Posted by: littlegirlyone | October 16, 2007

a contradiction in terms

there was much that occurred in the space of less than 24 hours, at the end of my lovely (and exhausting) vacation. you’ve undoubtedly read about some of it on persephone’s blog. she and i were so excited to meet, we’d been planning it for almost a month. for my part, i could barely contain my joy as i readied myself to meet her at the designated train station. i had very little time, and the unexpectedly warm weather was causing me some wardrobe vexation. in the end, i settled on a denim straight skirt, cut just above the knee, with a slit in the front, a rather skimpy black tank top, and a light cotton sweater. i slipped on a new pair of maryjane flats that i’d bought the day before, gave my incorrigible hair a toss, flicked on my ipod, and walked out of my friend’s apartment to the train station.

meeting meg was strange only in its devoid awkwardness. we embraced like old friends, although we’d never “met” formally before. we chatted easily, winding our way through one of the the city’s urban university campuses. we were both famished, and unsure of our exact time schedule. she was busily texting her owners in an attempt to work out a meeting place and time. i was happily leading the way while she handled the logistics of our evening together. deciding that our future eating prospects were uncertain, we stopped at a small corner market to purchase snacks to tide us over. after being informed that the “smoothie machine” (aka blender) was out of service, i chose a rather large, yellow banana. meg did the same, and soon i was having all kinds of fun teasing her about how we could write that we ate “bananas” together. this small interaction, to me, encapsulates my experience of our dynamic.

i hadn’t considered the possibility that my interactions with meg would be characterized as “dominant” before i met her. i suppose i forget that my way of relating to people is often identified by an aggressive playfulness. my friendships have a gentle teasing undertone to them. i’m more often described as a leader, a mother-figure, “the responsible one,” “the bitchy one” than i am the compliant little girl some might expect from this journal’s title. meg, on the other hand, is much more soft spoken, gentler, perhaps sweeter (although i know i’m a sweet girl at heart. mark laughed out loud reading that israelis are called “sabras” in reference to their personalities. the sabra is a cactus fruit covered in spikes, prickly, but sweet as manna on the inside. mark claims this metaphoric nickname sums me up as well.) i don’t mean to make myself sound difficult to get along with. i believe i’m rather warm and easy to talk to. i just think that i have more prickly parts than meg does. or perhaps mine are more visible.

all this is a roundabout way of saying that my comfort with meg (and later with her owners) lent me a self-assured attitude that i hadn’t necessarily expected to have around them. my meetings with people that “knew” about my submission had been rather limited to self-identified dominants hoping to dominate me. i had never met another submissive before meg. in past meetings with someone who knew about my submission, the interaction usually left me feeling quite vulnerable, and as a result, quite passive. i’ve sat across a coffeeshop table from many a dominant, and burned with the knowledge that he knew what i was, and exactly what i wanted done to me. this knowledge so overwhelmed me that, by and large, i’ve sat uncharacteristically quietly, responding passively to his probing questions. these interactions were my baseline, and so it was surprising (even to me) that my blushing little girl side sat this one out, for most of the night anyway.

it wasn’t long before we met with andrew. again, i was surprised (and am even more surprised in retrospect) that i wasn’t a giggling, blushing mess in front of a man who has seen me naked, bent over a chair, administering a self-spanking. writing that now makes me blush. but, to his credit as a complex and intriguing man, i didn’t think about that experience when i met him. in fact, i can’t remember thinking about it the entire evening. this is rather unexpected considering that the hallmark of my previous interactions with dominants who knew about my submission has been my obsessive listing (in my mind) of all the kinky, scary, naughty, scandalous things they knew i craved. again, i felt instant kinship. and i think, intuitively, that i felt very sure of my place for the evening.

