwardly hovering behind me like he didn't want to cut in front of me because I had walked in first. So I turned and said, "oh I'm gonna be a minute you can go ahead." Done, simple, didn't think anything of it. Two minutes later I walk up to the line having already forgotten about the previous interaction when I look up and see this dude awkwardly smile and say, "oh go ahead, you walked in first." I told him it wasn't a big deal and that I let him go first so he can go first. Well of course he just walks around me like a smartass leaving me in front of him. Ok, whatever I think to myself as I awkwardly laugh and thank him.

Of course he just starts yapping away, and I slowly start realizing he's hitting on me. And I mean VERY slowly. Like painfully slow. It wasn't until midway through my order I realize it. See, I'm not used to getting hit on, especially in public. Actually, this is the only time I've ever been hit on in public, much less by a stranger. I was confused. And a little flattered. But mostly confused. I went to fill up my drink and before I knew it burrito dude is next to me and says, "I need your number. I'm having too much fun talking to you and need to continue this conversation." Before I knew it, he had it. That weekend we met up at a local dive and chatted. It was a good time but I was still skeptical, one because I'm fat. There's no way around it. I'm not the typical girl that people hit on or take on dates. I mean, I've been told my face is pretty and my emerald eyes are gorgeous. Know what - think Melissa McCarthy. That's what I look like. And I tend to have all of the same mannerisms/humor as she does. I know this because I hear it ALL. THE. TIME. No I am not Melissa McCarthy. Second reason is because he was SO. FUCKING. HOT. Like boy next door adorable hot. He had a really good job (he's actually a psychiatrist) and a car and a house and seemed like he had his shit together. 

Long story short, we end up in my car in the parking lot where he ended up fingering me and sucking on my tits, and I ended up blowing him because there it is - he just wants a fuck buddy. Figures, I'm used to it, go with the flow. This is also after I met the ex best friend/had sex those three times because we were becoming friends, and prior to figuring out I was madly in love with said ex best friend. Needless to say, I was just stoked to be getting some from someone really fucking boy next door hot with his shit together.

And let me tell you - burrito boy did not disappoint. His cock was average and nothing to gawk at, but he ate pussy like it was the only way for him to get oxygen. Like I would start blowing him and two dips in he's like, "I NEED TO YOUR PUSSY NOW OTHERWISE I'M GONNA CUM." God he was a fucking champ at eating me out. Like he'd eat me out for an hour because he loved it so much. Sex with him as as vanilla as it gets but I'll be damned if he didn't eat me out like it was his god given right. Then it slowly started to seep out.... burrito boy has a fat girl fetish. There it is. Fuck buddy with a fat girl fetish. I know this because he asked me if he could feed me. While we were having sex. HELL. NO. I'm all for kink, but that is a HARD limit. I am SO self conscious about my body and I have to focus in order to stay in a place where I can have sex without wanting to hide. And he'd make all sorts of comments about loving my fat ass and getting my big self on over to him, or jiggling my stomach during sex until I finally went off on him gently cause I still wanted him to eat that pussy if you know what I'm sayin. 

Anyway fast forward a year or so, it's two months or so before explosion with ex best friend happens and I find out, burrito dude is married. To the sister of a girl I went to high school with. And he has a kid. WHAT. THE. FUCK. So I ask him to explain himself. He's separated, yes he's got a kid, I should have told you blah blah blah whatever. We talk it out, I'm still uneasy but trust that he's separated, never interact with his technical wife or kid, whatever he's still eating my pussy and I don't have to worry about his wife coming to get me cause they're separated. Yes, I also did some digging and record checking on my own cause homie ain't no fool. 

Eventually we fizzle out, I go through ex best friend situation, meet Sir, am all over the place, and then start getting texts from burrito dude wanting to hook up. A lot of other shit was happening at the time so I was really busy, and burrito dude makes a snide comment, to which I reply back that I have a life and I can't think about him 100% of the time, which makes burrito dude Say something to the effect of “well you still live with yor mom so good luck with that” and  block my number on his phone. Did I mention this guy is a psychiatrist AND ten years older than me? Yeah. Also for the record, living with my mom = saving money and paying off massive student loan debt so I could move out on my own and be able to afford it (which I have since done thank you).

So anyway, last weekend I get a text from burrito dude saying, "Any Chance?"   REALLY? So I'm like well hello stranger haven't talked to you in a year. Words were had, he's clearly realized how much he misses me my pussy (I mean it is amazing if I say so myself), and I respectfully turn him down because I'm still with Sir (which burrito dude doesn't know); even though Sir and I aren't in an official relationship and technically I'm free to move about the cabin, I still feel like it’s be cheating and like to be monogamous regardless of official or non official status. Anyway, I make up the exuse that I'm on my period and that's that. 

Today burrito dude texts me like all is good and we're picking up right where we left off and he's all intersted in my life blah blah blah whatever. OH! He called me Babe in one of his texts. I FUCKING HATE BEING CALLED BABE. I don't have a solid reason why except that it feels really skeezy to me. I also hate being called pricess or queen. So don't ever call me one of those three things because to me it's like hearing nails on a chalkboard. Anyway, he called me babe like we’re together or some shit, he still wants to hook up, I'm trying to avoid it while still sorta keeping it in the back pocket for the future should Sir and I part ways and/or never officially get in a relationship because Sir has yet to eat my pussy (really the only downside to Sir), and burrito eats pussy like said champ. 

