To date, my sex life has consisted almost entirely of assertions of my power and control. I’ve done this with money, paying women to give me massages or provide lap dances or companionship; I’ve done it with dominance, providing direction and instructions, giving shape to sexual encounters and ensuring they look as I would have them look; and I’ve done it with my orgasm, controlling it, as I do, such that it is almost never something that happens to me, but rather, almost always something I either choose to do, or choose to permit. (More on this elsewhere, but suffice it to say, I have infinite stamina and nearly perfect self-control.)
In recent days, I’ve found myself pondering what it would be like to put myself in a position where control were handed to another, where rather than being the dom, I’d be the sub. Here’s what’s interesting about pondering such a reversal: altho
ugh it’s not particularly sexually arousing (notwithstanding what I’ve written about Jade Morey), it is nonetheless profoundly appealing and intriguing – mostly intellectually, but with a hint of sexual excitement somewhere there deep in the background. I find myself almost irresistibly drawn: what would it be like to relax, to let go of the need to plan an encounter, to direct the action?
As I went to meet L for our abortive date last night I thought about this: the pressure of conjuring a fun plan was, well, fun. But imagining ceding that responsibility feels fun too, and in a wholly different, and unfamiliar way.
I know what this means: I should try it.