Someone else's knees

Someone else’s knees met the ground as their eyes raised to Him and said, “please”. A space, there, at His feet, that previously only i had occupied. Someone else’s knees bent before Him, if only for a short time.

When The Man informed me that He had a scene experience as a Top recently, i was intrigued. i thought of all the ways He had taken His pleasure of me in the past. Was it a beating? Rope work? Did He have, y’know, teh secks? Apprehensive, maybe, but i was interested.

His eyes leveled with mine and as He exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke, He replied to my inquiries, almost casually, “It was a D/s scene.”

It felt like all the air had been sucked from my lungs. i was a cartoon character, smooshed by an anvil. True to the form, i didn’t stay flat, but wobbled upright, accordion bent and shaky. Did i want to know what happened? No, not at all, thanks very much, though.

i tormented myself, though. i imagined a thousand different scenarios, all different, but each filled with actions and words that were, in fact, my love language. How i expressed love, and how i received it. These things that i thought were mine. i felt shattered.

The weeks that followed were full of rumination. The initial shock having worn off, i had plenty to ponder. Why was my reaction to be so devastated? If i had brought myself to terms with Him finding pleasure elsewhere, or even loving another, why was this so different? What kind of ownership did i think i had over our D/s rituals? If it wasn’t jealousy, something i’ve handled with grace before, then…what?

i had become a bit less “special”, in my own mind. That spot at His feet did not belong to me, He allowed me to be there. i did not have sole claim to His domination, even if before i had been its sole recipient. my ego was deeply offended, no longer having pride in being the only source of submission to Him, that those gestures were made by another. i was afraid, also, that not having that particular distinction would make me less necessary. i suppose i’ve held my importance in pretty high regard. Silly, a thought, but really, i could be useless, and i think He would not consider me expendable. i was guaranteed ownership by Him, and nothing else.

Conclusions drawn, His permission to speak freely given, i poured out all of those thoughts and many more that my conscious mind has forgotten already. i remember them still, though, in a kind of deep knowing.

That night, He moved inside me, describing in excruciating detail what had occurred. Every thrust was a punctuation point that He did not require me to kneel, to beg, to yield. i was not unique or extraordinary in that, nor was it made sacrosanct by my doing it. The part of me that still believed i had any kind of real influence or emotional leverage died before He finished.

“The cemeteries are full of indispensable men.” -Georges Clemenceau (?)

Something was born into its place. A small, weak spark, that fanned into flames. i saw how much He had enjoyed it, even in the retelling. i saw Him see my struggle to accept, and relish that as well. i thought about every instance that i brought Him pleasure, and every one i brought disappointment. i thought of the times He tolerated my bad behavior, and those when He demanded excellence. i reflected on how i relied on Him for everything, and Him on me for truly nothing.

All i could desire was His bliss. All i could regret was hindering that.

It’s amazing how something that would for some on the surface seem so trifling can change one’s entire life. i have lived comfortably under His rule, in His collar, for nearly two years. In that time, i have been claiming the title of ‘slave’. Until now, though, i do not feel that i have authentically embodied that appellation as i understand that. Before this, i could not honestly say that i had put His will or desire above my own, unless it wasn’t too uncomfortable or inconvenient.

That changed in an instant. A flipping of a switch, an epiphany. i had, in fact, only been playing at the role. i went through the motions, did and said all the right things, but i didn’t really practice that, in my heart.

“ A man is a good retainer to the extent that he earnestly places importance in his master. This is the highest sort of retainer…even a person who is good for nothing and exceedingly clumsy will be a reliable retainer if only he has the determination to think earnestly of his master. Having only wisdom and talent is the lowest tier of usefulness.” –Yamamoto Tsunetomo, Hagakure

It took someone else’s knees falling to the floor to truly bring me to mine.