This is a guest post from Picky Britches. If you would like to be part of my The Other Women series and write about your sexual identity, contact me! Your story can be silly, sexy or sad. There is no normal and all points of view are invited to join.
I’m a freethinking, strong willed, bra-burning feminist. And I’m a bottom in the bedroom. I like to be owned. Stand me in the corner and scold me, please. Excuse me? I know. I get it! How am I furthering the cause for women when I’m bending over and asking to be whipped by a man? Well, here’s the thing. I TOP from the bottom. Aren’t I clever? You see, being sexually submissive is a choice. It takes great sense of self, enormous trust in my partners, and massive amounts of communication. It is something I want, so I go forth in getting it in a safe manor.
I want to dig a little deeper, and touch on something that I know many people worry about, because I’ve worried about it myself. Where is the line between being a sub and being a doormat? My partner leaves welts on my ass with his belt, bruises on my thighs where his fingers hold me still. Is this abuse? Not to me. And I know that because I was formerly abused. I was bullied, belittled, and raped. Not my choice. Not my fault.
I have found, in my current, safe relationship, that our sexual play has been just the therapy I needed to find myself, to regain my power, and to actually ENJOY sex again. Logic may say to regain control, it would be therapeutic for me to top a man, to take him in the ass with a strap on, smack him around, make him my bitch. And yes, for some, that is something they can do in the bedroom, or dungeon, that heals them. But for me, with a naturally submissive nature, topping just doesn’t feel good.
Just because I’m a rape survivor, just because I was degraded by a former partner, these things do not get to move me out of my natural inclination to be submissive. Being submissive didn’t cause those things to happen. They happened because I gave my power to the wrong person and it was abused.
Nothing centers me, or brings me more sexual pleasure, than placing myself in my husband’s strong hands. We have clear parameters. We communicate constantly. He knows my triggers, and is keenly aware of even the smallest display of body language that says “danger”. We have a safe word. We discuss our play before it happens. My safety is always at the center.
Being lovingly stroked and cuddled doesn’t bring me sexual pleasure. I require intense stimulation and often pain in order to orgasm completely. I love being told what to do, and letting go of all my worries and mental lists. I love the headspace where I leave the stress behind and am calmed by being controlled by someone who loves me. Is there something wrong with me? Has abuse molded me into some sort of Stockholm syndrome victim? I used to think so. I used to be so ashamed of what brings me pleasure. Luckily, I’ve fought through the self-loathing. Life is too short to chastise ourselves, to feel guilty over pleasure. I am who I am- a strong woman, finding pleasure and power from the bottom.