Those are the hardest orders I will ever have to follow from a Dom. I can suck your cock until I drain you. I can take it up the ass like a good girl. You can spank my ass until it flames red. You can even call me ‘your good little slut’ (as long as you remember the ‘your’…humiliation is a hard limit). You can tie me in ropes. Hell, there is not much I won’t do or try…I am THAT submissive. And if I love you? You pretty much have a blank check (cheque for you damned Brits).
But I cringe every fucking time I hear those words. Ironically, if I love you, this is the one thing that becomes even harder.
I know we all have our insecurities. But girls and women growing up in our culture are bombarded with unrealistic images of beauty almost from birth. Most baby dolls are blonde headed and blue eyed. And by the time you graduate to Barbies…well, that is a whole fucking blog in itself. Then we hit junior high and high school (maybe even earlier these days) and pretty = popular…not smart, not funny, not kind. The only trait that matters then is looks. Heaven forbid you are the ‘fat chick.’ Sometimes I wonder…how do any of us fucking survive school? Unfortunately, too many of us do not…not with our egos intact.
I was not ‘big’ in high school…somewhere between a size ten and fourteen. But, of course, it felt that way. As a result, I battled anorexia and bulimia. I remember one diet that sent me to the hospital in my junior year. I ate nothing but sunflower seeds, tuna fish, and salad with tomatoes. I lost ten pounds in two weeks and destroyed my immune system. Then the most amazing thing happened right after high school…I blossomed. The acne disappeared…and my figure filled out. To the point that my late teens and early twenties were spent in professions like…model and stripper/exotic dancer.
Then came marriage, life and six pregnancies. And while motherhood is one of my greatest joys, something I am damned good at, and would not trade for anything in this world, the damage that those pregnancies and three c-sections did to my body is something I like to avoid. I like to hide…with oversized men’s dress shirts and saris that allow free access to the good bits but hide my tummy. Of course, my favorite of all is corsets…I could spend a small fortune on those. Under bust ones are nirvana itself…all of my best features proudly on display while hiding the one I despise the most.
But those words…they scare the ever living shit out of me…they open a Pandora’s box of every single insecurity I have. I try to delay, distract or anything else to get out of the one thing that otherwise comes most natural in this whole world for me…simply obeying.
Of course, in the end, it is usually a battle which I lose…especially if I care about you. I try my damnedest to put it all aside…and honestly, usually I do. Once the first shock of stripping (ironically something I once got paid damned good to do) wears off and we get nasty…I forget all those insecurities.
Until I put my clothes back on…and my mind begins to overthink things. I analyze every single comment he made…and some he did not. I replay every expression he made…looking for even a glimpse of disgust. And the more I care…the more I overthink it all. Those insecurities eat my lunch…breakfast and dinner too.
So trust me…when I write characters like Kirsty and Jill (The Arrangement…coming soon to Kindle…and way improved) I know that of which I speak. I mean I really KNOW it. And when you have a Bjorn or Daniel in your life…honestly, even then, it is so fucking hard to believe that a man can see past what you cannot. Especially when he is as HOT as Bjorn, Daniel…or….
But if we want to find that brass ring they call happiness, if you don’t want to be the ones who screw up the best thing that ever happened to us, then sometimes we have to learn to shut the fuck up. That the only correct answer to that command is…Yes, Sir. Oh, wait, is there ever any other right answer?
And yes, this girl KNOWS exactly how hard it is to practice what she preaches and writes…oh, does she!