I started searching for some blogs on the topic of kink and submission. I found a post from a blog called The Story of A called Submission isn’t Just a Sex Thing. It’s a Part of Me.
The author writes about her childhood fantasies:
“I remember spending large amounts of time in the evenings, especially during and after baths, imagining kidnapping scenes, pretending that my ravishers were watching me, taunting me. I offered deals, I pleaded, I cajoled… but nothing would make them waver from their goal—which was usually unimportant anyway. The only thing that mattered was that they held me, and wanted to keep me.” -Ani
Can I just tell you how much I identified with this post?
It was a huge relief, actually.
I have similar memories from being a child. I also started writing stories around age 10, stories that always featured an innocent girl and a far more experienced and not always benign man. I swear the first sexy short scene I ever wrote was about a girl basically being molested or at least assaulted. There was definitely a consent issue! Did I mention I was 1o years old when I wrote it and then tore the paper to shreds over the trash can in shame?
I’ve been a sub in the making for as long as I can remember.
I always knew I was a weirdo. While all my girlfriends were crushing on JTT, I had built an altar in my bedroom to Jeff Goldblum.
I had photos of him that I tore out of magazines; I even had his action figure from Independence Day. I fantasized about this tall, brilliant, Jewish man taking advantage of me in the lab while I protested…maybe he’s be angry with me because I inoculated the wrong petri dish, it doesn’t really matter. The fact is, to my 15 year old mind, he represented intelligence, influence, and power; he was 30 years my senior, and he made me hotter than any boy my age.
I have attempted to maintain a sense of humor about my peculiar turn-ons.
I’ve resorted to making jokes to friends about silly ol’ me and my fetish for educated, ornery, Jewish men, for example. When I had to call a friend one night to ask her to pick me up because my drunk boyfriend was texting that he was on his way to my house to kill me, I joked about it. Typical, eh? The nice ones bore me and the hot ones kill me! har-har! But the humor concealed a deep sense of shame.
What is wrong with me?
Why am I only attracted to men who abuse me? I have wondered if I was codependent, just plain dependent, neurotic, or just plain fucked up.
“I can’t not be kinky. I have the ability to have vanilla sex, sure, but I’d really rather not.” -Ani
I have dated some very nice men. A musician, an attorney, a surgeon, even a state senator, and each of them super sweet and smart! Typically, I dated these men immediately after the less-nice ones, when I was feeling very ashamed of myself and determined to make ‘better life-choices.’ The fact that these men were so nice made it that much worse when I subsequently ended (or sabotaged) each of those relationships because I got bored.
The less-nice guys? At least they didn’t bore me…
The first wasn’t anything special, really. He was just 10 years older than me and he bossed me around a lot. And I liked it. He told me when to blow him and how to blow him, he’d grab me and push me over the bathroom counter to make me watch him fuck me from behind, he’d make me say I liked it… I loved it.
The one who wanted to kill me? He was not that special, either. He was just a mean drunk who got rough when he drank, which was often. It worked for me until it didn’t.
I settled for abusive men instead of looking for a Dominant man.
Because of my shame, I wasn’t willing to admit what I wanted or to look for it. Instead, I subconsciously sought out the traits that I associated with my fantasies. I saw sex appeal where there should have been red flags.
Because of my shame, I didn’t even Google my kink or seek out the community that was waiting there the whole time.
Because of my shame, I didn’t have any guidance about how to look for and recognize a safe or sane Dominant. Instead, I subjected myself to real verbal and emotional abuse and threats of harm from a man who had no interest in my safety.
I love the post from The Story of A. Each time I read a story like this, I feel less alone and less ashamed. And it is so important to throw off that shame, because it only hurts me.
“When someone asks me how I got into kink, I simply say that I’m wired that way. I have known no other way to live.” -Ani