Wrecked (The Blackened Window) (28 page)

“Can you explain subspace?” It was fascinating, a whole other language.

“Subspace is a place the sub’s mind goes during a scene—or after, sometimes. You may have already experienced it. My theory is that the intensity and the endorphins induce a kind of euphoria almost like a high. My Master talks about endorphins, various neurotransmitters and brain chemicals that act like opium. He thinks all that combines to create subspace. Either way, I love it there.” She laughed and added, “I may be addicted, because I really get crabby if we don’t play often enough.”

“Okay…I think I may have experienced something like that. There have been sometimes with Xander where I just feel really peaceful, but it isn’t a druggy feeling and it’s usually right away in the…scene.” I looked at her hesitantly, and flagged down the waiter to order a Bloody Mary.

She nodded. “I think you’re talking about a different thing—the shedding of responsibility and burden that comes with accepting your submission and trusting your Dom to take care of you. It’s one of the most attractive parts of being a sub, in my opinion. My work is intense and hard. When I come home, my Master gives me a way to take a break from it.”

I nodded. It made sense—medical school had felt so overwhelming until Xander.

Her face became serious as she continued, “Has he talked with you about subdrop?”

“No, what’s that?”

“Subdrop is probably one of the worst parts of being a sub. I think it is anyway. Subdrop is the emotional and physical hangover that sometimes comes from playing hard.” Seeing no recognition on my face, she took a deep breath and continued. “My husband says that it’s from all those brain chemicals getting used up. Just like everything else, everyone is unique, but for me, it’s a feeling of nothingness in my soul. I cry and feel like I can’t get out of bed. Sometimes, I get really angry at Michael, like ‘how could you do this to me? What kind of monster are you?’ Even though he did it with my consent, usually because I was begging him for it. Does this make any sense?”

“I don’t know. Subdrop doesn’t make sense to me. I guess there are times that I cried a bunch during sex or felt really emotionally raw. But I don’t know… I just thought it was PMS or something.”

“You know, I kinda think subdrop feels like really bad PMS. I get really moody, exhausted, sometimes even achy, depending on what we have been up to. So, the important thing then is aftercare.”

“And that is?”

She nodded. “Aftercare addresses the fact that we can’t play the way we play and then just get dressed and act like nothing happened. Good aftercare can help decrease subdrop too. There’s no specific thing for aftercare, but the biggest parts are re-establishing security and safety by attending to one’s basic needs. I think it’s the responsibility of both partners, but it often falls to the Dom more than the sub. Anyway, a good cuddle, something to drink, a shower, some chocolate, comfy clothes. These are things some people use. For me, one of the most important things is when Michael reminds me that he loves me and tells me what a good girl I am. That praise makes me feel so good.

“The worst though, is when the subdrop hits a few days later. Sometimes I’m getting pissed off at traffic more than usual and crying and wanting to scream at someone. And I have to think through the last few days to see if we had any intense play. More often than not, we did and I realize that I need a little TLC. Now, here is where the aftercare becomes some of the sub’s responsibility. I
have
to call Michael and let him know, so he can help me. And then it’s my job to find a place and the materials to take care of myself.”

“You
have
to call him or what? You get punished?” It irritated me.

“No.” He voice hardened. “Can you imagine the mental acrobatics someone has to do to reconcile loving someone and wanting to hurt them? Can you imagine what that’s like when she’s then begging you to do it? And that you both get off on it? So, then consider what would happen to you if there was true mental, emotional fall-out from you intentionally hurting your most loved one,
and she didn’t even tell you, didn’t give you the chance to take care of her.
I have to call him because I love him and it’s how
I
take care of
him
. Not letting him take care of me afterward is locking him out and I won’t do it. We work because we are all access, twenty-four seven.”

I took a deep breath, absorbing that information. This was so much more than I expected and June had thought about all this, was living it. Thoughtfully. Intentionally. “Okay, but I have to ask—doesn’t it bug you sometimes? To constantly be less than? I don’t know how to say it…it’s like, don’t the bonds ever chafe? Are you subservient to him at all times? Is there ever a break?”

