when I say I’m a “good” submissive

Lying in bed in the middle of the afternoon,

while watching a documentary on kittens,

and I think to myself, “I feel quite submissive today.”

I made my master coffee (and thought about making omelets, but the pan was dirty, not my fault!). I even GOT DRESSED and helped shovel snow, like a good kitten. He kept telling me, “You’re doing fine,” and I’m like, “But I want to do a GOOD job!” But, to be honest, it isn’t easy to maintain my perfectionist attitude when my hands are freezing off. Still, good submissive today.

But sometimes people get upset when you say you are a bad submissive (“Why are you tearing yourself down?”) or even if you say you are good (“Don’t compare yourself to other submissives.”). But that’s not what I, or we, mean by it.

I do this thing in my head where I replace labels with the label I use that means what they are actually saying.

Like, someone says, “I’m polyamorous.” Okay, but there’s a million things that could mean. So I keep listening and realize what they practice is what I call “monogamish.” So in my head I work with that and converse with them on what THEY are saying, rather than impose my own definition of “polyamory” on them and the conversation. I use the word that means what THEY mean.

So when I hear “bad submissive,” I find I usually replace that with “bratty submissive.” That’s the sort that I hear call themselves this. I know they don’t really mean “bad,” as in worthless (or, if they are, it’s explicitly stated and often accompanied by requests for reassurance). They aren’t necessarily devaluing their submission. They likely don’t mean “bad,” like YOU might mean “bad.” It may just be their playful way of categorizing their particular flavor of submission AT THAT POINT IN TIME.

And when I say I’m a “good” submissive, I’m not saying I’m better than others.

I’m not saying that my value today went up, in comparison to my personal value other days. I just feel really, really good about how I go about my submission. Very “pure,” even, my purest self. In which I am totally submissive (because I’m not a brat, so my version of “good submission,” is to be very obedient and do everything I’m supposed to do.). Yes, I am always a “good” submissive, because I am a good person. But that probably isn’t what I’m talking about, right then.

It’s okay. We’re okay. Please let us play our games, without worrying. (Although, please, please, if you are our close friends, ask us how we are, even if we seem totally okay. Sometimes we need that, too!). But strangers and acquaintances?

Trust us that we know what we’re doing. We’re okay 🙂

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

my kink is pleasure




noun: hedonism

  1. the pursuit of pleasure; sensual self-indulgence.
    the ethical theory that pleasure (in the sense of the satisfaction of desires) is the highest good and proper aim of human life

Some say their kink is pain.  Whipping.  Impact play.  Rope bunny.  Me?  I say pleasure can be a kink.  I wonder if I’m alone in this, but I don’t believe so.

I’m a pleasure slut.  My kink is  French cooking.  Simple, intense, and leaves you needing a nap afterwards.  I want to feel the pleasure run through my body, my mind, my soul, insomuch as I believe in a soul.  If it brings me pleasure, I want more of it.   If it doesn’t do anything for me, I’ll abandon it.  If it doesn’t make my body shiver, shake, convulse, I eventually stop seeing the point.

I want orgasms.  Simple as that.

I am not aesthetic.  I need touch.  I need you with me.  I don’t want to tied up and suspended away from you, though I may enjoy the feeling of rope on my skin.  I don’t want pretty, purple bruises.  I don’t want to be photographed, unless it’s for a particular occasion and I spend extra time executing the design.

My skin, say my friends and occasionally near strangers I allow to touch me, is extraordinarily soft.  I make the most of this.  The slightest touch can send me into convulsions if my mind is properly placed.  I almost always ask for less.  I enjoy the very lightest of touches. I once used a violet wand on the lowest setting, which created an effect where the person’s hands conducted the electricity and it “massaged” my skin when they ran their fingers across my shoulders.  Or a mild tap of the riding crop (okay, a little harder!  but, no, not much).  I love to have my feet played with, every bit of my skin massaged and scratched, each nerve stimulated.

Warmth and cold.

I love fire and ice.  Hot wax dripped, ever so gently, only a bit, on my back.  Just a dash of fire dropped on my body.  Then a metal flogger, drenched in ice water, dragged across the cooling wax.

I prefer mental domination. I like games. Actual, fun games.  Not silly, so-called romantic games (pretending that I don’t like a guy to make him more interested in me), but a complete take over of my mind? A game that draws me into the person? Yes, please.

