“A nature of submission”
I see submission as a drive, like the drive to eat or sleep. Yes, I believe submissives tend to gain fulfillment through pleasing. But I think it goes deeper; I also believe they have a restless energy inside them, which seeks use, needs an outlet. And like the sex drive, with which it’s often confused, the submissive drive is that most frustrating of needs: a passion which can only be satisfied by contact with others.
What are the needs, the demands of that drive? I read a lot into the words we use to describe some of our socializations, and in my experience:
One falls in love.
One has sex.
And one is trained to submit.
Here is what that implies to me.
From the sound of it, love isn’t voluntary, but it’s internal. “Falling” only requires one person; that person may be helpless, but she’s capable of flying solo (or plummeting solo, to continue the metaphor; but I digress.)
In contrast, the individual is seen as having much more power over his/her sex life. Hell, we possess sex, we own it, right? We have sex, we don’t make sex.
But submission, by this criteria, is something that has to be fulfilled from the outside. It’s implied that someone else has to be there to fulfill that need. And then the words go further. “Training” is a process of being taught something in such a way that doing it become reflex, involuntary. And it often implies a harsh process; one trains a combat soldier, a disciplined athlete, a dog,.
Why is that?
What is dominance, to me? “Taking from you that which you need to give, but without me, cannot.”
Because you can’t simply give me everything you want to give away. First, I must accept it. And I, personally, might do so. It has always made sense to me, even in its crudest forms; when I first heard the phrase “sex slave”, at around the age of nine, it made perfect sense; who wouldn’t want a sex slave, who’d do everything he wanted?
But many people can’t or won’t accept that submission. Those sex slaves themselves, for one, excepting those who switch. People who believe that what we do is “wrong”, for another. The significant others of altogether too many people, it seems.
Can they learn to want it? Do they secretly want it, and have repressed the desire? I don’t know. But right now, it’s a simple fact: I am willing to accept submission. And I’m in a distinct minority.
There is a second matter: I must know what to do with that submission. I’m not speaking simply of learning skills and techniques. I’ve seen plenty of people who have technique and opportunity, but not dominance. I remember, for example, this conversation, overheard near the grease trucks at my college:
“Yeah, last night, I didn’t just fuck Vanessa. I got some rope and I tied her up.”
“Yeah? What’d you do then?”
“I fucked her.”
Had my fat cat with ketchup not arrived at that very moment, I probably have turned to him and said, “That’s all?” I mean, I have nothing against fucking, but good God, what a lost opportunity.”
Again, I don’t know whether that knowledge/understanding can be learned. I feel I’ve always had it in me, but I could be wrong.
The third piece? Courage. It is no easy thing to raise your hand to another, especially if you would rather kill yourself than do her any harm.
I can give you the core of my art in a word:
And I feel there is a piece of you which doesn’t belong to you, and never did. It may be integral to you. But it’s also alien to you. You may poke at it with thoughts and feelings and experiences, you may even take hold of that same piece when you find it in others.
But your own piece of it, you cannot touch. It is crosslinked, perhaps, with the instincts of submission—fear and hunger and fight-or-flight. It manifests, when not controlled, in dissatisfaction, incompleteness, emptiness. Need.
And I have to reverse the world to get it from you.
I have to frighten you, intimidate and scare and shake and paralyze you into giving it to me.
I have to beat and push and force you to give me what you want to give me.
I have to stun and shock and system—overload you.
And most of all, I have to earn your trust.
It’s easy for a psychopath to do those things, and make you hate it.
My art is that, in my hands, you are bound to it. And you smile.
If I go past your consent, I become psychotic.
If I do only what you want, I have no control.
So I push you.
“You know you want it, bitch.”
You simply didn’t know that you knew. Until now.