These days I think of submissiveness as a component of my sexual orientation that’s at least as important as my basic heterosexuality. The two elements are like circles on a Venn diagram (see below) that overlap but nevertheless aren’t completely superimposed on each other. The area of overlap corresponds to submission to female authority and is the sexual territory that I find most exciting and fulfilling to explore, the garden of cruel delights where I serve and suffer in My Lady’s collar. There’s a neighbouring crescent of heterosexuality with no component of submission, which I perceive as sweet and enticing but inevitably slightly bland. I can enjoy vanilla sex and flirting with women, but I know from experience that I can only subsist on a strictly vanilla-flavoured diet for so long before my need to be taken in hand and given some harsh instructions starts to feel overwhelming.
There’s also an opposite crescent, scary and forbidding but undeniably intriguing, of submission with no component of heterosexuality. For me that area is essentially terra incognita, but I’m pretty sure that I could find submission to a dominant, sadistic man highly erotic under the right circumstances. I wouldn’t be attracted to him sexually, but I would certainly be drawn to his authority, his ability to exert control and inflict suffering. I know that My Lady is not exactly averse to the idea of watching me writhe under another man’s riding crop, so it’s possible that I’ll eventually get a taste of homoerotic submission under her direction. Perhaps I’ll even be allowed to tell you about it.
Nevertheless, the combination of submission and heterosexuality defines my natural erotic habitat, and bleeds in small ways into my worldview and social life. I’ve known men and women who are heterosexual but seem to prefer to associate with their own sex and perceive the opposite one as alien and difficult, but for me it feels natural to be heterosocial as well as heterosexual. I like women, and I can enjoy their conversation and company even when there’s no prospect of sex or kink. It’s also not uncommon for my eyes to drift discreetly to an attractive female stranger in a subway car, or out on the street, appreciating a woman I’ll never speak to and probably never see again.
Apart from giving me a soft spot for feminine leadership, as I mentioned in my last post, my submissive side does sharpen my inclination to listen to my female friends and try to make myself useful to them. It’s a subtle influence on my behaviour, and it’s not as if I’m constantly throwing myself at the feet of women and begging to serve them, but I’m sure that it’s perfectly real, a slight and constant pull like the gravitation of the moon. My submissiveness also ensures that I notice certain specific attributes in the female of the species, perhaps not ones that stereotypically attract male attention. The women who catch my eye on the subway are usually my age or older, and carry themselves with an air of decisiveness and self-possession. If they look big and strong enough that I could imagine them physically pushing me around, so much the better. A well-worn leather jacket helps a little, as does a tattoo or a pair of glossy black boots. Skinny, coquettish little nymphets can be lovely, but really aren’t my cup of tea.
When it comes to women who are actually in my life, as friends or something more, physique and dress count for very little. I find myself wanting to spend time around women who are assertive, capable, imaginative, and ideally a bit wicked, no matter what they might look like. Muscles and black leather might add a bit of extra spice, but they’re far from critical. My Lady, after all, is no Amazon, but I bow to her whims because she’s smart, sadistic and commanding – a woman to be reckoned with, and that’s really what makes all the difference.