Mine, mine, MINE

I am so not a submissive.

Yeah, Erica, what else is new? I dunno, just something that came to mind lately. Not a judgment, not a statement of any sort of superiority. Just a heightened awareness of how very different we all are, within the same overall community.

I copy-edit/proofread a lot of kink erotica. Therefore, I have regular exposure to fictionalized spanking/BDSM relationships. Some of them resonate. Others do not. And one theme I see repeatedly is that of ownership.

I know the secret behind D/s… that the surrender and submission of the bottom is their choice, and they have the control, even though it seems that they’re relinquishing it completely. It’s a dance and a game. But still.

I am so fiercely, ridiculously independent, I cannot imagine having my autonomy taken from me. Or even giving it away willingly.

Oh sure, a little objectifying is fine. We all do it. We all use the word “my.” My love. My sweetheart. My husband, my wife. Steve will often grab onto my bottom as he’s spanking me and say, “This is mine, do you understand?” Sometimes I’ll say, “No, actually, it’s mine.” But more often than not, I’ll say yes, because I don’t want thigh whacks. 🙂

Everywhere I read, everywhere I look, there is something or another about permission. Just today, I saw a spanking photo with a caption saying something about how she had her hair dyed without permission. Um. It’s MY freaking hair, and if I want to cover the gray, or dye it rainbow colors, that’s MY choice.

Maybe it’s a childhood leftover. My mother had so damn many rules and regulations and rigid standards I had to follow when I was a kid. I seethed with anger and resentment, vowing that I couldn’t wait to grow up and make my own choices. I cannot, for the life of me, imagine choosing to give them away again, even if it’s in a fantasy mode.

Yesterday, I was working on a book with a scene where the woman was punished because she touched herself without her top’s permission. This guy was strict. Everything she did, she had to ask first. Permission to speak (during scenes). Permission to orgasm. Even permission to suck his cock. As I got into the intense spanking scene, which was quite hot, I found myself squirming in my chair. Hey, it’s been a while, I’ve been sick, etc.

So I finished working on the scene, got to a good stopping point, and took a little break to take care of business. Yup, the joys of working at home are many. Office coffee breaks ain’t got nothin’ on this girl’s breaks. 😉

Then it occurred to me: Imagine if I’d had to ask for this first? If I had to feel like I’d done something wrong, something naughty, something forbidden, because I hadn’t gotten permission for it?

Nope. Not me. That simply wouldn’t work. I know it’s a dynamic that works for many. Sometimes, I’m almost envious of those who can let go to that extent and allow another have say-so over what they do. Almost. Then I remember who I am and what I own.

I own my pleasure. I own my orgasms. I own my choices in all things. I own my bedtimes and getting-up times. I own my speech, my clothing choices, my hair style. I own my online time, my TV time, my time for anything I want or need to do. I own what I eat and when I eat it (that’s a huge one, for one in recovery for eating disorders).

I will give my love, my devotion, my willingness, my vulnerability, my tears, my laughter. I will surrender my body to painful pleasure. But I will not — cannot — surrender my choices. The day I begin to surrender my autonomy and independence is the day I begin to die.

And perhaps I take all this shizz way too seriously. 🙂

Have a wonderful holiday weekend, y’all. Be safe.

EDIT: By the way, all comments are welcome, even if you are on the opposite end of this submission spectrum. I’d love to hear what resonates with you about it.

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