|Ownership of Photo is Not Implied|
I read a post last night on PatrickDarcyBooks—totally flippin’ awesome 18+ blog, by the way (link on the right)—that hit a bit close to home. Mr. Darcy’s post stirred up some of my own shit—exactly the kind of thing I enjoy happening. Because, for me, the whole point of surfing the net, reading blogs, checking out pics, listening to music, reading a book is to ‘feel’ something.
I posted a reply on the handsome Dom’s page, but, apparently, even after a good night’s sleep, I’m not quite done, LOL!
I met and had an amazing time with Brenda Cothern at Rainbow Con last month. During one of our many enjoyable conversations, I shared some of my thoughts about feeling ‘out of place’ in the BDSM scene. I’ve also shared many of these same thoughts with various members of the Twitter #posse (even though we haven’t seen as much of one another of late, I still love you guys hugely).
The crux of the matter is I’ve always felt ‘out of place’ upon my brief forays into the scene. Whether that was AOL chat rooms of the past, or much more recent incursions. Indeed, I’ve felt that if I didn’t act a certain way, if I didn’t dress a certain way, if I didn’t address folks a certain way that I was somehow less ‘real’ than everyone else. Yep, the message always seemed perfectly clear: the collared, kneeling boy was somehow ‘more’ than I was because I selected a different path.
My choices don’t define, enhance, or inhibit my innate submissiveness; I am a sub—whether collard or not, standing or kneeling, head held high or eyes cast down—a sub, plain and simple.
One of the many goals in writing Grif’s Toy was to show an example of a relationship where different (but no less real) paths were chosen. In part, it tells the story of a BDSM relationship where the couple(s) not only don’t feel the traditional constraints of such a relationship, but, moreover where they don’t give said external definitions a moment’s thought. Was I successful? Only eventual readers will decide.
One thing I do know, however, is Mr. Darcy’s posts never fail to make me feel—and what could be more fulfilling?