I’ll come right out and say it: my sex life with my ex wasn’t satisfying. At the risk of sounding like a barroom braggart, he couldn’t keep up with my libido for beans and was about as adventurous in bed as the pillows were. I grant that my interests run a little left of center and I have a healthy sexual appetite, but he did very little to take care of business for the seven years we were together. He also made constant comments about my weight because he was insecure about his own figure and flaws, and never missed a chance to point out that I should be doing this exercise or eating this food while systematically ignoring my needs.
I had a healthy collection of whips, restraints, and other BDSM gear I had gathered in my prior years of singledom, entering that relationship. It sat and gathered dust for all those years – he was willing to get tied up, but lay there like a slug while I did, making it painfully obvious that he was completely uninterested. Sex was missionary, the same way every time, and passion was nonexistent. Even while I wrote about exotic sex toys, practices, and people in my ToyChick persona, I spent every night coming to bed with a man who exemplified none of it. About a year before the final breakup, he moved to making a bed beside the mattress we had on the floor, effectively sleeping away from me. Our entire relationship, he had insisted on different comforters, and “couldn’t sleep” if any part of me was touching any part of him. I couldn’t wear perfumes or burn candles because he was “allergic” to every scent ever. I stifled myself more and more as time went on, and sex dwindled to once a month or less. I was miserable.
Part of my unhappiness had come from my departure from all things BDSM. I had begun my interest and involvement in the lifestyle at the tender age of 16, in Gorean chatrooms, and I’d always had it firmly in my definition of self. Despite my willingness to take the reins when necessary, I was and am a submissive. I’m not a doormat, a piece of meat, or a vagina with a casing around it (though, I don’t disparage folks who enjoy defining themselves these ways) – I’m a submissive, plain and simple. I don’t just get sexually excited when the right person tells me what to do, I feel peaceful, whole and complete. I’m part of a very verbal and outspoken generation of women who can run their shit in the day-to-day and still be strong enough to hand over control when the door closes. Strong, dedicated, and much like a beautiful exotic animal, worthy of taming.
I had no collar, no cuffs, no hair-pulling or closed-teeth-whispers, no breathless-tosses-into-bed, no growl-in-his-throat. I was lonely and I felt like ink getting washed off a page without the anchor of service. So, when toyboy and I called it quits last August, I immediately returned to the lifestyle in search of what I was missing. I wasn’t looking for a new boyfriend, let alone a life partner, and I always made that clear to potential play partners. I had a handful of strange, lovely experiences and unfortunately I was also attacked and abused by two men – it was an eye opening two months for me, and I learned a lot about myself and how broken I’d become. I let someone wear me away, break down my judgement, over so many years that I forgot how to say no. I fell into the familiar trap of legitimizing unrequested bruises garnered in the wake of non-consensual BDSM play as literally asking for it. I confronted my more aggressive attacker a few days later and he immediately blamed me: a sad echo of my rapist at age 18. The familiarity snapped me the hell out of it and I stopped engaging in risky situations on the slim chance I’d find what I was looking for.
I got involved with a TNG group (that’s “The Next Generation” for those not in the know – most major city areas have one of these groups of 18-35-ish BDSMers) that became an excellent stabilizing force in my emotional maelstrom of a life in those few months; they were a safe haven and gave me a lot of good advice. My interest in rope bondage was sparked at one of the meet-ups, an interest that would later find me chatting up an interesting rope-oriented Dominant on Fetlife about some experimentation. He drove from NC to SC to see me and we fell for each other like a ton of bricks only a week after our first contact. A month later we were moving in together, and now, eight months later, we’re making plans to make it forever. He loves me, he pushes me, he tests me, and most of all he doesn’t try to stifle a single part of who I am. I’m happy, healthy, active, and enjoying my life more than I ever thought I could.
I missed blogging, especially as ToyChick. I realize now, with the benefit of time and distance, that I let myself get mired in a lot of drama, that I said some things more sharply or loudly than I needed to. This go around, I’m going to try to be more open and less of a caricature, and I hope you’ll stay with me, dear readers. The ride’s only just begun…