there are many aspects of my personality that might not, to the average observer, tilt my submissive hand. (i’m fascinated by the idea that someone would be able to tell, by looking, that i was a submissive, but i’ve yet to have that happen.) but there is a defining trait that, to me, is the cornerstone of my submission: i am driven, in nearly equal parts, to simultaneously please those i care about, and please myself. i am both selfish, and self-sacrificing. i want nothing more than for those i love to be happy, except that i want for me to be happy. submission, then, offers a way to harmonize these rather contradictory impulses. the problem is that it rarely comes together as gracefully as i might like. the times i have experienced that synaptic circuit completion have been some of the most gratifying, peaceful times in my life. i think this is how i end up being the girl characterized both by her generosity and her bitchiness. i am manipulative mess when i get out of hand. i try to “make” people be happy with what i want, and i also try to “make” myself happy with what others have chosen.

the night i met with meg, i felt compelled to make her happy. i wanted her to have a wonderful experience with me. i was worried about being a disappointment. by extension, i wanted to make andrew happy. and fairly early in our interaction, i intuited that what andrew would like (and what meg would undoubtedly like) would be for me to remain my outgoing, fearless self. this also made me happy: being in control of myself, being playfully bossy to meg, not grappling with the discomfort of submission and the scary loss of control that would bring. and so, i spent a fantastic, almost uninterruptedly comfortable evening, being an aggressive, bossy submissive.

meg quite eloquently relayed the story of our night together. i always find it interesting to compare what different people remember about the same experience, so i’ll share a few extra snippets that i remember. i have never been the kind of girl to shirk from a dare (especially not one with sexual undertones). i remember the evening as a sort of extended game of “dare” between andrew and me, with meg as the object we dared do things with.

it started at dinner. andrew put me “in charge” of meg’s drink. just like a child, i jumped at the chance to boss her around. i think the opportunity to gratify myself in the context of gratifying them was too golden to pass. i wasn’t getting what i’d wanted from someone else in my life. i wasn’t getting things my way. the chance to briefly have things my way, without resistance (i was an extension of andrew’s ownership) and without complaint, was too juicy to resist. and it fed me, while also inflaming my hunger to do things my way. i felt good working out my aggression on meg (clearly, my aggression works itself out in the form of passionate kisses, boob-grabbing, nipple-flashing and panty-exposing). the dynamic was like this: i would do something i thought was rather outrageous. andrew would encourage me, and meg would comply. i could tell they were both enjoying our time together, and i was happy to be with them. i was, in a lot of ways, like a child testing her limits. i realized quickly that i could do as i wished with meg. the limits of my bossy desires were well within the bounds of safe play that her owner was going to enforce.

we were walking through the busy streets, around 10pm or so, with my arm slung around meg’s waist. she had already changed into that pink duck tank top, sans bra. i saw a market on the upcoming corner with a large ice box display in front. as we passed, i casually swooped a piece of ice from the bucket, and stuck it down the front of meg’s shirt. i pressed the ice all over her creamy breasts. meg squealed, and i innocently asked her if it was cold. andrew looked thrilled at my ingenious new game. i pulled the ice cube out of her shirt, and opened my mouth, placing the ice on my tongue. “take it,” i demanded, and she hesitantly bent toward me and engulfed my tongue with her mouth. after a few moments, i demanded she give it back, and after she’d done that, i placed it back down her shirt. when the ice was gone, i snapped a picture of my handiwork: meg’s braless breasts covered in pink tank top spotted with wetness.


Responses

  1. Oh, this is so good, a perfect combination of description and analysis. It conveys the dynamics of the interaction so vividly. Please say there will be more (and more pictures too?).

  2. this is such a beautiful piece of writing. especially knowing the process that brought you to these words… it’s just very moving for me to read your self-analysis.

  3. Ah long time reader, not-often commenter saying “FUCKING HOORAH” for you and persephone. You are gorgeous woman, so honest, so interesting, thank you for sharing your wonderful experiences. The pics are gorgeous and get poor lil orgasm restricted milla all excited ;)Bonza! (in the best Australian accent ever)milla

  4. roper,thank you for the compliment. there will, indeed, be more. and i think i can share at least one more picture.persephone,i find it similarly moving to read your account. we were both there, at the same moments, yet our experiences were so unique. it is an unexpected result, but it is lovely.milla,thank you for commenting, and commenting so nicely! i know we travel in the same circle, and it’s nice to know you are here. i really liked our pictures, too, but i’m sorry for the resulting sexual frustration.


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