I do not always need an orgasm to experience warmth and tingles.  Women often don’t, and that includes those of us with a stronger feminine side.  Oh, I wouldn’t believe the woman who says she never needs an orgasm, not without gentle, er, probing.  It’s only that sometimes she sincerely means it when she says she just wants to feel good, but not necessarily pushed over the brink.

I used to feel a bit of a fraud, because of it, but I like what I like.

I am not fond of bruises, whips, floggers, and rope suspension— but I believe shooting fireballs along my inner thigh counts?

I don’t need to “prove” my kinkiness by pushing beyond what will ever be what I want. I don’t need to be swung around, beaten, and whipped with pins stuck in my nether regions 🙂

My kink is pleasure, and I shall indulge freely.

Photo by Burak K from Pexels

memorial day weekend epiphany on labels!

Labels are such an annoying little fact of life.

Some days, it feels like no label means anything.  “Everyone” says labels merely mean what a person wishes the word to mean.  Which means many are diluted the the point of vaguely lemon tasting lemonade.  Sounds tasty, no?

I’m funny in that I believe the purpose of a label is communication to OTHERS, not a way to validate oneself. I’m polyamorous because it’s obvious to anyone who meets me. Not because I need that word to understand myself.  And, well, it means something to me.

Perhaps it shouldn’t, but if it didn’t, I wouldn’t use it.  And this idea that poly can refer to anything not strictly monogamous?  I guess that works for some, but ignores a plethora of manifestations of non monogamy.  Not monogamy != polyamory.

Or worse, in my opinion, when someone picks up the label because it’s become trendy (did you know there are actually monogamous meetups now in certain areas where polyamory has become the default? How crazy news is that for us non mono/poly folk who struggle to make contact with the <5% of the general population who will even CONSIDER us for a partner?)

Sometimes, I wish I had the perfect label(s) for myself.

Especially when it came to my partner’s kids. What could possibly communicate the right ideas to them about the relationship between the kids and I?

I’d just been calling them “my partner’s kids” and I hated it.  So distant and impersonal for children I love as my own (and have told them this).  They are family to me, more than family, when I think about it.  I like my cousin’s kids, but I am not particularly close to my nieces and nephews.  I couldn’t tell you- right now- all their names, ages, and birthdays.  I just…am not that close to most of my religious, conservative family.

So, one day, I’m at the pool with my youngest– and it comes to me.

They aren’t, for what it’s worth, the only kids with whom I’ve grown close.  I helped raise our family friends’ twins.  Not to mention that two of my current partners have kids. I have never met my play partner’s kids.  Nor is that something that will likely ever happen.  But these kids are my family.  And I wanted…a word to call them.

Almost ten years.  I’ve known them nearly their whole lives; in the case of the youngest, for her whole life.  We have traditions we’ve created together. And yet I couldn’t think of a better term than “my partner’s kids.”

I could just say I’m their stepmom and they are my stepkids.  Except I don’t want that to be our primary relationship.  Sure, I’m basically their stepmom, but so much more than that…

And then, she says, “Can I call you my friendmom?”

We had a long weekend together, because of Memorial Day weekend.  Even got a whole day just with the middle child.  A rare treat.  We got tons of pie and looked at the trains at the end of the line (like we used to do when he was very little).

So then she says this, and I’m like, “I love it!  But I think it’s weird to call you my frienddaughter.”  She agreed.  We talk and try out a few words and then find the perfect one,

“What about munchkins or minions?”

I liked munchkins best. At first she objected. “Munchkins are donut holes! I’m not a donut hole!” But eventually she came round and said as long as I called her by her own name, and only referred to her and her siblings as ‘munchkins’ to others, that was okay.  At least until we thought of something better (and she’s been scrunching up her face about this problem every time I see her for months now).

So now they are my munchkins, and if I refer to them later, you’ll know who I’m talking about.

Photo by rawpixel.com from Pexels

why use a label?

“Listen to my tone, not my words.”

When I taught ESL (English as a Second Language), I can’t tell you how many times I said this phrase.  I realized, soon after arriving and teaching myself how to do this whole “teacher” thing, that the first thing I had to teach wasn’t grammar or vocabulary.  Many had quite a good knowledge of English, in fact.  No, I had to teach them something nobody else had taught them.  That language isn’t about using the right words or the correct grammar.  It’s about how well you communicate what you wish to mean to the person who hears it.

Labels are simply a form of language. The labels don’t matter. The words don’t matter. Not really.  They serve a base, useful purpose.  What matters is the beliefs, the person behind the label.  