So there was that interaction. 

 

AND THENNNNNNNN...... ex best friend calls me!! Oh joy oh joy what did I do to be so lucky(insert sarcasm font here). I stupidly answer, give one word answers, it's the typical "I messed up and I miss you and I love you buddy and when are we gonna hang out" bullshit. So here I am saying what the fuck to myself over and over. I'm also somewhat cranky cause I've felt like I've been initiating contact lately with Sir. So I'm on day three of not reaching out first, and I still haven't heard from him (which is not our typical MO because we usually talk everyday cause we're close friends also...). I keep trying to be rational and say that there's a reason, and it's because he's busy with work (which he legit is) and he's on a new medication that makes him really tired (which he again legit is) but of course irrational insecure me is in the corner rocking back and forth being all anxious and insecure and doing that stupid, "I'm not texting him until he does it first" bullshit because I'm a fucking emotionally anxious/insecure dork or something. 

GOD DAMNIT!

*Takes deep breath*

 

Thanks for letting me vent and be irrational and not trying to fix me guys (no seriously, i just need to vent and please don't try to fix me). I'm gonna go do this grad school homework that I've been avoiding now....

 

4 months ago. Wed 01 Aug 2018 03:26:45 AM IDT

If it's one thing I know, it's that life has a funny way of doing things. My Sir came (back into) my life at a point where I never thought I'd ever want another man to touch me. My heart and soul had been absolutely shattered, and I thought I'd never let another man (or anyone) behind the walls I had reinforced. 

Yet I found myself on good ol' Tinder. I didn't have high expectations; it was honestly out of sheer curiosity, boredom, needing distraction, and partially (okay, a majority) to confirm that I'd never find someone worthy ever again. So I swiped, matched with what turned out to be a ton of creeps, and was thinking to myself that I really just needed to delete the stupid app because people are gross. 

And on my last swipe, there he was. 

Backstory: we’d been aquaintances for about the first three and a halfish years we'd known each other at the point we matched on Tinder. We had a mutual group of friends that we'd been osmosised into by one way or another. Said friend group got together twice a year to a plan the tailgate, and then go to a concert and tailgate beforehand.  He had been dating a lady that was a main part of the friend group, I had been brought in by another msin person that was part of said friend group. He and I literally hadn't said much more than hello or simple pleasentries to each other during that time. I always thought he was nice, and thought he was a good looking guy but never acted on it because he was seeing someone. People in relationships are immediately a non-thing for me, because I know I'm a monogamous person and don't like the idea of homewrecking (whole other backstory as to why, condensed version is I've been duped by married guys before and it makes me sick). Anyway, we really never knew each other outside of the one or two times a year we saw each other. Not to mention, we also are ~20 years apart in age.

So back to Tinder. 

There he was. My immediate thought was, "Good for him!" I hadn't seen him around in a while and never really was one to be part of gossip or rumors, but from seeing him on Tinder, and a couple of Facebook posts by his ex, it clicked in my head that they were no longer together (The reason why is a whole other long story and i'd rather not talk about her cause she's left a figurative bad taste in both me and the Sir's mouths). My next thought was, "He'd never swipe right on someone like me. He's way out of my league anyway. He’s so handsome and I’m nothing special.” I found myself swiping right, to prove to myself I was right.

Well, I was wrong because it was an instant match meaning he swiped right first. I was taken aback. Surely he was just swiping right so we could both laugh about about being on creepy ol' tinder. We started chatting back and forth saying hello, saying how we were both surprised to see the other on Tinder. We talked about his breakup, my heartbreak, and how we were both really just perusing and not expecting much. I had written some sort of stupid half-assed bio on there and making mention of it, he said, "Girl next door with a wild side, eh?" This slowly turned into a flirtatious back and forth, with me saying I couldn't give away all of my secrets because he'd have to find out for himself. He's pretty guy next door himself, so he said he could relate. That was when he told me he was a Dom. 

I was intrigued; at this point I knew I was more of a follower than a leader during sex (with the rare boldness to take the reins on occasion) and liked being more submissive to my partner. Aside from the typicial "kinky relative to vanilla relationship" stuff like light hair pulling, nipping at a lower lip, and some spanking, I hadn't ever done any of the harder stuff. Not that I was opposed to it, but I wasn't actively searching it out. I figured if I met someone who was I'd always be willing to give it a shot. 

Before I knew it, I was standing on his front porch with my hair and makeup done, and in a dress (this is huge cause I'm reallly super low maintenance and go for convenience/comfort more often than not). My heart was racing. I'd known him, and I thought it was silly that I was feeling the butterflies and adrenaline rushing through me. And then he opened the door. 

There he stood, in his blue jeans and white linen shirt. He was taller than I remembered, and his handsomness hit me like a ton of bricks. The brief, awkward pause where we both soaked in each other ended and he invited me in. I remember fumbling around with my purse while walking into his foyer and he shut the door. I looked up and we both awkwardly did the "do I go for it and kiss you?" dance. The little laugh escaped both of us and then we went for it. He kissed me gently, but with a firmness I can't explain. It was the most wonderful first kiss I've ever had. Yes I realize how hokey and cliche that sounds. Our cheeks both turned lightly red, and he invited me further in to his family room as I put down my purse and slipped off my shoes. 

