E was a monster when he was in the zone. He became so hungry he could consume everything in the room in one bite, including my lustful soul. He felt powerfully, took shamelessly, and fucked aggressively, so I always felt he’d exposed secrets only I had ever seen. He knew that intimacy wasn’t a delicate rose petal; that sometimes, it was made of dark and shocking things.
There was a certain weight to him. He was intensely present and intensely himself. I’ve played with men who felt light as cobwebs, and I barely needed a breeze to blow their desire away. A sadist without hunger doesn’t quite feel like a sadist to me at all. No matter how hard they hit, I have to suspend my own disbelief because it doesn’t feel like power exchange, but like play. And no matter how well I manage that, I still feel a little alone in the room. Their touches drip from my pores.
No matter how brutal your black, black heart is or how skilled you are with your tools, if you don’t have lust, your dominance can’t touch me. This thing we do requires authenticity. If you’re not going all in, I’m not going to think much of the cards in your hand. I need a man who wants kink, who thrives on power exchange, who loves sex.
I also want a man who is real.
The horse in The Velveteen Rabbit said, “Generally, by the time you are real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
E had no reason to believe he couldn’t be ugly in my eyes. None of us really do. He exposed his true self anyway. The looseness in his joints and the shabbiness of his hair were two of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.
That’s why I let him see my own shabby heart with all its ugliness, and that, right there, was the first step to profound submission.