Signs

Signs, signs, everywhere there’s signs.

The moment I began to wonder if I could be a submissive, signs appeared everywhere I went.  Some of what I perceive to be signs may simply be wishful thinking or over analyzing or just reading too much into other people’s experiences and thoughts.  But here’s what I’ve come up with…

In my real life, my non-Kayla Lords sexual fantasy life, I’m a department head for the company I work for – be shocked, a woman in authority and control might really be submissive.  But where I excel, where I’m most comfortable is the moment the CEO calls me, issues some random order (that has nothing to do with my department), and hangs up knowing I have immediately jumped up and begun work on it.  The organization I work for is all about service (get your minds out of the gutter – not that kind of service).  Those of us on staff consider ourselves servant leaders – we lead, but we serve our customers.  I’m not above issuing orders, delegating the hell out of tasks, and standing in front a room filled with people and speaking authoritatively about what I do.  But my most natural instinct is to jump up and serve my CEO, no questions asked, immediately,efficiently.  A thank you from him sends me soaring – sure, I’d kill for a little extra money, but it’s the appreciation, it’s the gratitude that is most meaninful.

Ok, so who cares, right?  What does that prove?  I don’t know – but it feels significant to me.  It feels real to me.

In relationships, especially sexual, I am incapable – in the moment – of clearly indicating what I want, need, like, must have.  At that moment, I am desperate for my partner to take control.  Until recently, I didn’t even know what kind of control I wanted him to take – just take it.  Don’t ask me shit.  Don’t wait for me to direct you – because it’s not happening.  I’ve been having sex since I was 18, and I have never once been able to clearly direct my sexual partner – ever.

That just sounds sad, doesn’t it?  It is, once you know that my ex-husband was a virgin when I met him, and I, the one who can’t direct in bed, had to teach him what to do.  I believe recipe for disaster was the official title of that chapter of my life.  Sure, he understood Tab A went into Slot B, but what to do past that?  I am incapable of enunciating (let me remind you, in the moment) what I need.  Want to talk about sex outside of a sexual situation, I’m with you.  But once desire hits me, I’m waiting to be led.  I’ve been waiting for 14 years – I may be more patient than I give myself credit for.

I have masochistic tendencies.  This by itself is meaningless.  It just means I can claim a place at the BDSM table – yay, I’m not at the kid’s table anymore!  But let’s put this together: command me, control me, lead me, oh, and please make it hurt a little – or a lot depending on my stress level.  I’m starting to connect dots over here – and I don’t think I’m offbase.

I understand, better than you might realize, that without practical experience, I have no way of really knowing what I am.  But I am a big believer in my instincts.  And the more I read, the more I learn, the more people I talk to about this, the more I become convinced that this is who I am, what I am.  What I want, crave actually, is what I read about from what I consider to be the really good D/s bloggers of the world: the care, the support, the love, the ass-whooping that comes from loving D/s relationships.  I can sense that those Doms cherish, adore, respect, love, and worship their submissives – not just because those women submit to them, but because of every other part of who they are.  Without knowing too much about any of it, I would believe that those women can submit more easily because they know that they are cherished, adored, respected, loved, and worshiped by their Dom – the ass-beating they take is just the cherry on top.

I believe I am a submissive, and I think the signs have been there all along – I just wasn’t ready to see them.