Bound

I've started this post a couple of times, and have never been able to finish it. It's too... personal, hard as that may be to believe considering the contents of this blog.

But there's telling stories, and then there's telling truths. Stories contain truths, but they're a level off, a level removed. You can read them after you've written them and pretend they're universal truths that only peripherally apply to you. Some things can't be stories. This part of me can't be a story. It's too caught up in who I am.

Who I am. I am a control freak. Only over myself. I control every aspect of who I am. To lose control of any part of me is anathema. I've been that way for as long as I can remember. I have no idea why, but even as a very young child I had to have control over myself. I don't remember having temper tantrums. Intense emotions scared me, to the point where I'd start to shake and turn red, refusing to release anything into the ether. I'd cry easily, but it wasn't uncontrolled crying. It was always thin, controlled tears. Being spanked and hit was a violation of my control over my body, and my parents seemed to sense how much it really meant to me. I wasn't physically punished nearly as much as the other kids. The older I got, the more stubborn I got about being allowed autonomy, and insisting on true justice. I'd fight every single punishment, every time I got yelled at I'd argue right back that I wasn't wrong. My dad used to assign me three page essays as a punishment. I'd have to outline what I did wrong, why it was wrong, and biblical references for how wrong it was. I started turning them into manifestos. One in particular I still remember, am still kind of proud of, that involved three pages of biblical references for how important justice was, and how parents should treat their children with respect. That one got put up on the fridge. I got grounded A LOT as a teenager, and having my freedom curtailed to such an extent was absolutely infuriating. I still have all my old journals from that time, and they are chock full of rants against the injustice of caging me. I learned to circumvent that particular punishment by creating a haven out of my room, packed full of books and art supplies and music.

As an adult, this need for control and autonomy has manifested both physically and mentally. Physically, I hate to be out of control of my body. I hate appearing undignified, goofy, and uncoordinated. I learned how to dance very, very quickly, because I loved dancing but hated looking stupid out there. Exercise was difficult, because I didn't know the right way to move, the right things to do, instinctively, and so I always felt silly. Running made my breasts bounce too much, lifting weights made me sweat and turn red... pretty much every part of exercise was undignified, and therefore hard to do. To a certain extent it was definitely about others perception of me. I hated to be seen that way. But, for the most part, it was about my perception of myself. I HAD to have control over my perception of myself. And doing things I wasn't naturally good at fucked with that perception I had. Apparently, I've been convinced for a long time that I'm just naturally good at everything.
So, I let myself get lazy. I stuck with what I knew I was good at, and I rarely challenged myself to anything, especially physical things.

In my relationships, this need for control has manifested as being the one who is loved more. Being in charge of my emotions, never letting them get out of control, meant that I couldn't truly love deeply. Friendships and lovers, this was true for both. Those moments when I was actually able to let go stand out sharply in my memory, because they're so fucking rare. In friendship, I can remember only one time allowing my emotions to get the best of me. Sitting in Biancas living room, listening to her talk about her fucked up past. And suddenly I was crying. I didn't even realize it, till I felt tears streaming down my face, and found myself picturing her as a little blonde child, surrounded by pure evil. Up till that moment, I'd been in therapist mode, listening and being sympathetic. Which was my normal MO.
In romantic relationships (well, ok, I've only had one REAL relationship, with Jake), I can remember losing control twice. Both times it was anger, and both times I got physical, kicking things around and screaming in anger. That also seems to be normal for me, only allowing myself to feel anger deeply. Which is kind of terrifying, considering how much like my father that is.
When it came to sex, well, my need for control manifested in interesting ways. I remember in my relationship with Jake, he wanted so badly for me to just let go, to give myself to him. And I could so rarely do it. I came, often and easily. But orgasm wasn't a true release. It was physical, but it wasn't emotional. That has held true throughout most of my sex life. I've slept with over a hundred men, and not one of them had made me truly lose myself into the experience. It helped that I didn't feel safe with most of them, that I didn't truly know them and therefore COULDN'T let myself lose control. Casual sex was an excellent learning tool for me, because I was perfectly capable of enjoying the experience, learning from it, and walking away complete into myself. I'd like to think that I left something beneficial behind, but it wasn't a part of myself. Maybe I helped them find a part of themselves they hadn't had before, I don't know.

All this control made me think I was the quintessential top. With Jake, I started to experiment with being a Dominatrix, and I carried that over into sexual relationships after him. I really, really enjoying bringing others pleasure, and that's easier for me to do when I'm in complete charge of the situation. It amazed me, how many men reacted so well to being told what to do. Some of them needed pain, and I gave that to them like a benediction, with a kiss. Some men needed to be held and guided, pulled along by the hand, and held to a maternal breast in the end and told it was ok. Some men needed to feel used, needed to hate me for my strength, and I rode them with a knowing smile, hating them for their weakness. Some men needed to feel like they were in charge, needed to feel dominant. These were the ones I found the most interesting. Not one of them topped me. Not one of them was able to drag me into their world, to force me to feel anything I didn't want to feel. And they all knew it. Some of my most awkward post coital moments are with men like this, with them staring at me, trying to figure out what just happened.
But I sought these men out, because I wanted to know what it was all about. I WANTED to be dragged into the world of true intensity, I wanted to be forced to lose control. I didn't realize it at the time, but Oh, how badly I wanted this.

And then came Trevor.

Too long... to be continued.