Interview with a Submissive

Señor arrived quaking with the intensity of his feelings. It had been made clear that we were only going to interview each other, but he deigned to throw off all his clothes and kneel before me. I was comfortable with that after the shock wore off. He was plainly genuine in his desire to submit, to have me be in control. He had a wicked sunburn from spending the day outdoors and his beard was grown in since he was last at work.

He said he doesn’t want vanilla sex. I said neither do I. He has had some experience with pro dommes that was not too great – why am I not surprised?

He’s had a lot of psychotherapy and you can tell by how he accepts his needs. I admire how honest he is.

He’s very anal-centric, and is all for being feminized, but he doesn’t crave it like I once did. I was telling him how it was not good for me to be submissive because I eroticized losing my dignity. He said that losing his dignity is not what he’s looking for. He’s not so interested in being humiliated as controlled.

I asked a bunch of questions to ascertain what he wants, but he didn’t want to be too precise, He said he didn’t want to “top from the bottom,” meaning he wants me to direct the play. Yet, he did not realize the ways in which, in his enthusiasm, he was topping me. He couldn’t help it…As I dreamed about it the previous night, he was a little boy following me around. He took a dump in my guitar (not maliciously – just unthinkingly, like how he was “topping” me). I could smell his ass because he hadn’t wiped. I made him wipe it three times.

First, throwing off his clothes without permission was topping. Then he presented me with a paddle as if he was putting a ring around my finger. Kneeling, he kissed my hand two times without asking. And somehow he managed to leave a brown T-shirt here that I did not see him wear. I saw it as an emblem of the dream-dump he left in my dream-guitar.

As he spoke about his needs and interests, he sometimes closed his eyes from shyness. And as he was rambling, he disappeared into himself, into his inner-world. Though his words were collecting in my ears, he was more talking to himself than to me, which is fine because our interests and needs have nothing to do with true relationship. It’s a play relationship. Nonetheless, as he monologued I noticed I was slumping in my chair, drifting toward sleep, slinking away from him just like he was hastening away from me and into himself. In that I was mirroring him, I was more being than human.

He really wanted me to give him something before he left. Ok; five strokes with the paddle. It really hit his spot. He was like, “Oh, yeah!” and got erect for the first time, which was freaky. I had never seen it happen to anyone but me, and he is pretty big – easily twice my diameter now that I have shrunk without testosterone. I love my tininess.

I never felt like I was out of control, but his passion was so hot that I had to dance around it – and it was a little scary that his passion was so hot in contrast to how “cool” I was.

The dominant role makes me realize how totally skittish I am in daily interaction, always ready to dance away from aggression; always concerned that if I don’t manage people’s responses to me, they will endanger me. Also, with Señor I feel free to be as feminine as I am. It came out, in the way I was talking, moving, being. I like that it is about exerting my will as I will.

After he was gone, I had a couple rushes of George-power: totally gross, empty, imbalanced. The power in this roleplaying is how at peace I can be when I exert my will. I also had a feeling of deep sorrow; that we must crave such things. In the craving, I see the emptiness of people being strangers to themselves and each other. I see parts of people that, because of PTSD, cannot find expression anywhere but BDSM. I had an image of Señor naked, running madly in the darkness.

I had a dream of a man and a woman in play-bondage, wrapped so tightly that they could be and were affixed to a wall in seated positions, an image of the limited potential of BDSM play.

BDSM may be transformative as a means to end. As an end in itself, it is running madly in a small, dark place in order to resurrect feeling that the world has terrorized into submission. It does this effectively, but no submissive runs naked and joyfully in the light when her bonds are too rigid, too monopolizing of eros.

I was murky, disentangling Señor from my psyche and my space when I received emailed photos from a dear friend of a bouffant hairdo she’d just set for a party. They said to me: “Let your thoughts be high, like my hair - hair being symbolic of thought since it is emitted from the head. Let thought take you to the clouds, away from Señor’s mad scrambling in the darkness.” Her features are so divine compared to Señor’s sunburned, whiskered, agitated countenance.

Señor and I decided to meet the following evening to play. I am wary of the feeling I have that he is barging in to have his needs met, but I’m game for now, and feel more self-assured and self-possessed than before we met.

…to be continued…

On Monday, Wednesday and Friday updates are posted to Amy George’s other blog Ask the Dream Queen, for which she interprets reader-submitted dreams.