The first dominant act was him guiding me to a spot on the floor when I went to sit on the couch. I was taken aback but instantly turned on, so I sat where he told me, while he grabbed his guitar and sat on the couch. He played and sang to me. Oh. my. god. I've never had someone serenade me before. It was fucking adorable and hot and sexy and I was finding myself smiling and turned on for the first time in ages. And I was a bit scared. I'd just had my heart broken. The walls tightened up, and I solidified that this wouldn't last long, and it'd fade out in a month or two, no harm no foul. 

Things progressed, he put his guitar down, and I found myself nervously unbuttoning (ok, he had to help a bit cause I was so nervous) his jeans and out popped the most glorious cock I'd ever seen. No joke. For me, it's perfection. It's the unicorn I was searching for: the perfect length (not insanely long or insanely little) with the perfect width. And on my knees I went to town. As a side bar, I LOVE giving blowjobs. LOVE. IT. It is definitely in the top three sexiest things for me. I love knowing I'm taking a man down and giving him pleasure with only my mouth.

He started to caress my face and whispered, "Ready?" I looked up tenatively, and nodded my head. SMACK. Right across the cheek, with his dick in my mouth. Had this been any other person I would have gotten up and thrown a punch right back at them. This time, it stung and I liked it. Again, he caressed my cheek. "Ready?" Nod. SMACK. God the gutteral moan he made was SO. GOD. DAMN. SEXY. Fuck I loved it. By this point his pants and briefs had come off, and I was going to town. Tenatively he made the awkward maybe you'll eat my ass? movement. Again I never ever ever ever thought I'd ever eat ass. But down I went, giving it my all. Thankfully he's a total personal hygeine freak so he is always clean. The gutteral noises he made as I rimmed him and slow, long licked my way from his ass to his balls, and back again made me shiver. I sucked and licked and he moaned and moaned and it turned me the fuck on so much. I was surprised at myself: I enjoyed him smacking me across the face and I was really enjoying eating his ass. 

"Upstairs" he firmly whispered. Giddily I stood up and felt him smack my ass as I skipped up the stairs to his room. "Faster,” he chided trying to hide his smile.  Good god my heart was racing. I was giddy like a school girl. I felt like a teenager doing everything for the first time. It was a nice feeling. "Strip and get on your knees" he ordered. I did as I was told and he shoved his rock hard cock back into my mouth, starting to fuck my face and throat. "On the bed," he ordered. He fucked me better than I've ever been fucked in my life. He thrust his cock in my pussy (which was wetter than a fucking rainforest at this point) and his tongue was dancing around each nipple trading licks for bites and grabs. And no, I'm not just saying that because he's now my Sir. It literally was the best fucking of my life. I felt like I'd found someone who loved sex as much as I do, and was just as invested in making the other feel good as I was. Before I knew it, I was cumming and felt him fill me up as he moaned a loud, "ahhh." Still inside me, circiling his hips to move his cock and cum around inside me, brushing up against my sensitive clit, he looked me straight in the eye as he lightly grabbed my chin up.

"From this point forward,  you will ask me permission to cum and you will not do so unless I allow it. Understood?" I shivered and nodded my head, still euphoric from everything. Everything about him turned me on. "Good girl," he said invoking another shiver, "On your knees." He shoved his cock back into my mouth, surprisingly still fairly hard. I licked and sucked my cum off of his cock and he turned so I could lick his ass a little more. "On the bed between my legs" he barked a minute later. He laid on his back and as I went to climb up between his legs, "stop. Go back, and suck. Then lick your way up. Slowly." His eyes burned into me as I licked and sucked his toes, licked his instep, and up to his ankle. "Slower." I did as I was told, until after what felt agonizingly forever, I was back sucking his cock and eating his ass. "you’re gonna make me cum again" he growled as he pulled my head up to his cock and filled my mouth and throat with his cum. 

Holy shit, I thought to myself while swallowing his cum. He literally just came TWICE in a matter of ten fucking minutes and never going soft. Holy fuck, this is either a fluke or I've found the great white buffalo. "Up here", he motioned. I crawled up his side, and he motioned saying, "head here." I rested my head on his chest as he rubbed my back and sighed. It was the most amazing moment. Actually laying in each others arms, having someone actually hold me and rub my back gently after sex. It was a first. Every other time it was a roll over, exchange pleasantries, and leave. After a while, we started talking about all sorts of things. Life, how people we both knew were, trading stories. It was the most we'd ever talked for as long as we'd known each other. We were out of scene and enjoying each other's glow and company. 

After a while, we both started yawning and the responsible adults in us started to take over. We slowly dressed each other back up, and headed down the stairs leisurely. Back we were in his foyer, blushing like school kids, saying what a great time we had. His hand was on the doorknob but he leaned in to kiss me. Our tounges danced as we kissed deeply and slowly. "Back upstairs" he said against my lips. I must have had a shocked look on my face because he said, "yes I’m serious. Don't make me tell you again." I galloped up those fucking steps, and back in his bed we were, this time with him fucking me doggy style. He forcefully grabbed my hair back, and I moaned loudly. SMACK, right across my ass. GOD YES I screamed. "God yes what?" GOD YES YOU FEEL SO FUCKING GOOD FUCKING MY PUSSY, SIR. "Good girl. Who's pussy is it?" YOURS SIR. YOURS ALWAYS, I moan-screamed, panting and knowing I was close. Please Sir, PLEASE may I cum? A few hard thrusts and another spank. I felt it building. My adrenaline raced with anticipation. "Now. Cum" and we both came moaning each others names and coming together. Another first; actually cumming at the same damn time as my partner. 

