(continued from “A Retrospective: Part 2“)
Was I trying to get what I wanted or was I trying to be what he wanted?
It wasn’t a question I asked myself at the time, because it didn’t matter to me (Even now, I’m still not sure whether it matters. Maybe it does, because I do wonder about the impetus for my actions .)
Regardless of my motivation, I’d have to do some reading to learn how to play Domme.
It didn’t take long for me to learn I wasn’t a “true” Domme. Of course, I only read enough to believe that there was such a thing as a “true” Domme. I read just enough to believe that most Dommes were unkind and uncaring, all consuming and totally controlling, always poised and decisive, and generally cold and distant. I watched just enough porn to believe that all Dommes wore black latex, barked orders, had detailed rules, doled out terrible punishments, thought kissing was beneath them, and generally, kept their subs naked in cages in cold basement dungeons.
It was disappointing to think J was interested in this kind of Domme, both because it meant that I had misjudged him, and because it didn’t sound like anything I wanted to be. I find latex uncomfortable, I love kissing, and I don’t even have a basement. Honestly, even if I wanted a sub, without a cage or a proper basement, I’d have nowhere to put him. :) Besides having inadequate storage space for a sub, I’m not unkind and uncaring, I don’t bark orders, I’m not always confident, and sometimes I don’t know what the fuck I want.
From my inadequate reading and over-consumption of bad porn, I drew three conclusions, all incorrect to varying degrees: 1) I was certain I didn’t want to be a Domme, 2) I was fairly sure I couldn’t be a Domme, even if I wanted to, and 3) If J was looking for this sort of Domme in a D/s relationship, we were probably incompatible as a couple outside the bedroom.
While I was certain I couldn’t be a Domme and didn’t want to be a Domme, I had trouble believing that J and I were essentially incompatible. It was difficult to process because my experience seemed to contradict that–in my experience, J and I were compatible (in and) outside of sex and play, and I was sure there was some potential for a long(er) term relationship. I couldn’t figure out how what I had read, believed, and experienced all fit together.
Despite the unresolved dissonance I felt about our potential and my general uncertainty, I still wanted him. I wanted to spend time with him, to learn his stories, to hear his thoughts about politics, and art, and music, and I wanted to learn him, to master him… his mind and his body. But far more urgent than any of that, I wanted to fuck him, hard and often. I wanted to possess him, to breathe his air into my lungs, to consume him. I wish I had better language for it, but that’s what I wanted. I wanted to consume him. I wanted to make him mine, even if it was only for a little while, and even if it wasn’t real.
[Aside: Of course I wanted him. He’s wicked smart, well-read, creative, accomplished, thoughtful, and he’s fun to be around. I enjoyed his company. But what you don’t know (dear reader), what you simply cannot understand, is that J is breath-takingly, inhumanly good-looking. He’s the kind of sexy that makes a girl fall off her feet. He’s fucking hot. In all honesty, if he had been an ill-mannered, uneducated asshole, I still would have wanted to bed him at least once. He’s that hot. If I learned that he kicked puppies, littered, and stole candy from children, I still would have wanted to fuck him. He’s that hot, and I’m just shallow enough to have wanted to fuck a trophy boy (at least once, just to experience his inhuman hotness). Go ahead and judge me… but you haven’t seen him. If you did, you’d want to fuck him too.]
Heck, playing Domme was fun so far–I was enjoying myself, and J said he was having a good time too. So, it was temporary, and perhaps less real than I wanted, but that didn’t make it feel any less satisfying (for me, at least).
My plan was to keep some emotional distance and guard my heart, but I still wanted to enjoy our time together and enjoy the dynamic that seemed to be taking shape. I’d just have to keep in mind that the dynamic probably wasn’t real, and it didn’t matter anyway, because it was temporary. That’s what I kept telling myself.
But some part of me held out hope that if I could possess him for a little while, I might be able to overwhelm him with all of what makes me who I am—the kindness and the violence, the sweetness and the sadism, the intelligence and the curiosity. Rather than “dominate” him by playing Domme, I might be able to make him mine by just being me. Instead of lip-service submission to a character, if I could keep him long enough, he might find that what he really wanted was to submit to me.