vulnerability

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Craftsmate had made me dinner and, after serving himself, put my plate on the floor. I got down onto my knees and went to start eating when he interrupted me.

“Not yet,” he said, picking up the roll of duct tape and taping my hands into little fists.

I huffed, pawing my napkin closer before gingerly lowering my face down to pick up a piece of broccoli.

Craftsmate watched for a few minutes with a smirk on his face as I carefully avoided getting food on my face as best as I could. All of a sudden, he reached forward and grabbed my hair.

“That’s not how kitties eat,” he insisted before shoving my face deep into the plate, covering it in food and sauce. “Kitties are messier, like this.” He pushed down a bit longer, shaking my head against the plate before pulling me up.

I stifled a whimper and cursed at him. Getting this vulnerable still scares me sometimes. I’m frightened when things start to get messy, especially when it comes to how much I enjoy it.

My head processes this sort of stuff in a way that figures that if I express outrage my partner will do it again without me having to ask. But this time, I had to.

“Do that again?” I choked out. I hated having to admit I liked it. I was ashamed to admit I wanted it. But, he complied, reaching up and shoving my face into the food once more.

“Good kitty,” he murmured as he practically wiped the dish with my face.

Without another word, I swallowed my pride and started eating.

Powerless

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A little over a month ago, Craftsmate and I got into this really uncomfortable argument in a semi-public setting about what we were doing. Basically, he sort of just dropped the bomb out of nowhere about not wanting to do kinky stuff anymore and I was upset because he wouldn’t provide me with an explanation. 

There were a few explanations. It was a little awkward that I had just returned from Penthouse Land. He wanted to see if we could actually just be normal friends. He wasn’t sure what to make of our dynamic. And, he topped it all off with a “you make me feel powerless”.

“Oh yeah?” I replied, taken aback, then added with more than a little bitterness. “I am so sorry that I make you feel powerless.”

Although I had never considered it in those terms, I felt the same way. He had seamlessly worked his way into my life. My friends like him a lot. My roommate adores him. And the whole shame episode still felt fresh to me and the fact that he was suddenly living in a world that I had tried to keep completely separated from my blog had made me feel entirely powerless.

So, I think, in an effort to try to retain some power in the midst of being too vulnerable, I put up a bunch of walls. I thought he had seen too much of me already and as a result I wasn’t really being open with him at all. Sometimes I even got a little mean. I realized, in feeling like I was the victim, I assumed I was blameless and that I would be justified in taking whatever moves necessary to protecting my vulnerability. Especially after the really awkward kissing debacle, I did not want to show any of my hand or let there be any way I was more invested in this than he was (or even at all invested).

After I had expressed this to him, he came over that night. I was stressed out about other things and we were going to attempt to talk further, but Sunshine was home and awake. At one point, I walked out to go move some laundry to the dryer and he came with me. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he said. “But it makes a lot of sense.” We hugged.

We wound up falling asleep on the couch together, my head on his chest, his hand on my hair. The next day, he tied me up while Sunshine was still asleep in the other room. With my arms pulled back stringently, I realized that kink was very much a controlled outlet for my vulnerability. I could shut it down at any point I wanted with a safeword. There was power in this sort of powerlessness. 

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The thief likes to make me do this.

Kneeling, ass up, back arched, hands spreading myself apart, mouth open. It emphasizes vulnerability, availability, openness. I’m not allowed to speak when I do it, just listen and receive. 

At first, I wasn’t too into the idea. I didn’t like how, after a few minutes, having my mouth open would make me drool. I didn’t enjoy just how exposed and small it made me feel. 

However, since then, it’s grown on me. Sometimes, I don’t want it to end. It’s just so very simple. And when I seem a bit overwhelmed to him or when I have too much on my mind, he’ll stop what he’s doing and have me get into this position. It centers me. I don’t even mind the drooling anymore.

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Sometimes, I fantasize about being teased in this position. I’ll be laying on my stomach, usually reading something or waking up from a nap, and the thought will just briefly cross my mind of someone easing my pants down or my skirt up. 

The panties stay on, of course. There’s an understanding that when this sort of thing happens I won’t be allowed to cum, that isn’t the purpose of it. It’s just a little reminder, if nothing else, of my availability, my vulnerability. It shows what sort of grinding, moaning mess can be reduced to in a few minutes of encountering fingers through fabric. And as soon as I’m there, they’re gone.

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I’ve been told I can be a bit tough to break down. I’m never really actively aware that I’m putting up a wall or being in any way cold, but apparently I can come off that way a lot. When I was younger, I got told a ton that I was “intimidating”. I’ve walked away from encounters and realized that I may or may not have taken a few steps to nearly castrate some poor guy. It’s a big oops.

I guess I’ve never really been that great at just being gentle. I’m told I come off as aloof or disinterested. Sometimes even a little harsh or biting when I try to make a joke. But, for all the obsequiousness that’s otherwise in my nature, I apparently don’t “serve” very well in the world of normal flirtation. In fact, I come off as incredibly dominant in either my way of taking control of a situation or my way of somehow coming across as distant. 

There’s a lot of people who get intrigued by that. Some for good reasons, some for some pretty crappy ones. But, either way, I find it fascinating and hindering that I just can’t seem to be quite as vulnerable as I am when I submit. This is probably a hugely good thing, but the fact that I can’t even get myself to muster up a small fraction of that vulnerability isn’t always appealing. 

I’d like to pretend I’m saving the best for last. But, something tells me that underneath a lot of the bravado I’ve got, I might still just be a little scared.