The Gift

"This will never end 'cause I want more
More, give me more, give me more
This will never end 'cause I want more
More, give me more, give me more
If I had a heart, I could love you
If I had a voice, I would sing
After the night, when I wake up
I'll see what tomorrow brings"

- Fever Ray

A friend who knows me really well told me I have a superpower. My superpower? I can eroticize almost anything. *Almost*. The movement from "I don't like that" to "What the fuck are you talking about" to "Hmmm" to curiosity, to decision making is a familiar one to me. It's true that I've done this over and over again in my life. I think it's a coping mechanism, and a way to accomplish goals that don't fit anywhere else in my life. 

Recently my owner decided that in his presence I will no longer wear pants. No pants, no shorts, and my hair will always be down. This may sound like some romantic thing, but honestly he doesn't care if it's a burlap sack or my hair is gross and unwashed, it's very close to arbitrary. He likes me available when I'm with him, even if it's symbolic. And he thinks my hair is prettier down. It's a pain in the neck, and now my wardrobe needs some revamping because I just don't do laundry enough to accommodate this change. 

But it also had some unexpected effects. It changed my identity. 

I've never been a super girly girl - I mean, I like the trappings. The fancy shampoos and multiple pairs of shoes, and I like clothes and makeup and pretty things. But my voice can get husky, I tend to lope when I walk instead of saunter, and (up until now) was most comfortable in jeans and a t shirt. This change has had the unexpected effect of making me feel more feminine presenting than I ever have. I don't hate it, it's not so far from how I see myself that I'm uncomfortable - it's not like the sissification kink, it's not that. It's that the way I have presented myself in public in the past has been very - armored. Protected. Partly by choice, and partly because that's often how women *need* to go out into the world. Now, I feel more vulnerable, more careful about my body, and more *examined* than I'm used to in public. 

That's not the only thing he's made me eroticize recently. The other thing he's made me eroticize didn't happen in a vacuum. It's a fantasy I've had stuffed in a deep dark box for a very long time (I'm not the only one who pictures those things that way, am I?) that I was unwilling to examine, for very good reasons. I am not fond of this, this, *thing*, and I'm still having a hard time accepting it. But in general, it's too late - he dragged it out into the open and made me look at it and admit it and is waiting for me to accept it, like an writhing, snaky, blackened, smoking gift. 

*art "glory hole sculpture" by Terry Cullern