That there is something about personal vulnerability when we are in the throes of sexual pleasure that is a place I have never allowed myself to go…why not? What am I afraid of?
I realised this recently after two key events. One, I went to a dominatrix I had not seen before but have “known” and followed for a long time. She was fabulous. I say that in relation to ways that she treated me as a human being—that our interaction was human and natural. I have come to learn that this is what I love most in a D/s interaction—to be utterly in service, but without humiliation, shame, degradation or inferiority.
But that isn’t the part of our time together which got me thinking. She plowed roughshod right through me—she was dominant, sadistic, and utterly kinky. It has taken me weeks to process what she did to me, what we did “together”. I was bound, suspended, electrocuted, whipped, pegged, spat on, and milked. And then I was let down, made to kneel at her feet, give her a foot massage and talk about life…and then I was bound again and whipped until I was marked—as she wanted to leave me a souvenir of our time together—one which I still wear several weeks later.
Every domme has a style, just as all of us have our ways, preferences, habits. When I asked her what she liked, she said, “I’m a primal. Nothing puts me in top space faster than ravaging a sub.”
My favourite comment of hers? “You can really take a whipping. This is something we can explore next time.”
“The little bit I did to your breasts seemed to affect you much more.” It surely did. She hit my breasts, bit my nipples, pinched them…and did so in full knowledge after my confession before we started that they were sensitive, that my milk ducts are growing. I was well taken. That is what primal energy does. And since one of the kinks I appear to have is to be preyed upon, this worked out unexpectedly nicely.
Part of my two-year hesitation in seeing her—why didn’t I approach? Because I found her “too” sexy…I was intimidated by her primal sexuality. And it’s funny because her content is not at all like that. It is almost prim. But there was something in the energy of her branding that spoke to this. And indeed, over lunch before play, she told me that her kink is primal.
I feel so blessed to have been in service to a divine muse for a year, from whom I learned so much, but also have this world of possibility open before me. And I feel doubly enriched for being able to appreciate the subtle and not-so-subtle differences between dommes.
My kink is to be a “victim” of a domme’s primal urges. The fantasy of being made to do, no matter what it is, to being forced to respond. And no, it doesn’t have to be kinky at all. It can be anything. The most delicious memory or our time together was in many ways the most insignificant: when the waiter came to take our order, she ordered for me, and when he asked me a question about my order, she answered for me. It is hard to describe how delicious that felt. But I felt so utterly submissive in that moment.
And you know what we had been talking about? That I don’t feel submissive anymore! That didn’t last long.
“And yet you’re here,” she said.
She asked me if I was up for CBT, cock and ball torture, and whether I had ever done it before. I had previously noted that chastity doesn’t work for me, because it reminds me that I have male bits…and she was sensitive to my trans nature, and wondered if that would make me want to punish the dickens out of my bits or have them left alone…and in truth, they don’t “work” anymore as a sex organ, which suits me fine, and she thankfully did not push, though I imagine how deliciously horrific such a thing could be. Just not for me.
[And yes, the answer is I have done CBT before. The first time I heard the acronym I had to ask for an explanation, and one of my catfish COVID dommes from Nigeria had me tie a 1.5l bottle of mineral water to my balls and then jump up and down while shouting ‘yes mistress’. It was both ridiculous and painful at the same time, especially when she made me do it again. You gotta start somewhere, right?!]
But her ritual punishing of my body was like a challenge to the idea of me not being able to get off anymore, not being submissive, not knowing where I am anymore. Being munched on by a primal sadist was an exciting experience, one that I struggle to admit I enjoyed, one that embarrassed me, took me to places that I have never been, did things to me that I would have never even asked for or uttered, even if I had thought them.
There is clearly a part of me which is too ladylike to indulge in these things. And my only moment of psychological resistance to her came when she called me a ‘slut’ as she was milking me, only because I don’t see just any domme…only the best!
All of the above by way of reference to this post and its title. I am afraid of being a sexual being. Deeply afraid. And I realise that it is the intimacy that comes from being beside oneself with sexual energy—of being irrational. And I find that the closer I get to feeling animal, the more scared I become, the more I go out of my body, or into my head.