He stroked my back and lightly thrust a few more times. "Mine. This is mine. Understood?" Yes, Sir. Lazily we both redressed (after I licked him clean of course) and headed down stairs for our final goodbye of the night. "Surprised?" He asked with a boyish grin on his face. Very much I told him, and that was the absolute truth. For the record, it's not a fluke. This man can get hard and cum multiple times within an hour or two and throughout the day. It's fucking incredible and he's ruined me. I don't think I'll ever have a partner this good ever again. 

So. Here we are a year and almost a half later. He's turned out to be one of my closest friends. We text nearly every day. We know what's going on in each others lives and we support each other. Sex with him is incredible and I'm always satisfied when he fucks me, even when he tests new things. 

I have to admit, I still have my heart closed off. I'm still petrified of falling in love, not just with him, but with anyone. I can't have my heart broken again. I can't lose another love and another friend. It admit, the thought seeps into my conscious from my subconscious that maybe we'd work out as a couple. Maybe he wants more now. Does he want more now? Does he have feelings for me like that?Maybe I want more now. But I push them back down before they go any further. I need him to be the one to tell me that he wants more. I need him to tell me that it's okay to start lifting the walls I still have down. I need him to tell me that we're on the same page and that its okay for us to tiptoe forward and see if being a couple is something we could do. But until then (IF it becomes a then), I'm very content. He makes me smile. He makes me laugh. He's got such a sensitive, sweet, kind, and caring heart behind his Dominant, manly exterior. In fact, having all of that and his own vulnerable moments make him more of a man to me each and every time. I value his Dominance. More importantly, I value his friendship and all the pieces of him regardless of if the pieces are whole, broken, damaged, scarred, happy, sad, anything. I value him in my life. I'm grateful he came into my life when he did. I was so hurt and broken. He helped me feel again. More importantly, he's stood beside me as I've picked myself up off of the floor, and put my own pieces back together - firstly as a dear friend, and then as a caring sexual partner. He didn’t save me. He did something better - he supported me while I saved myself and while I continue to save myself. 

 

I don't know how we'll end up. Maybe one day he'll look at me and say, "let's go for it. Let's see what happens as an official couple." Maybe one day he'll look at me and say, "we're better off friends, aren't we?" In either case, I value him in my life. Whatever happens will happen. Maybe my walls will come down on their own. Maybe they won't. But no matter what, I hope to always have him in my life - first as my closest friend, then second/third/etc. whatever it is that we end up being or not being. 

 

Either way, I'm grateful. Life sure does have a funny way of playing things out and putting people in each others paths at the right times. 

 

4 months ago. Mon 23 Jul 2018 06:35:49 AM IDT

I was a late bloomer and didn’t lose my virginity until I was 21. It happened in Mexico, with one of my waiters, in the palm tree/garden next to where he was working. Cliché I know. I didn’t have sex again until I was 23, and from there I knew I loved it. I’ve always made sure my partners are clean, let them know that I’m not looking to have kids, and that if I ever caught anything I would metaphorically kill whoever gave it to me. Throughout my mid 20s I had all sorts of fuck buddies and friends with benefits. I admit I went through a bit of a slutty phase (okay my number is currently in the teen numbers so depending on  your opinion it may not be that crazy). But I always played safe and have never been pregnant or caught anything (thank fuck). Towards my later 20s I calmed the fuck down, but still found partners. I tend to be fairly monogamous now, even if we’re not in an official relationship. If it fades out, then it fades out. But one person at a time is enough for me.

As a side bar, I firmly believe there is a difference between a fuck buddy and a friend with benefits. The second guy I ever slept with was a fuck buddy. I’d show up, we’d exchange pleasantries, have sex, exchanges a couple more pleasantries and then go our separate ways. We never knew anything more than superficial details about each other. Other partners I’ve had have been a variety of levels of friendship with benefits thrown in there.

Anyway, I was a late bloomer and didn’t really find my sexuality until my early twenties, which opened up a lot more of my personality in and out of the bedroom. I’ve also had a lot of self-esteem and self-confidence issues. I’m a bigger girl (five feet even but nearing 300 pounds) and I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. And that’s okay. But it took me a long time to accept that I am still beautiful to some people. My weight issues directly correlate with my depression, anxiety, and past traumas and I’m working on it. It will take a long time, but I’m taking steps to lose the weight. In all honesty, with the exception of my triglycerides being slightly elevated (because of being overweight), my labs are all perfect. My doctor says every year that I have better labs than many of her marathon running gym rat patients. But I know that this can change at any minute and the time to lose the weight is now, before my labs aren’t perfect anymore. And because of the reasons above, I’ve really only been in one official boyfriend/girlfriend relationship. I never felt I was worth more than being a friend with benefits/fuck buddy until the last few years. With therapy and a lot of introspection, I’m making a lot of progress. But I’d be lying if I said a lot of residue from my issues isn’t still lingering.

