I hardly think everyone into BDSM has had abusive situations in their background, but I’ll freely admit I did in mine. My sperm donor was, and is, a sexist, racist, misogynistic narcissist who to this day seems to think his 5 – 6 – or 7 ex-wives were wrong, but somehow he wasn’t. My mother’s second husband freely pinched my nipples and was on top of me at the age of twelve wearing nothing but his tighty-whities and a hardon and couldn’t understand why I kicked him in the stomach as hard as I could, no longer wanting to “play”. I was molested by his brother at a very young age at my step grandmothers house and was confused because I was terrified but it wasn’t entirely unpleasurable.
Yes. My introduction to sex and what was appropriate and proper was fucked. Then I met Dave the photographer when I was 18 and suddenly things opened up to me that weren’t available before. Suddenly I had power where before there was none. None of it made sense but over time I realized that there were people who responded to the darkness that lived inside of me.
So right now I’m sitting here with tears rolling down my face. All day I’ve been angry and wound up. For years my darkness has been dormant and in all honesty; she’s never been fully explored, and these last few months have lured her to the surface. After all of these years, no one has seen her.
Don’t get me wrong, we play HARD. Deep impact play, mind fucks, needles, shock collars, stun guns…..but there is a side of me that is nothing but cold, hard and calculating. And she’s scratching my surface right now and making me more anxious and more restless than I’ve ever been. She’s that detached stranger that gets off on tears and uninhibited behavior.
Now that she is a conscious part of my being; she must be fed. I find myself like a junkie looking for a fix and I get anxious and angry when it isn’t readily available. This is my drug. I feel the energy and the need pulsing through my veins. A two-week time frame used to feel like a blink of an eye and now feels like an eternity.
Muse is coming to town this weekend and in all honesty, I’m nervous. Every weekend, the stakes get higher and higher and she’s never seen the real me. Yes, I’m everything she’s seen. Yes, I am a nurturer and enjoy cooking for those I care about and love baking cookies and shit. But yes, I can leave you a dried up husk as well. It’s easy to be intense when you only have to do it 48 hours at a time, and in 48 hours…I can suck your soul dry.
Folks get addicted to drugs, alcohol, adrenaline. My high is fear: seeing that look in someone’s eyes when they don’t know what to expect, but they trust you and want to follow you regardless.
Yes, I understand I can be scary because I’m unpredictable. But I also love those in my inner circle deeply and would never do anything to put them in harm’s way. It’s a delicate and dangerous balance and one I have great respect for. If anyone reading this would like to contact me to discuss further you are more than welcome to do so. At this moment I’m honestly struggling between wanting to stay and wanting to run. The hidey hole seems so much easier.