Neither, both, everything … (On switching & self-discovery)

Until my mid-twenties, I identified as submissive. More often than not, the reaction to this disclosure was surprise (apparently my forthright manner doesn’t read “submssive”), as though people’s predilections always correlate neatly with their personality or way of life. What I enjoy in submission is freedom - to lose myself in response, the closest thing I’ve known to a meditative state. A chronic overthinker, my brain rarely allows itself a moment of pause. When I submit, there’s a heady silence as I simply exist. I show up, I’m there, I respond - complete trust that my body knows exactly what it wants and I communicate this clearly to the one I came for.

I’ve had the pleasure of playing with wonderful dominant’s of different genders - each experience different and telling of the person and the place and the social and societal dynamics. Sometimes, I’m a brat, side-eying slyly, friction igniting the spark. Other times, I’m a puddle, hopelessly devoted as she blows cigarette smoke in my face. There’s reclamation in being a submissive woman in a safe space - escaping the danger this role places us in the outside world, revelling in dredging up deep waters of desire we have to keep tightly corked for self-preservation.

Several years ago, a couple of friends (you know who you are) invited me in as a dominant. My hesitance, which I thought was borne of an unwillingness to inflict pain on another person, was actually, on reflection, a lack of confidence. Walking in, I felt like a baby deer learning to walk, suddenly coy and virginal in a space I’d previously entered with ease. But my ego dropped away at the desire in his eyes, the wantonness, the obvious pleasure. I see myself in him, and something in me flicks - I giggle escapes my throat, my nails become sharper, my stiletto heel heavier, my eyes shine, teeth glint in the low light. Knowing how he feels, the memory of that heady need, that clarity, makes my blood run hot. It’s both a recollection and something entirely new, something wet and raw and steaming.

I don’t know this, yet I know this deeply. The only thing I really know - I love it.

Both dominance and submission should be approached with humility, humour and grace - no one can exist without the other and either role can be wielded as a weapon by those without integrity or insight. But both crack us open in ways I’ve only ever seen elsewhere in sweaty nightclubs or religious ecstasy.

Now I know that really, I’m a switch - sometimes wholly one, sometimes oscillating between the two within the hour. Neither, both, everything. There’s no longer any need to deny any part of my nature, out of fear or ego or shame. Being open to my appetite developing, the privilege of aging and knowing myself better is the gift that eternally gives. Life is both too short and too long (thanks T.S. Eliot) to deny the things that make our mouths’ water. I want to taste it all, and yes, I’ll talk with my mouth overflowing.