Comparing my sexuality and self to a two sided coin seems shallow and vastly understated, but I feel like I’ve discovered an entirely new side of myself that’s important and valid and had just been waiting in the shadows to be discovered. Maybe. Or maybe it grew brand new from love, acceptance and encouragement to grow and search my soul and pussy for what feels good.
Wherever it came from, I’ve discovered a taste for it and the desire to explore my Domme side is pulling fiercely at all of my edges. It makes sense to me, like it all fits and makes me feel more whole.
My D/s relationship with my partner has been one of the most eye-opening, introspective journeys of my life. It’s made me question everything I thought I knew and believed about sex, love and trust. Not the least of which being I wasn’t sure any of it was worth the trouble before I met him a little over eight years ago.
Neither of us were very well versed in BDSM aside from it initially turning us the fuck on, in All The Ways. Learning something new together was such an intense bonding experience in itself, let alone the deep connections we were learning to build and this visceral, sex-filled trust fall exercise that it became and continues to be years later.
Through all of the exploring and countless lust-fueled nights of ropes and floggers and wax (oh my!) came unexpected side effects, like increased self-esteem, lowered anxiety, and vastly improved mental health. My sense of self worth was skyrocketing and it spilled into all areas of my life.
When we first began it was a natural progression – don’t get me wrong, it was lightning fast, everything went at speeds that sometimes had me reeling, but at no point felt forced or rushed. I was his sub and he was my Dom — my Daddy. We read everything we could get our hands on, dove into Fetlife groups, devouring all the resources on BDSM available. For us, the learning and the research is part of the appeal. We explore things together, that’s kind of just what we do. Sex, religion, mental health, we even moved countries this year.
Ooh la la mija
Before we even met, my partner called me mija via text. We’d gotten pretty close in the couple of weeks we chatted online and had already made a bit of a D/s bond without actively intending to. When he called me mija for the first time, I melted. It made me feel little in the best possible ways. I’d never felt “little” in that sense before. I’m a tall, fairly large framed gal, who dealt with a fair amount of shaming for it. My mother used to joke that I was built more like a linebacker than a ballerina. (Just what an insecure little girl needed to hear.)
Starting at mija, it made sense that he naturally became my Daddy. Being his mija gave me the freedom to explore my feminine side that I had felt so disconnected from my entire life. I got to embrace play, innocence and safety. To be able to feel vulnerable and allow myself the opportunity for healing in those whimsical depths.
Being his submissive allowed me to access parts of me that I didn’t know were there. For the first time I got to lean on another human being while I took a breath, and allowed myself the space to look inward. I’d never trusted a man like I trusted my partner. And it didn’t come easily. But I trusted him not to harm me so we started there, then it grew and evolved, which has been the name of the game so far — evolution.
It was always very clear to me that I wasn’t a sub, I’m his sub. Though recently it’s been clear to me for different reasons, I don’t feel like a sub because I’m having some serious Domme feels and cravings and am aching to explore them.
Enter la Diosa
We’ve started a new chapter in our lives. A rather exciting one, I might add. After eight years of a very monogamous relationship, we started discussions about polyamory, and dove into obsessive research — as we do. Like BDSM, at every step I found myself more aroused and intrigued by ideas I’d never even considered. Like having a boyfriend. It started, again, much like the BDSM journey — very sexual and after a few drinks and bowls.
The more we explored the idea the more it made sense. Then I met someone. And it made even more sense. It became less about the sex and more about the possibilities of this budding connection and something deeper than just a filthy fantasy. But you know, still about the sex because ruh–awr.
La Diosa he called me one day out of the blue, this new man, and something familiar, yet revolutionary sparked in me. I liked it. A lot. The Goddess. Instead of it making me melt into a puddle of babygirl goo, it made me pick my chin up, straighten my shoulders and sit up a little taller. A badass goddess — who was in charge. Confident. Sexy. Yep. This felt good – really good. It felt right.
I didn’t think I had much desire to be a Domme. But maybe that’s because I was still looking at things from the perspective of an old, outdated version of myself. Not the confident me that has been working incessantly on her mental health, creativity and journey of sexual exploration. I wouldn’t have had the confidence to explore being a top/Domme if it hadn’t been for me discovering and nurturing my submissive side. Learning how therapeutic I’ve found it, how life-changing it has been for me. It genuinely fills me with joy to think about giving that to someone else, in sharing that with another human.
Between therapy and BDSM, I’ve spent years learning and accepting that my extreme empathy and sensitivity are gifts, and ones that lend to BDSM beautifully. Finding my own flavor of gentle Femdom with my new friend fills me with all kinds of hope, excitement and confidence. All the while I get the privilege of knowing my Daddy is right there watching me. Ready to be there if I stumble. Because I will. But that thought is a whole lot less terrifying when I remember I have a dependable safety net that we’ve spent years weaving together.