I quit.

So here is something that’s been rolling around in my noggin for a bit.

I had a lightbulb moment. It started as a flicker but it’s grown into a steadily burning fact. I’m gonna go with it.

I quit. I quit the whole BDSM, Master/slave, dom/sub … thing. I quit.

I don’t GET it. I mean, really, it’s so simple now that I see it. All this time that I’ve struggled and argued and confronted and and and.. just.. gone on and on about this, that and the other, trying my god-damndest to GET it.. and I don’t.

But now I know WHY I don’t.

I’m not doing it! I am not doing what the BDSM’ers are doing. Nope. Not at all. I don’t even understand what they’re doing anymore.

I’ve been a square peg trying to shove my way into a round hole for ages and ages. I’m like the Rabbi at the Catholic convention, not quite understanding why he’s drawing conflict every time he opens his mouth. Because he doesn’t know he’s a Rabbi and not a Catholic.

So.

I am not a slave. I sure as fuck am not a submissive. I may have certain aspects of my personality that mimic those of your stellar slaves and subs. But on the checklist of BDSM-defined slaves and subs? Nope. Ain’t working.

I am a cunt. Nothing more and nothing less. As far as I know, there are no rules or guidelines or right or wrongs to cunthood. I think that I get that Master gets to define my cuntness.

See, I am in this state of cunthood for a reason. I came into this relationship wanting some very specific things. And, to top it all off, I not only think I deserve them, I demand that I get them. I demand that I get them OR I retaliate by witholding my own contributions to the relationship. Apparently, that does not mesh well with the slave board of ethics.

I’ve just gone round and round with it. I don’t GET how someone gets nothing out of a relationship. I don’t get why in the hell they would even sign up for that! Nor do I understand how it is that they *create* happiness out of it. Happy with nothing? Say huh? What the fuck does that mean!?

I’m really unclear on how to maintain friendships with people who don’t see it like I do. I don’t mean that everyone has to agree with me because *obviously* people do not. And I can be friends with someone who doesn’t agree with me. It’s simply a matter of you do your thing and I’ll do mine, right?

Except.. no. I don’t know how that works really. Because being around someone who sees what I am doing as *wrong* has a certain effect on me. And that effect is not conducive to a zen state of cunthood. Sure, we could tiptoe around a conversation, careful not to step on a trigger button that might offend the other.. but that seems like a lot of work. Work that is perhaps doomed to failure?

Religion and politics, with power&money coming in a close third, are the root cause of the wars being fought. Religion and politics are a way of life. A value structure. Morals and ethics, your belief system, your reasons for getting out of bed every day. It’s all wrapped up in the way you LIVE. It’s because those on one side think their way of living is right and better and more just than the other side that they strive to either force their way on the other or, worse, to eliminate the other. That’s maybe how I view the approach to living this sort of deviant lifestyle, too. This is my way of life, it’s my reason for living, it has far-reaching, long-term effects on myself and those around me, yet, inevitably either I or someone doing it differently, tries to push that on to the other. It’s impossible, when you feel  strongly about what you do, to keep your opinions to yourself. Sincerity leads one to want to convert another. “Just listen to me. I am right! I am happy! And you will be too once you do it my way!”

So how does that work then, to have friends who feel just as strongly as I do about how they are doing what they are doing? How can they not attempt to convert me? How can I not attempt to convert them?

I know that some of y’all find extreme satisfaction in service. Me? Not so much. It really depends on the situation and what prompted the service, but service all by itself sucks ass. I get to say that because I am not a slave and I don’t *have* to either pretend I like it or turn it into something I like. I DO it because I am a cunt and I am an owned cunt, and my owner/ruler has told me to. But I also get to grump and complain while I do it because he doesn’t give a fuck HOW I do it, only that I get it done.

