I’m never scared in my fantasies.
I can take anything.
Gracefully, eagerly, and without fear.
I can let go fully and completely each and every time, giving in to y(our) every whim and fantasy without a glimmer of hesitation.
Every harsh lash and even harsher murmur brings me closer and closer to convulsing, orgasmic, euphoric bliss.
There is no doubt. No uncertainty. No second guessing (of you, or of myself).
There is nothing but pure, complete submission and shameless lust.
There is nothing but the pulsing in my heart & between my legs.
But real life isn’t a fantasy.
And I can’t take everything, even when I wish that I could.
I will probably never be the submissive that I had spent the better part of my adolescence dreaming about.
I will not stay tranquilly still while you torment me, I will not obey with grace or without question, and every hit will not send a wave of erotic bliss coursing through my body.
I’m more likely to call you an asshole than I am to call you Sir, at least 80 percent of the time, and that might be a generous number.
I struggle with not feeling good ‘enough’, or submissive ‘enough’, or strong ‘enough’ to measure up to my own expectations, let alone anyone else’s.
I will be defiant. I will be stubborn. And I will not make things easy– for myself, or for you.
You see, I am a most reluctant masochist.
Despite having fantasies about taking pain for as long as I can remember, I will never be the girl who orgasms spontaneously during a spanking, or the girl who plummets over the edge of orgasmic bliss while being bitten in just the right spot.
I’m not saying that pain doesn’t make my panties wet, or that thinking about it after-the-fact won’t result in earth-shattering orgasms (because unffff, yes please), but it certainly won’t result in immediate sexual gratification.
And some of the time it REALLY fucking scares me.
And I will have a hard time submitting to you while I am scared, no matter how much I trust you, or how much I want to be yours in that moment. I might fight, I might take flight, and the emotions that bubble up to the surface probably won’t be pretty, or meek, or compliant.
What I can promise you is this: whatever I do experience will be real, and raw, and yours to do with as you please, because despite my internal and external struggles, there is no place I would rather be than weathering the storm with (and for) the people I care about. I trust you to lead me through my fear, and to help guide us both home once we’ve made it to the other side.
No, the reality is not what I envisioned it would be.
It’s not what the books I’ve read told me it would (or could) be.
And it’s not for everyone.
But when I find those people who understand that I am fighting with my own fears, and not against them, everything starts to make sense.
I never feel more submissive, or more safe, or more satisfied than I do when someone takes the time to journey through the stormy waters with me until we find the perfect calm, sandy shore to collapse into one another on.
Until there’s nothing left but sweaty bodies, pulsing veins and entwined limbs.
No, real-life is nothing like the fantasy.
It’s 10x harder.
And 100x better.