The one relationship I have been in was really unfulfilling. My ex is a really sweet man, he really is. But I felt like his mom. He was on disability for anxiety/agoraphobia related issues but was wanting to become more independent and eventually get off of disability. The problem was that he was always too scared to take that one step to start getting better. He still lived with his parents (and was 8 years older than me), had never not lived with his parents, and still slept in the same twin bed he had since he was 15. He liked his comfort zone. He had no aspirations to travel and never wanted to leave the area he lived in. That’s all fine and dandy if that’s what he wants, but that’s not at all what I want. All in all, I eventually felt like more of a mom and caretaker to him than a girlfriend. I wore the pants in the relationship all of the time. He just followed me around like a puppy. We didn’t have equal footing and it bothered me. I felt like I had to be the man and the woman in our relationship all of the time. I didn’t want to be the sole breadwinner, and I didn’t want to pump out a bunch of kids and stay in the same spot for the rest of my life. I don’t mind taking the lead on things, but I want my man to be my MAN. I want him to be confident in his care for me, as well as open and vulnerable with me. I like my man to be strong yet on equal footing with me. I want my partner to be my partner in every sense of the word. My ex wasn’t any of that. 

I should also mention that before dating me, he hadn’t had sex in TEN YEARS. Even now I can’t help but think that should have been a red flag. He was a two-pump chump because of that. We literally did two positions: missionary and doggy. I was lucky if it lasted more than 2 minutes. I tried to teach him and get him to be more adventurous, but holy vanilla. This was beyond vanilla. This was straight up crouton. 

 I know I’ve been harsh in my description of my ex. He really is a genuinely sweet and kind soul and I have no doubt that he will find a woman that makes him really happy one day. She’ll give him lots of babies and be everything he needs. I also know that I brought out a lot of good in him. His dad even had a heart to heart with me one day. He said he hasn’t seen my then boyfriend that confident and happy, or making so much progress in many years and that he was grateful I was bringing it out in my now ex. Our break up was friendly; there was no screaming or yelling and we broke it off on good terms, knowing we just weren’t right for each other. But I know I broke his heart really bad. I still feel horribly about this because he is such a genuinely good human being, but I know I would have been horribly unfulfilled had I stayed with him. I loved him like more of a brother. I was never really in love with him like a girlfriend should be. I feel guilty about that because I know he loved me so much. In any case, we broke it off in July of 2014 after a year and a half of dating.

I felt like a failure and questioned if I would ever really be able to love or have anything more than a casual relationship with someone. And then I met someone in October of 2015. We hooked up and I figured it would just be that. We slept together a total of three, maybe four, times. But then we became best friends. From February of 2016 on, it was completely plutonic. He was my best friend, and the only person I had ever opened myself up to in such a vulnerable, raw way. Except for my therapist, he was the only person that knew every single part of me – deep flaws and all. Around Thanksgiving of 2016, a former flame of his falsely accused him of a few things; long story short I loaned him $3000 and got him one of the best defense lawyers in our area because of some family connections. It took a few months, but even her public defender was trying to tell her she didn’t have a case. Everything got dropped by February of 2017.

But between Thanksgiving of 2016 and February of 2017, our friendship got that much closer. His entire family lives on the west coast, and I was really his only support system and friend outside of his boss at the small business where he worked. I practically moved in with him. I had a key to his house and spent the majority of my nights at his place. We were basically a married couple that didn’t have sex and slept in separate rooms, and weren’t in love, but totally solidly friends. And then it hit me in February of 2017: I had fallen in love with him. He was everything I wanted and needed. He truly was my first love. I gathered up the courage to tell him, and then it happened. He found a woman that he fell head over heels for. I wrote him a letter, explaining my feelings, and that at the end of the day, he was still my best friend and the love of my life. If having him meant letting him go, then that’s what would happen, he would still be my best friend, I would move on, but he would always be my greatest love.

And then he started to change. He started to act completely the opposite of everything he’s ever been. I pointed this out to him, but I was the asshole that didn’t want him to be happy. Over the next two months of trying to save my best friend and my relationship from sinking, he used every vulnerable thing I had ever shared with him – every single moment of vulnerability and rawness – against me. He threw everything back in my face like it never meant anything. He then had the audacity to ask me for money to buy her an engagement ring. And that they were moving to the coast in a few months. While he still owed me $2500 of the $3000 I loaned him. This all happened in the first six weeks of them dating. It sunk me into the worst depression I’ve had as an adult. I couldn’t eat, I would sleep all day and all night, and I would cry nonstop once I got home. There were times at work that I would cry softly at my desk. Not only did I lose the first man I had ever loved, but I lost the only friend who knew me inside and out – one I never expected to leave me in the dust.

