I am so fucking stupid sometimes.
Okay… maybe it’s not outright stupidity, but more the crippling ignorance that accompanies my many (seemingly conflicting) personal flaws: 1) my absolute self-centeredness in thinking the world revolves around me, 2) my inability to trust my instincts, and 3) my propensity to mistrust and misinterpret others (because, you know, the world revolves around me…)
I’m a reaction-junkie, and in general, I’m getting good at eliciting the reactions I want from J. If I’m being sadistic, I’m usually rewarded with beautiful pained expressions, whispers through clenched teeth, and an “ohhhhh” with a particular cadence I could never accurately describe in words. If I’m being sweet, that sweetness is usually met with deep blue eyes that beg for more and soft moans that betray his self-discipline.
But sometimes, J gets quiet. He seems disconnected from what’s going on. Sometimes, administration of pain is met with unfocused eyes, hard use is met with silence, and sweetness is met with confusion. Because those reactions seem like inappropriate returns for my actions, I don’t know how to read them. I’ve tried to figure them out… Is he upset? Is he angry with me? Did I hurt him in a way I didn’t intend? Was I too rough? Have I crossed some sort of boundary I didn’t know existed? Is he not reacting because he’s bored?
When it happens, I ask if he’s okay. While he always says that he is, I can’t shake the suspicion that something is wrong. So, I ask again. And again, and again.
I hate that my asking undermines my sometimes-feigned appearance of confidence. I hate that I don’t really believe him when he answers. I hate that asking someone if they’re okay over and over and over again must be really fucking annoying.
In a more vanilla moment, once, I asked him about what he’s feeling when he goes quiet. He explained that he just gets that way–quiet and foggy and unfocused–when he’s feeling sub-spacey. While I didn’t totally believe him, it was enough to convince me that at least he wasn’t hurt or angry when he got like that.
Since then, I’ve stopped asking so often, in part because I’m fairly sure he’s physically fine, and in part because I so desperately want to get him into subspace–his mention of it was really exciting to me. I want him to feel subspace nearly as much as I want to have enough power and control to get him there.
So recently, instead of asking if he’s okay, I’ve started looking for signs of subspace.
And last night, it happened again. In the middle of play, he became increasingly unfocused. At first, he stumbled over his words, and eventually, he got quiet. Things progressed, J went silent, and at some point, he was suddenly physically weak and had to lean on me for support.
I started the familiar retreat into my own head trying to figure out what was happening. We weren’t playing hard. I had barely abused him, and I had only just started to use him… So why this? Why the silence? Why the change in his behavior? Did I do something wrong?
Just before the questions cluttered up my head and made my enjoyment damn near impossible, I made a conscious decision to stop over-thinking. I just stopped. I shook it off. I decided to trust myself, to trust him, and to trust the explanation he had provided about this sort of strange behavior.
And I did. I threw away my self-doubt, abandoned my mistrust, and allowed myself to enjoy what I saw and what I felt. J was in subspace, and getting him there made me feel powerful and nurturing and beautiful… and I let myself enjoy it. I fucking loved it. Seeing his blank expression, hearing his mangled words trail off into silence, feeling his beautiful weakness, I was sure he was there–floating somewhere, disconnected from everything but me, my words, my touch.
Just once, I asked him if he was okay, but only because I wanted to hear him say it. I wanted to hear him say he was out, or under, or floating, or whatever it is that a person feels in subspace. While he didn’t say what I hoped to hear, he did confirm that was okay and he nuzzled his face against my neck. That was enough for me.
For the next hour or so, I held him and petted him and whispered my love to him, although I wasn’t sure that he was listening. I didn’t care. I was too wrapped up in him, too wrapped up in my own feelings of power and control, enjoying the absolute satisfaction I felt in being able to get him into subspace, to disconnect him from everything else, everything outside of us.
When he seemed steady enough, I left for a moment to get him water. He drank it all at once, and after he had recovered a little more, he apologized for his behavior.
Apologize? For what?
I was about to cut him off, to tell him there was no need to apologize for drifting into subspace, but I didn’t get the chance.
J went on to explain that he was quiet because he felt sick… he didn’t eat dinner and had too much to drink.
I thought J was in subspace.
He wasn’t… he was drunk.
I am so fucking stupid sometimes.