Love is a mere emotion...
That is how it began; my greater understanding of him and of myself.
For me, love has been what I have been seeking since I was 9 years old, I think; the love of a man. At 9, I wanted love to feel worthy of the fairytale. I wanted to be a princess, and what is a princess without an adoring prince? It's funny how those stories shape what we become. How little girls feel their existence and worth are only worthwhile if being seen by another. Princesses did very little to be worthy of such love. Some just sang silly songs to forest animals, and they became worthy of sword duels with fire-breathing dragons! How could I, a spotty, pre-pubescent 9 year old accomplish that?
I then went through my turbulent phase; Turbulent being a major understatement. I redefined love here as something much more dangerous: ATTENTION. The popular girls were loved. They were the center of attention. Everyone wanted to be either be with them or be them. I thought that was love; being the center of someone's attention. I craved attention like a meth-head craves his next high. And the more I got, the more I craved.
Attention became weary however. Passionate attention often turned obsessive, crazy, abusive. I wanted kindness. It did not matter if I wanted or even liked the man. I wanted someone to kindly pick up the pieces of my recklessness. I married this kindness.
I then learned more about love, and in that, myself. Simple kindness was not enough. I wanted to be stimulated, excited, intrigued. I wanted not only to be respected, but to respect. I needed the love of a MAN. So I searched. My heart often softened towards those that gave me my desired dose of attention and adoration and I felt those butterflies that came with being in love with the idea of love. This would last till I could truly see the man behind the veil of butterflies, and sadly, that man was often just a boy with poetic words.
The last boy, A, introduced me to the wild and wonderful world of BDSM. He said he was a Dominant, a term used to describe those who engage in a power exchange with a submissive. I thought this must be it! The ideal man is a Dominant! In order to feel safe, protected, to have a man earn my respect and make me feel wanted and craved, that is what I needed. It seemed to fit into every single fantasy of love I'd ever had (he even called me Princess). He was infatuated and obsessed. He wanted me, my presence, my face, my voice... Every. Single. Second. I didn't want to cheat on my husband, it felt terrible, but I couldn't resist. I was deliriously giddy and happy... until I wasn't. The truth is, holding the title of Dominant, or bestowing it upon yourself, was hardly the same as actually earning it. He pushed himself to say all the words one should say to prove their dominance. But he was a boy, lost and unsure. His obsession with me and will to own me, made him doubt his own worth... He didn't feel he deserved me. He wanted to prove himself right. Wanted to prove that I was not his, and would be easily taken by another. He made himself miserable in the process, and me. He became everything I hate most, and I was left to re-evaluate what love was.
I still wanted to learn more about BDSM though, because let's face it, it was HOT. Sexually, the idea of more intense pleasure, of intensifying pleasure through various forms of pain, degradation, bondage and sensory play fascinated me. My limited sexual experience was like reading Humpty Dumpty when faced with the Jane Austen of BDSM. My mind craved the fantasies, though my body was trapped. I relished images of handcuffs and whips. Images of beautiful women being adored and enslaved to lust. Strong, powerful men taking the woman they craved, controlling her body and showering them both in carnal pleasures. It was passionate heaven.
I embarked on my online learning journey of BDSM and it was there that I met him. KRA. A mysterious man from the Far East. He was intelligent, witty and well-read. He would discuss matters of pleasure, philosophy, and history with a group of online perverts (like me) and I would be hanging on to his every word. I began to get excited when he would come online, knowing that the discussion was about to get interesting. He was my sapiophillic mind's drug of choice. And then, one day, he asked about me. I was still caught up in A's merry-go-round of sadness and wanted to find answers. He saw me. He asked me in-depth questions. This may seem like a fairly normal thing to do, but in the wacky world of chatrooms and online flings, it was rare. I told him my story; he did not judge me nor condescend. He did the thing that I now believe is the foundation of love or in fact any human relationship worth having. He listened.
He then told me his story. He had been a care-taker, and had received little appreciation in return. I respected him for who he was. What he stood for. I wanted to protect him from sadness. I wanted to love him. For the first time in my life, I did not care what the relationship gave to me. I did not want attention, kindness, adoration or even to be his princess. I just wanted to be around him, to feast on his mind and to take care of him. He was authoritive. He was not looking for love. He wanted submission. I was a strong woman, a feminist, someone who strongly believed in the equality of individuals. And though sexually the idea of being helpless and weak seemed erotic, in real life, I wasn't so sure. Nevertheless, I wanted to make him happy. I wanted him to be appreciated and loved the way he wanted. I submitted to him. He was thrilled and his delight made me feel proud. I was a true submissive. I loved him madly, as if I'd never loved a man before.
Submission, however, was not as simple it seemed. Submitting to someone sexually and letting them do what they please with your body is one thing... submitting your will and mind to a person is another. He called me his slave. In a moment of passionate emotion I told him I worshiped him. He called me a slave. I enjoyed the dirty sexual aspect, but slaves had no rights, no freedom of speech or even thought. I loved him but began to hate what it did to me. I wanted him to see the sacrifice I was making for love. He couldn't. He didn't want love. He didn't much care for love. He'd had a history of abuse as a child, and love to him was something that made it go on, something that was unreliable and often, unpleasant. He wanted me to be obedient out of respect and trust. Those two moral principles he held to much higher regard than a mere, fragile emotion.
I trusted him and respected him and was desperate to make him happy, but I began to hate what I was becoming with him. I wanted to break free. For the first time in my life, I felt safe and secure, and I wanted to break free from that. I was terrified of being without him and damn petrified of hurting him.
He didn't let me go though. He held me tight and despite all his experiences, all his hurt, he believed in my mere, fragile emotion. He felt it too. He didn't want to let it go.
There are very few moments in life that are truly life-changing. That was definitely one of them. I understood him better that day, and appreciated that his love and sacrifice was just as great as mine. But mostly, I understood myself. I realized that though I thought I was strong and unbreakable on the outside, I was weak and afraid. Running away was how I'd chosen to deal with the fear, as was self-hatred. It was only when I surrendered completely to his love, and loving him, that I stopped running. It was like a tidal wave had swept over me, showering me with peace and relief, and taking away all my worries and insecurities. I knew at that moment that I would love him for the rest of my life. He was my great love I was destined to find, and I was HIS.