By early April of 2017, I was starting to pick myself up. I started to move forward with a heavier brokenness and distrust than I had ever felt. I swore to myself that I would never make the mistake of opening myself up like that to anyone but my therapist. I still bear a lot of those scars. But I eventually got my money back before he left in August of 2017, and completely cut him out of my life. Until Thanksgiving of 2017 when he called me crying. He told me that I was right all along. He begged and sobbed for forgiveness. He said he was moving back up to the area where we live, and that he wanted to go back to the way things were. It fucking enraged me. NOTHING has ever enraged me. It takes a lot for me to get mad, but to get so vehemently enraged that I wanted to reach through the phone and choke him – I had never felt that before. I was cold with him. I told him nothing about my life since April of the same year. I oonly told him how horribly he broke me and my heart. He begged for forgiveness. And I have forgiven him to some extent, but not because he asked for it.

I’ve only seen him face to face once since he moved back. I felt enraged for about five minutes. And then I felt nothing. Just empty. It’s strange how I was looking at the man I once loved but knowing that I had grieved the death of the man I knew and fell in love with. He is no longer there, even though he claims he’s back to his normal self. He occasionally will call or text, and I either don’t answer or only give him one-word answers. He no longer has the privilege of being a part of my life more than an occasional hello. He still holds out hope that one day we will be back to our normal relationship. I know this will never happen, but maybe in the future when I’ve healed more, and considerable time has passed, we will sit down face to face and talk about what happened. But for the foreseeable future, it will never happen.

Now, some of you may have noticed that in my profile, I say that my Dom and I have been doing our thing since the end of April 2017. Yes, he was there during the summer after my heartbreak. The story of my Dom and I is for another day, but I promise I will tell it. I still have a hard time with certain things, and they definitely affect how I approach my relationship with my Dom. But I’m in a really good place. My Dom knocked me on my ass (figuratively this time). I never expected him to enter my life when he did. I never expected our thing to last as long as it has. I never expected to find such a close friend again. But all I can say is that life has a funny way of working things out and aligning people at the right times. Maybe it’s fate or destiny, maybe it’s God showing the sun after the storm, maybe it’s all just a coincidence. All I know is that this last year and a half has been one of the best in my life. It’s been a struggle and I still carry scars and brokenness, but I can finally say that overall – I’m really content with where I am.

Thank you for allowing me to be anonymously vulnerable and raw here in this space.  This is turning out to be so cathartic and amazing for me.

Until next time…

4 months ago. Sun 22 Jul 2018 08:30:54 AM IDT

I am so glad that I stumbled upon this site. I’ve been enjoying the various blog postings, all of which have very wide and varying interests, comforts, wants, needs, and limits. Some are funny, some are serious, some are personal. Some have made me interested in trying them in my own life, others have made me realize limits I definitely have – hard and soft. The more I read the wonderful insights of everyone on here, the more I am turning inward to analyze just what type of submissive I am, want to be, and what submission means to me.

I’ve always known that I had submissive tendencies, even in more ‘vanilla’ sex. Of course, there are times that I take the reins and have control, but 95% of the time, I love following the lead of the man I’m with. Aside from some spanking, moderate hair pulling, and dirty talk, I’ve never had an actual Dom until recently. It has been an interesting experience and I’ve learned a lot about the community, especially after finding The Cage. There are SO many facets and variables to each person, couple(s), scenes, sessions, etc. I like that there’s no one set ‘this is how you have to do it’ and that it is fluid to each situation and person. I also like the common general consensus that I’ve seen across 99.9% of what I read: everyone values consent (even if it’s consensual non-consent),  not doing anything illegal/with children/with animals, and the value of a safe word/action system. Trust and safety are key, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. 

As a disclaimer, this (rather long) post is my own personal feelings about who I am and where I am at in my own personal journey. I realize others do not have the same limits as me, and may enjoy things that I do not. And I am totally happy for you! If you are consenting adults and it is something you truly want and makes you happy/horny, by all means go for it with another consenting adult!

I’ve had a lot of these introspective thoughts floating around in my head, but I also know that I do best when I write things out and organize them. Without further ado, here is what my submission is and what submission means to me personally:

-Currently, I identify as first and foremost a submissive. I am a straight, cisgender female, on the heavier curvy/BBW side. I am a submissive that likes to tease (essentially be a brat for funishment). I am a submissive who also craves being a kitten, but without the pet play. I am a submissive that wants a Daddy type Dom without the age play. I like feeling safe and taken care of, guided and directed, handing my anxious worries off and knowing I am in his arms. I am a submissive who loves being my Sir’s good girl as well as his slut. I love feeling my Sir grab my hair and pull it back as he’s fucking my pussy, reminding my that I am his possession, and that my pussy is owned by him. Feeling his hand slap across my face, my chest, my ass, my pussy - it reminds me that I’m my Sir’s slutty girl and possession. Feeling his hand grip at my throat, while he pounds into me and looks me so fiercely on the eye - I’m one bullet point in and I’m already getting wet thinking about my Sir. I am a submissive who, albeit rarely, likes to take control during sex sometimes (not a full blown switch, but every once in a while to spice it up). I’m also a submissive that likes good ol’ fashioned vanilla sex as well. I am a submissive with a lot to offer outside of being a submissive, and with a sample platter array of characteristics and interests in the vanilla and kink worlds. Through all of it, I am happy, healthy, safe, and consenting.