“Obviously, we live in the real world and go to parties and work functions and church, where this relationship would be misunderstood, at best. He’s my Michael, my husband, but at the core of both of us, he is my Master. And I belong to him, all the time, but he’s pretty lenient, I think.”

“What do you tell people about your relationship? I mean…when you do talk about it?”

“Oh, I have a few girlfriends who understand and are fine with it. Some of them are in the lifestyle, too. But mostly I don’t try to explain it to others because they don’t need to know and I don’t care what they think. I don’t need their permission or approval, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” I smiled. I wanted to be as calm and confident as June. She was amazing. “Okay, so go back a little. You said a pain slut is a type of sub. Are there other types?”
Is there an entire taxonomy of kink?

“Oh, yeah! There are probably tons of types of subs, but another relatively common type I’ve seen is the brat.”

I raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding.

She smiled and leaned back in her chair. “Okay, actually, let’s take another step back. There is a dynamic called Big/little. It is usually Daddy and little girl. But sometimes it is Mommy/little boy or any permutation of those.”

“Umm, what? That’s sick!” My stomach completely dropped into my ass as I thought of all the times Xander had called me
little girl
.

“No, it isn’t about
actual
fantasies of sleeping with one’s
actual
relative. It’s the dynamic. The Big—Daddy or Mommy—is usually this loving, benevolent, but stern force. They want their littles to be the best version of themselves and train them to this effect. But there is sex usually, too. The little usually thrives with that kind of attention and often has a cute, stereotypically childish thing going on, with an adult’s insight and ability to consent. Does that make sense?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. It freaks me out a little. Like, Xander calls me Little Girl, all the time. Is he…my Daddy?”

She shrugged. “Not if you don’t want him to be. Not if you two haven’t negotiated that.”

“Negotiated? That doesn’t sound sexy.”

“Come on, Leda. Consent is sexy. Like that dry mouth, sweaty palm, it can’t happen soon enough type of consent. That’s sexy as hell.” She smiled and took a sip of coffee. “Negotiation helps everyone lay out the boundaries, or limits, early on. But more than limits, it lays out desires, hopes—what you
want.
How many non-kink partners have ever asked about what you wanted in bed, before you got there?”

I’d never had a boyfriend ask me if I
consented
to something he did, never had someone try to find out what my limits were. It had always seemed like consent was assumed and it was my responsibility to let him know
after
he had crossed a line. It was a thunderclap of realization and insight into the absolute bullshit of that. And I thought about Xander pushing off sex in the beginning of our relationship. I thought he just wanted me strung out on him. And maybe it was that, but it was also about real and true consent. He wanted my wholehearted, panting at his feet, tears in my eyes, needy consent. The revelation spread through me and I smiled at June.

“I get it. I think I do anyway. Xander held off on sex with me for a long time. But, that chick last night—she acted so…aloof at first, but I saw her. She loved it and she really didn’t want it to stop, right?”

“She is a much more seasoned player than you are. My guess is that she has a degree of clarity that you might not, yet. And she and Seraphim have played together for a long time. Seraphim can read her well.” June shrugged and flagged the waiter down for refills of our coffee.

After the break of getting our drinks filled, I started back into the conversation. “This idea of a little, I don’t know. If they’re in a child’s mentality, can they truly consent?”

“Of course they can. They’re still adults who can still walk away any time they want. Who can still say this is not what I want. But you’re skirting around a really important issue.” She raised an eyebrow at me again and I shrugged. “For many subs, there’s a risk of wanting to please and submit to someone else, more than wanting to take care of oneself. I don’t know very many in the lifestyle who haven’t done something that they later wished they hadn’t because they were so into the scene that they didn’t think through whether they really wanted to do something. It’s Risky, with a capital R.”

I took a deep breath and weariness washed over me. What was I doing? Was I really exploring the possibility of letting someone else destroy me to build me back up or something like that? But I had regrets in previous relationships too. Was it really all that different? My thoughts were spiraling, so I latched on to the last thing that made real sense to me. “Okay…go back, what is a brat?”