And until this domme, I had not been confronted with this in such a stark way. And now, I have uncovered something which is something that needs to be dealt with if I am to ever have a loving and natural human to human sexual relationship. And I can rejoice in letting go of fetishism, a quest of a lifetime. But now I see that the biggest challenge lies ahead.
In the meantime, I have approached an escort as I wish to learn and experience three things. I wish to get to know my body, especially as it changes. It has become so much more sensitive to touch, and I believe that this has led me to be more sensitive with my touch. Second, I wish to learn how to touch a woman and to be taught how to touch a woman. As a submissive, to be invited to touch in this way is the ultimate honour. And finally, I wish to discover how to be sexual, physically sexual, when genitals—at least mine, are no longer centre stage, or even part of the equation.
But what this experience with this dominatrix showed me was that I may be doing all of this to hide from the simple truth, that I am deeply afraid of sexual intimacy.
That was the first half of the story—the first “event”. The second “event” is that I have met someone. This someone is a vanilla attraction. I met her under normal circumstances, we have done “dating” kinds of things together, and we have kissed—and it is electrifying. And she is pushing (gently) for intimacy, and I am holding back…and I realise that I am scared to death.
I can make excuses. I’m good at that. I’m going through a divorce. I’m transgender at the beginning of a transition from a male body to one that is more female. My whole life is topsy turvy.
But there is something else. I am ashamed of my body. Well, sort of. And those are the right words even if they are the wrong words, simultaneously explaining and failing to explain what is going on. As a male body, it is objectively a nice body. And back when my male bits were functional, they could be said to have been agreeable insofar as such things are said about male bits. So, it is neither the body itself, nor the genitals that trigger this feeling. It is the “shame” that they are not female. That someone would touch me, see me, feel me, and feel that my anatomy was not consistent with my mind. Or rather, that I would feel or think that they were feeling or thinking that my body was/is male when I increasingly don’t feel it that way.
This is a kind dysphoria, but it is different than what I have felt before. I no longer experience acute body hate or self-hate because of my body. This is thanks to oestrogen, waxing, a punishing and constant fitness regime, diet, a positive attitude towards wellness. Each one of those leads to previous posts on these topics. What’s different about this dysphoria? That my body doesn’t look as female as it feels. I accept that it will never look as female as I want it to. [That would have required transition before puberty—and for those of you out there in the world who can exercise your voices on this topic—please support my trans brothers and sisters to transition as early as possible—to prevent the onset of the wrong puberty, which leaves a life-long legacy of pain.]
Please don’t misunderstand. I love this process of transition more than just about anything that has ever happened to me. It is a source of incredible beauty and joy in my life. One which fills me with hope about the future, for the future, and for my own place in it and the people in whose lives I get to exist. That doesn’t mean that dysphoria is gone for good. It just means it won’t kill me.
Why is this relevant? Well, the woman I have met knows that I am trans. She is attracted to me as a trans person. I have heard of people being trans fetishists. She is not one of them. She is a delightful person, and I like her quite a lot. But I am scared. I am scared of lying with her, and of her hands finding their way between my legs and finding something there that I wish had never been there in the first place. And I don’t know what to do about it.
Over the past weeks, any illusion that I am truly non-binary in the sense of leaving my anatomy intact has vanished. I know that a vagina lies in my future. I might still be non-binary after the fact, but I will feel a lot more comfortable in my own skin when I know that anatomically I am really not a man anymore, and that I can be experience Sapphic love without shame, fear, or hesitation.
But what of this? What if this is just an excuse? What if all of this is a sham to prevent intimacy? Why shouldn’t I lie with someone who already accepts me as I am? What am I afraid of? Why is sexuality, my own needs, desires, why are they so scary? Why do I refuse to accept them, or allow them to run their course? What on earth have I got to lose? What’s in the way? Where on earth did this come from?
I am an intensely sexual and sensual person. So, why?