-It is important to me to keep my independence. I’m a free spirit and like to have my options open. I also have anxiety and depression. Many years of therapy has helped me build a tool box to deal with these things I have, and how to make them into something good. In particular, my anxiety manifests in certain parts of my life – like organization and cleaning. I’m not obsessive to the point that it hinders my life, but I like knowing everything is in its place and that there’s a place for everything. It keeps me in a routine, and the routine keeps me on track. There are things that I know I lead in and take control over because it is something I excel at and take pride in. Organizing and cleaning gives me a healthy way to feel like I am back in control of my life, rather than letting my anxiety and depression own me. Independence is something that I want to keep in my life. I value being able to make decisions for myself and my surroundings, while being able to decide when and where I will submit. 

-Because of the above, I couldn’t do a full on 24/7 total power exchange. If that’s your thing, everyone is consenting, and everything is legal, totally go for it! If it makes you happy, then it makes me happy that you’re happy, healthy, and fulfilled in your own sexual dynamic. I enjoy reading about others’ experiences within the 24/7 lifestyle. But I’m just too stubborn. I need my own space and time sometimes, and I value being able to make my own decisions – including when and where I choose to submit. I do like the idea of having little daily tasks, moments, and routines to show him that he still has the gift of my submission, though. I’m a natural caretaker and I suppose you could say that one of the main “Love Languages” traits I show to my partner is doing small meaningful things. Touch is the most important “Love Language” aspect for me - it helps me know I’m safe, cared for, disciplined, and so many other things I can’t explain, only feel. Because touch is so important to me, I know I couldn't deal with being abandoned or caged/tied up/etc. alone for more than a few minutes. That is a hard limit.

-I like humiliation, but only to a certain extent. Being told I’m my Sir’s slut, his little whore, his fuck toy to play with, and/or being here solely for his pleasure and his pleasure alone gets me wetter than a fucking rainforest. Having to kiss his feet, suck his toes and feet, lick him up and down and everywhere in between - I fucking love it. Especially his armpit – I have no idea why I love licking his armpit so much. Well, maybe it’s because I love hearing the guttural moans as I do it, just like when I reach that sweet spot and rhythm while I’m eating his ass.  At the same time, I’d become enraged if I was forced to be used as a toilet (puke, poop and pee are the three reasons why I’m not a nurse or doctor. Can’t do it won’t do it), forced to eat and drink out of a bowl on the floor, or forced to sleep on the floor or anywhere other than a bed. Especially the bed. I am not a morning person AT ALL, especially when I don’t get good sleep, so I’d end up being a raging bitch because of that on top of being enraged that my level of humiliation has been breached. Again, I get that others’ limits aren’t the same as mine, and I will always support everyone in their sexual lives as long as they are consenting adults, happy, healthy, and safe. There are just certain points in humiliation play that become a hard limit for me personally.

 -I crave being my Sir’s good girl. I crave pleasing him. It could be something as simple as fixing his plate, taking the empty one back to the dishwasher, or doing his laundry. I love hearing his moans as I suck him, lick him, and when he fucks my pussy to his liking. It makes me want to cum just thinking about it because turns me on so goddamn much. I love the rewards associated with it; I love that he rewards me with being allowed to cum for him. His guidance makes me feel safe. I love feeling his arms wrapped around me; I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with him. I love knowing that I am his possession that he cares for and wants kept safe for him and for him only to do as he pleases.

-I crave my Sir’s (justified) discipline. When in scene, if I do something that warrants his discipline, I can’t wait to feel his hand slap my face. I love how he pulls my hair and smacks my ass hard as he pounds my pussy or fucks my throat, telling me what a naughty little slut I’ve been. But disciplining me without telling me why, or without proper cause irritates me and makes me want to tap out/safe word. It triggers my anxiety and makes me think that he actually is angry with me and punishing me out of deep rooted anger instead of out of our mutual kink.

-I’ve realized that I like a certain amount of pain. There are things like blood, or permanent damage/marks that are definitely hard limits for me. Any non-permanent marks (bruises, bite marks, etc.) are soft limits – I’m okay with them, as long as I can cover them up for work/when I’m with people who don’t know about my kinky side. Punching and kicking are absolutely off the table, hard limit. Caning, violet wand, and certain other types of pain are soft limits that I'm willing to discuss. 

-I’ve become a fan of the stoplight safe word system. My own version is:  Red means hard stop, aftercare needs to happen immediately. Yellow means slow down/switch activities because I’m nearing overload. Green I personally like to use as a check in/go forward if there is any hesitation or question, and as mental note of safe words when we’re in our respective D/s spaces. It is so important to me that my Sir also use the safe words – he may feel himself getting out of control or not knowing if I really mean what I am saying and/or am not thinking to use my safe word (you’ll see why I like the green in particular in an upcoming point).

-There are things I wish would happen more. I wish my Sir would worship my pussy. I really like the quote to the effect of, “just because I’m worshipping your pussy, body and mind doesn’t mean you’re in control. It means I take care of my possessions so they do not break.” I miss having my pussy eaten out and having the touch of a man’s fingers/hand/mouth/tongue on my clit, feeling Him bringing his toy to the edge and (sometimes) allowing me to cum for him. I really want him to worship me to the point that I can give everything to him - my orgasm, the rush of adrenaline, the floating feeling - all because of him and only him. I guess what I’m really getting at is that I wish he was a more sensual Dom. I’d really love to be tied up spread eagle and blindfolded, while he does other sensory activities to tease me. Using a feather, smacking my pussy, icing my nipples, using hot wax, fucking me with toys, teasing my clit with the toys of his choosing, and ultimately fucking me as he pleases while I’m unable to move my arms and legs more than the rope/whatever I’m contained with allows. I wish we would also have vanilla sex sometimes, just to connect person to person. 