“So, a brat usually has a Daddy type of figure and she acts out to draw his punishment. She’ll act bratty to force his hand, so to speak.” She smirked at her pun. I heard her words, but it didn’t really pull me away from my spiraling thoughts.

My voice got small and I looked down at the table when I asked, “How do you reconcile yourself to submitting to someone else so completely? I mean, not only as one human to another, but also as a woman to a man?”

She drew a deep breath and looked at me. “I wrestled with this for a long time at the beginning. How can I have worth if I let someone else use me? And what’s wrong with me that I want this? Am I just twisting the usual male-dominance/female-subservience that has permeated history? How is this not abusive, right? Are these the types of questions way deep inside that are bothering you?”

I looked up at her, shaken at how well she articulated so much of what I felt and nodded.

She continued, “Well, there are two issues. One, I can hopefully clear up for you, the other you have to deal with on your own. The first is that submission is the most extreme form of feminism there is.” She put up a hand to forestall me when I balked at that. “I know it sounds crazy. I’ll come back to it in a second, but it sort of hinges on the second thing, which is that you have to accept your own desires. If you want to have these things done to you, then you do. It’s fine.”

“Okay, but I don’t see how I can completely accept it without coming to terms with all the other stuff. So, go back to the feminism thing. No offense, but that’s kind of fucked up, right? Like almost Stockholm syndrome-y.”

“Hear me out. One of my favorite quotes about feminism is that it’s the radical notion that women are people. The whole feminist movement fought for women to be able to vote and work and earn the same pay as other people, i.e. men. To be treated as equals, right? The crux of it is that a woman can do and be anything she wants—a politician, a scientist, an athlete, a stay-at-home mom, a priest—whatever,
without her value as a person being diminished
—just like a man. She has an inherent value that should afford her the same opportunities as anyone else. So, who has the right to tell me I can’t be a sub, or
shouldn’t
be a sub, just because I’m a woman? No one. The idea that somehow being a female sub is playing right into the misogynists’ hands is a flawed argument that again takes the individual woman’s agency and power away. I think this is the most feminist thing I can do, for this exact reason—it really pushes up against the notion that a woman can be anything she wants. I refuse to let anyone place limits on me based on my gender.”

Her voice was fierce, but it softened and kindness crossed her features, as she said, “But the key is to accept that this is what you are—or at least what you want right now—that this is truly what you want—or this whole feminist argument kind of loses steam. I’m sure some of our feminist forebears may cringe at the idea, but if your heart’s desire is to submit to Xander, then do it. It doesn’t lessen you in any way. In fact, I think you become a more self-actualized person in the acceptance of yourself.”

I actually got chills and tears stung my eyes. I hadn’t thought this deeply about it before. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready to accept it yet.

“But what about the people who will say that you only want this because you have been programmed by a misogynistic society that sexualizes female subservience?” She gave me a surprised look and I responded, “I took some women’s studies courses in college.”

“That’s a good question, but I think it gets kind of dangerous to start to expect people to justify why they are attracted to who and what they’re attracted to. I mean, can you imagine someone asking someone why they’re sexually attracted to men or women? Or why blondes or why Asians, whatever? Maybe, someone will figure it out, but I guess I don’t think it really matters. For me, that argument just doesn’t ring true. We sexualize lots of things. Maybe it does sexualize female subservience, but it also kind of turns it on its head because of the insistence on consent and negotiation. It
isn’t
something I have no choice about. And, at the end of all the intellectual debate, I’m in love with Michael for more than his ability to dominate me, but I am fulfilled, sexually and otherwise, when he does.”

I took another deep breath. “Thank you, June. This was enlightening.”

“What do you think? What do you think you want with Xander? I don’t mean to pry, but I kind of love that boy a little. I really don’t want him to get close to complete happiness and then get his heart broken.” She gave me a pointed look, waiting for an answer.