But I can’t talk about how I grump and complain and stomp my feet and sigh and throw my hands in the air.. because in the land of slaves, that’s shameful behavior. Best case scenario- it’s frowned on, worst case scenario- it’s grounds for ‘release’. And.. not only am I not free to talk about it, neither is Master! The judgments surrounding the type of Master who would tolerate such behaviors? Profoundly ridiculously insulting. Honestly. Not even Master can admit that he enjoys it. Not even if he explains that knowing that I don’t want to serve, but do it anyway, is so much more of a turn on for him than happy-happy joy-joy, thank-you-for-letting-me-serve-you-Sir, can-I-kiss-your-feet stuff.

I am possibly maybe a masochist. I do not eroticize pain unless I do the paining to myself. Pain… hurts. A lot sometimes. It makes me squeal and beg and cry and try my damndest to get away from it. That’s generally why he ties me up first. Because I’ll bolt, given the chance. He likes that too. He also likes that I crave and need and want and beg for exactly the sort of beating that I hate. Makes his job easier I guess. He’s not reduced to having to kidnap unwilling girlies from the street to scratch his itch. He has me. A willing participant to torture. A cunt.

Stoic, calm, submissive behavior during a beating bores him to tears. He wants reaction. He wants panic. He wants tears and snot and begging for mercy. Any attempt on my part to withold such reactions only results in a harder beating and a very unhappy sadist. I’m not so sure that my fighting during a scene qualifies me for slavery. It seems like I should be graceful and silently grateful to be getting it. And um.. fuck that. It hurts. But it does qualify me for cunthood according to my made-up rules.

You know what else I don’t get? The whole spiritual movement in BDSM. I am not one of the cool kids who has reached that level I guess. To be honest I think y’all are making it up but I won’t tell you that because “just because I don’t have it doesn’t mean it isn’t real” and all. I know that so I generally extend the benefit of the doubt to you all. But in my secret bitchy place (which is not so secret but very bitchy) I think y’all are full o’ shit. (grins)

But that’s okay! Because as a cunt, I don’t have to be spiritual. I don’t have to be anything but what he tells me to be. The only worship I have to do is to a cock and the occasional stinky set of feet. And even at that I won’t be reveling in the privilege. I’ll be wrinkling my nose and telling him his tootsies are rotten.

I don’t have to find joy where there isn’t any. I get to frolic in the things that I hate with a passion. I get to have my “force fetish” scratched without it having hidden meanings of anything bad. I get to dance out of reach and sing “make me” and then run like hell, because he will make me and it will hurt.. and I love it. I get to say ‘no’ and ‘fuck you’ and ‘kiss my ass’ and I get to be stubborn and willful and difficult. I get to cry and I get to say how much I hate it and I get to ask for something more and I get to tell him that he is wrong sometimes.

I get all of that, and more, because I am not a slave. I am a cunt. And cunts have different rules. So there.

So you see? Bitchy opinionated cunts have no place in the world of BDSM. What I want, where I’m going, how I’m getting there.. it’s all at odds with the way the rest of the BDSM culture is going about their business. This should mean that I’m no longer going to be told how I’m doing it wrong because I’m not doing it. Make sense? You can’t tell me I’m a bad slave anymore because.. hahaha! I’m not a slave. Not even a sub.

I don’t submit. I don’t acquiesce. I don’t do anything of the sort. I offer myself up to be conquered. Overpowered, crushed, beaten, reduced and trampled. Repeatedly. It’s how we do it. It’s what floats our boat. A constant and ongoing process of trampling, up until, once and for all, it’s done.

When it’s done… you won’t have to listen to me babble about it. I’ll be squirreled away, taken out to be beaten and used and put away. Those are not the obvious slave aspirations, but they ARE cunt aspirations.

I am reinventing the wheel. *beams*

I don’t fit in, and more importantly, I don’t WANT to anymore. Y’all do your bdsm thing. We’re gonna do our thing. Now I just gotta come up with some cool acronyms and catch phrases.  

~cunt

(I suppose I should add in here that I’ve not yet informed Master of my decision to reject all things BDSM and possibly, maybe, tonight or tomorrow or whenever he reads this, I will be retracting my statements. But until then, I quit.)