Unexpected

My friend C is a writer. They post on Facebook and recently lamented the fact that high exposure online has led to a dynamic of many people asking of their time, yet when they complain of this, the people they actually want to have take up their time actually back off to give them more space.

I wrote a comment that I wasn’t sure which group I belonged to (give more space or give less space). I tend to give less space to everyone – operating on the default assumption that I am an imposition upon everyone at all times and they only tolerate me in small amounts. But, I am also service oriented, so I became concerned that perhaps I misjudged C’s desires and I was actually doing the opposite of what they would want. Which, of course, would conflict with my service orientation.

I wrote something to this effect.

C explicitly said I need to give them less space.

I replied, half joking, that I would reorient my service.

And then I got a DM from C.

“I’m not sure I realized how ‘Fans self’ it was going to be having someone say, ‘I’ll reorient my service.” Winky emoji.

C rarely DMs first, so already I felt my heart jump. It took two reads for me to parse their sentence.

“Really?” My chest felt funny.

“A bit. Yeah.”

“I… didn’t realize either. I thought… that was a part of me that would be a barrier between us.” I’ve always imagined that if C and I met up I would have to dust off the old, ill-fitting dominant persona that I wore for so many men who wanted me to be their fantasy. Not that I think C would want me to change myself, but if I wanted to make them happy, that would be my only path. I thought they were submissive.

I told them that belief.

“I… wow. I need to work on my switchy persona projection.”

Um, yes. Yes, please. (Getting a little “fans self” up in here now…)

We talked a bit more and I realized that maybe C is thinking of “service” as in “perform sex act upon…” which… would be a vanilla context, and I live so far from vanilla context sometimes I miss sex jokes because my brain isn’t on the same set of tracks. I make up for it, though, by perverting in my head utterly innocent comments…

We talked a bit more and I wasn’t sure completely which definition C’s reaction was to. Then they said they had work that evening.

My service instincts (and maybe some of that sense of being a burden) kicked in and I said, “I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I know it’s in short supply.”

The answer came back across my screen with a soft ping, “And if I want you to take up a little more of it?”

My stomach tumbled over itself and I had trouble thinking past the pressing desire to respond with, “Yes, Sir.” I settled for, “Um… then… service.” Smiley emoji.

Another exchange and then I felt J’s energy… or memory… or something pressing me to be honest. To be vulnerable. To be terrified and step in anyway. J taught me the power of truth. The depth of connection that is possible when I let the walls down and risk with another.

“So… honesty.” My heart was pounding and my fingers had trouble finding the letters on my phone keyboard. “When you asked, ‘What if I want you to take up a bit more of it’ my instinct was to say, ‘Yes, Sir.”

I hit send.

A heart react burst into place beneath my text bubble.

“Oh hey. My mouth just went dry again.”

My heart was still pounding, but a grin I couldn’t contain spread across my face.

Then something struck me.

“Shit!”

“?”

“I didn’t mean to misgender you by calling you ‘Sir! I’m sorry!”

“I think we can absolutely make an exception for that. Because hot.”

My grin was starting to make my face hurt but I couldn’t stop. “I can say something else if you like something else better?”

“Keep using Sir. I like it.”

I swallowed past the anxious tightness in my throat. “Yes, Sir.” I hit send.

We talked more that evening.

We talked EVEN more the next evening.

We shared fantasies we don’t share with anyone and I told truths I don’t tell anyone.

I’m still afraid I said too much, shared too much, stepped too far. I’m afraid when we meet I’ll be a disappointment to them.

I’m trying not to let it ruin the moment. I’m trying to stay in the moment.

Sir is happy for me. He’s happy C is so compatible (he knew I’d thought C was submissive). I don’t know that C will ever want to do TPE/outside of the bedroom dominance, but if we reach that point someday Sir and C and I will figure out where their individual authorities overlap, etc. But knowing C, I can’t imagine that there would be any orders that would cause major conflict with Sir. Sir would probably be happy if someone else was telling me to eat and do dishes!

I’m in the terrifying place of a new relationship, even though C has been a friend for a long time, and we haven’t even met, yet. Our relationship has taken a further step in emotional intimacy and that’s always scary for me. It triggers all of my doubts, all of the cruelties that people have leveraged against my vulnerability. I feel insecure, clingy, bothersome, and unwanted. I’m sure C is tired of reminding me I’m not bothering them.

I hate this part of myself.

And maybe things won’t ever go farther with C.

But for now, I want to enjoy it. This moment. This hapiness.

I read a Facebook post this morning that said, “I over-analyse situations, because I’m scared of what will happen if I’m not prepared for it.”

Some of my problems are low-self-esteem, but truly, I think more of my seemingly low self-image is actually self-protection. If I anticipate the worst, it can’t blindside me, I can’t be wounded again the way I have been.

It kind of ruins everything good in my life to constantly expect it to go wrong… but I haven’t learned to trust, yet, that the worst won’t happen… that I won’t be turned on, won’t be rejected, won’t be humiliated, won’t be shamed.

And that… of all the horrible things that horrible people have done to me… stealing my capacity to be happy in the moment maybe be one of the worst.

So, I’m fighting to be happy with C. I’m fighting to trust and be honest and be vulnerable not let the whispers win.