Emotional Power Exchange

Anybody who knows me knows how much I fucking love being in control.

(Those who don’t know me – the answer is “not so much.”)

Wait, what?  The empowered princess doesn’t like to have control?  But what about all those rules? All those limits?  All the hoops you make people jump through to pull down the granny panties you wore ’cause you were pretty fucking sure nobody would clear the edges?

Those are my armor. Some people put up walls around their emotions. They don’t want people to see they are vulnerable, scared, angry, hopeful.  I don’t do that.  Take a look, you’ll see everything.  I’m an exhibitionist in person and on paper, and I don’t hide who I am from anybody (except my parents).

My walls may be transparent, but they are still there.  People who aren’t paying attention will bump into the glass while I sit from the inside shaking my head, getting a manicure, and watching for the next prince to give it a shot.

I get accused of “topping from the bottom,” but I don’t think people who say that understand what I’m doing.  I’m establishing where the bottom is. Setting the ground rules.

Because once I give consent, it gets very difficult for me to say the word “no.” It becomes way too easy for someone to add to that emotional pain bank that I can withdraw from when I let my emotions top me back.

My walls protect them as much as they protect me.  They say they want to hurt me, and they do.  I’m fun to hurt in the fun hurty way.

But when they hurt me in the way that doesn’t get erased with a hug and a little bruise balm, it’s not pretty for either of us.

I’ve had people tell me how they want to make me cry. It’s the same answer every time.  You can’t make me cry from physical pain.  I’ll endure it until I call yellow, but I won’t cry from it.

I cried during one of my scenes this weekend. Not because of the pain, which was delicious. Not because of the people watching, because I enjoy that.

It was because he started untying.  Because the scene would soon be over.  And in that moment of not being in any sort of control, I accessed that disappointment and every disappointment I’ve ever experienced in my life – and I cried.

Last night I started to hear the noise in my head again. The one that sounds like a lonely girl in a large empty house. If I let myself, I could have dropped.  I wanted to drop.

But I’m in charge of my emotions right now. And I refused to let it happen.  Instead, I posted a status update:

And I do.