-I’ve realized the importance of actually using my safe word with my Sir. There was a scene/situation with my Dom a few weeks ago where I really should have used my safe word. It was the most intense session we’ve had. He used His (flogger? It looks like a giant tassel that you can whip someone with) to punish me for asking to have my pussy eaten out. It was in regard to a joking text I had sent him a few nights before, and quite honestly one I’d forgotten up until that point. He flogged me, and he flogged me hard. He told me to count my five lashes. While I loved that we were taking the intensity up a notch, and counting my lashes was super fucking hot, I also started to feel myself have an anxiety attack. 95% of the time, I can talk myself out of them which is why I didn’t initially say anything in the first place. But my panic started to take seed and my depression made me start to actually think I wasn’t worthy of anything, that I really was just a piece of meat that nobody gives a shit about and that he’s really only using me as a fuck toy without any regard to me. Of course, logically I know this isn’t the case. And he did everything right. He asked if I’d had enough at one point – his way of checking in with me to see if I needed to safe word. I told him I was fine, and that was completely my fault. As we finished with me sucking him off as he laid on his back and I laid between his legs, all I could do was hang my head and silently cry. From what I understand – I was having sub drop. I was hiding myself crying because I didn’t want to disappoint him. I didn’t want to make him feel bad for believing me when I was the one telling him to continue. I didn’t want him to know how horribly I felt for not telling him. Of course, he noticed, and gently asked why I was crying. Knowing myself (regardless of in scene or not), I have a habit of trying to comfort everyone else and let them know I’m fine, even when I’m crying. He gently told me to wash my face and to also put the laundry in the dryer – both as ways to bring me back from my sub drop. I did both, and they brought me back somewhat. I laid on the bed next to him but slightly down and a bit away, trying to process my feelings. He was so sweet, and knew I was processing everything. He gently asked if I wanted to leave, as a way to tell me I wasn’t actually a prisoner, or if I wanted to stay. I told him I wanted to stay, and quite honestly, I think he wanted me to stay too, just to make sure I got the appropriate amount of aftercare and he knew I was mentally back in a good place. The entire time, I could only stare down at the bed. Eventually, he tentatively put his hand on mine. Once he knew this was ok, he gently raised his fingers and lightly lifted my chin, to have me look him in the eye. It was honestly the most amazing, sweetest, and needed gesture I have ever felt. It was his way of gauging where I was at. Again, knowing him and the situation, he did EVERYTHING right. But it made me realize the importance of using a safe word, and that it’s a good thing to use. I’ve never used my safe word with him, and I think I was just ashamed/didn’t want to disappoint him. THIS IS ABSOLUTELY NOT THE CASE WITH HIM. Safe words are there for a reason, and he absolutely knows to stop when I say it, so he can immediately begin aftercare. I need to remind myself of that and use the safe word immediately next time I need to.

-Communication is key. There are certain things (like the last two points) that I really need to communicate better with my Sir. Life has gotten the best of us since then, and we haven’t had much time to see each other or talk in person. I’m still sorting out some thoughts, but I know that when the time is right, we will face to face discuss some things on my mind in an open and safe way. I have failed because I haven’t communicated certain things with my Dom, but I know it’s done better face to face, not over the phone or text. I do love that just about every day we check in with each other; we’re both know what’s happening in each other’s lives and support each other as friends too. We both have a healthy respect for each other, and I can genuinely say that I am so incredibly grateful that my Sir is in my life, both as my Sir and as my closest friend.

-It’s important to feed my vanilla side too. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good play session, but part of me is a hopeless romantic. I’ve had a boat load of friends-with-benefits and fuck buddies, but I’ve only ever had one serious official relationship. And the sex in that relationship was the worst I’ve ever had, but that’s an entirely different blog post for a different day. In short, I have to admit that my biggest fantasy in the entire world is something incredibly vanilla: I want to be made love to. That earth shattering, universe and star aligning, hokey, cliché love making. I just want to have my man walk in the door after a hard day’s work, walk up behind me and wrap me in his arms. I want to feel his soft kisses on my neck as he holds me like I’m the most fragile and important thing in his life, but also conveying he needs me so badly and loves me so much, without ever having to say a word. I want him to kiss me like he’ll never be able to do it again. I want him to run his fingers through my hair, and worship every single part of me like it’s our last day on earth. And I want to do the same for him. I want to look him in the eye as we make slow, passionate love. I want to spend the night and whole next day in bed, connecting physically and mentally. And it breaks my heart that I’ve never gotten to experience this, as vanilla as it is.

-I know there is so much more exploration to come. I’m somewhat new, yet a little bit seasoned. There are going to be new limits that arise, some limits may change or become non-limits. There are going to be times where I need to communicate more or use my safe word. There may be times where my Dom will need to remind me that I can use a safe word by asking me if I am at a “green” in the stoplight system.

 

For now, I think this is enough. I'm sure there will be more to come: more realizations, and more perspectives from me as an independent, fun loving, sometimes vanilla, a lot of times submissive woman.