People misuse labels and mislabel themselves- on purpose or accidentally- all the time. If I had a dime for every ‘straight’ girl I hooked up with that was genuinely into me and not faking it for a boyfriend, I’d have, well, I’d have a few dimes.  And I’d certainly rather date someone that I see is ‘polyminded,’ as I put it, than someone who is simply poly identified.

Language is about communication– and labels are language.

Sometimes she– the woman who found me interesting and whom I liked back– deliberately avoided the label “bisexual,” because of the creeps who would message her with unwanted solicitations.  (I’ve done that myself.)

Sometimes she simply didn’t know herself that well and had been raised to believe she was straight, while never questioning it or thinking about it for herself.

Sometimes she had misconceptions about the label (people have weird assumptions about every label).

Labels aren’t something you just pick up and put on like a piece of clothing- at least I don’t believe they should be.  If you try to force a label on yourself, I’ve found it doesn’t work very wel. Calling yourself “polyamorous” or “monogamous” or “kinky” doesn’t make you that way.  Why would it?  You still act the way you want to act, still are the person you were before the discovery of said label.  And, to be quite frank, it doesn’t much matter, because

Labels, truthfully, often aren’t about you.

I’ve seen countless folk asking about what a label means or which label they ‘should’ use. But that’s not asking the right question.  Or at least not a very useful one.  Because it’s not about them. It’s about their audience.

If I tell a person at a munch that I am polyamorous, at best, it might get us on the right path.  But they’ll still need to talk to me, and I with them, about what that means to me. Because not all polyamorous people are seeking the same ideals.  Sure, it’ll more or less communicate the idea that I am “romantic” with multiple people, or that I desire/am open to that outcome.  But there’s still so much room for misinterpretation if we don’t talk.

If I tell a stranger I am my partner’s kids’ friend, they won’t get it. If I call them my stepkids, it helps illustrate our actual relationship. But it won’t communicate fully what I want to express. So I use different words, different labels, dependent on the circumstances. That way, as closely as possible, my label communicates the desired meaning to the person in question.

I sometimes get mad because people don’t use dictionary definitions (and it’s something that I do sometimes struggle with), but at the end of the day, words mean different things to different people.  No dictionary definition will overrule one’s personal interpretation.

Finding the “right” label for you is a matter of trial and error.

Labels grow with you, adapt, change. It has to fit you naturally, like an aura. I also don’t expect anyone to be married to their labels. Just because you call yourself something today, doesn’t mean you aren’t wholly free to change at a moment’s notice.

Here’s some of the questions I’ve used to settle on the one that fits me best:

1) “Am I often uttering the phrase ‘well, but what I MEAN is…’ whenever the label comes up? I once saw a guy who labeled himself as “monogamous” with Sarah and “monogamous” with Jane. Now, in his mind, I guess that counts as monogamy. However, there are certain associations people make with monogamy. If you stray, it’s on YOU to make that clear. Not on THEM to read your minds. If you find yourself having to explain your label over and over…maybe it’s time for a new label. If you call yourself “asexual,” but really mean “I do want sex, just only with certain people,” you might find that “demisexual” is a better suited label. At least don’t be surprised when people who do desire sex don’t really push to have a relationship with you.

2) “Do I feel comfortable with the label?” Trust your gut. If you feel uncomfortable with a certain label, it probably isn’t the right one for you. That doesn’t mean you can’t use it. I didn’t feel wholly comfortable identifying as kinky for a while, but I couldn’t think of one better. Now I’ve grown into it. Even if I’m not Miss Super Kinky, I am kinky enough. Plus, it helps clear up the matter of what kind of relationship I want. If someone wants a a traditional, vanilla life, my calling myself ‘kinky’ helps them understand we’re not a great match. Or, if we do decide to date each other, at least I’ve made it clear that I may want some nontraditional fun in our intimate life.

3) “What does this label generally mean?” Some labels are far more defined than others. If you choose a label that already has a lot of solid assumptions, perhaps be careful using it in ways that are not commonly applied. If you aren’t sure what something means, ask around. Especially in communities that are based around that particular label (that doesn’t mean they are the ultimate experts, but it’ll give you a good idea of what MANY mean by using that word).

Anyway, hope that helps with the best use of a label, if you are keen to use ’em!  Also remember that it’s not about right or wrong, but about achieving your goals.  If the label “works” for  you, than it’s the right one.

Any other questions/thoughts/ideas on how to better use labels to further good communication?