Ever see that person walking down the street and you know they need a hand? You decide to offer and for a moment, your heart gets stuck in your throat because you are for sure they are about to refuse. The Universe blinks out and is recreated at that moment, an eternity of time before a choice is made; before you know if you’ll be sharing a burden and it’s all hung up in your throat.
Most of the time, I’m the one walking down the street. I’ve been that one who’s refused help time and again and I’ve watched those eyes drop in pain too. I’ve wondered, if sometimes, if it was them who needed the help more than me. Would it have harmed me to have shared in those moments? Or would it have harmed them?
Perhaps it’s my upbringing, I keep to my own counsel about most things. When I do reach out, it is a deliberate and researched choice. I am aware that knowledge has power. So I measure out what others know of me. I’ve become to understand that the powerful are also the most isolated, insulated, unknowable people and it is a strange sensation.
I see power as a triumvirate: knowledge, will and ability. All of this my brain pours out just as a musing on what makes me even dare think I am a Domme, or at the very least, (I do mean the least), think I have the potential of being a Domme. I’ve spent weeks chewing on what being a switch means to me. I’ve done the same with the idea of slave. But I had not stopped till now to chew on what it means to be Domme.
I have no skills in throwing a whip, or foreplay with rope. Spankings with a spoon on the other hand…handy. I can snap a half decent towel on skin too-half the time. I was skilled ages ago in ball tapping, just enough to bring one to their knees. sighs The things I learned on request… My Kinks are decidedly vanilla. It’s my remote and yes, you will put the toilet seat down again. And when I get up on some crazy madcap adventure, you are going with me and we’re gonna go have a blast! I don’t want to hear grousing about it being a convention or that you’ve seen that movie a hundred times already, or that it’s a scam-yes I know it’s a scam but I’m gonna have fun with the salesman, just go along with it and play the straight man for this comedy routine.
And when I drag you in a back alley, do not freak out on me or freak me out. If I want to have a pillow party, just ask which ones…the feather or the cheap ones. Dinner parties are always in costume. Just don’t ask where I got the outfits. Tea parties, yes, help me make the cakes and sandwiches and yes do drink the tea with me as we put on airs and extend our pinkies and dissolve into giggles. And when I run through the baby toys in the store and set off each one…or get lost on one…this is normal-for me- so stay and play. I’m showing you a side of me the rest of the world will never see.
My Domme feels so very different than what it looks like to me in BDSM. If you meet her and she takes you by that hand and says “Let’s do this!” know this; she is fulling expecting you to agree and be up for any adventure. For us, for her, being a Domme isn’t about wielding power. It’s about having permission and authority at the same time.
I do not know if this is an aspect of having DID and being a switch or not. I do wonder how different it is for us with DID.