Switchy

It's an interesting time in my head right now.

I've always described myself as a switchy sub, for all that the switchiness is a rare thing most of the time, and not something that has surfaced to meaningful levels since my liege and I started the formalisation process on our relationship.

At least not before recent events.

Right now ... submission is not easy for me. I am healed enough that I can choose to go there, but there's always that little bit that's pulled back enough to make it a necessary choice, not the comfortable settling of known and trusted space. I have to decide to let go, actively, consciously, and it's always a shallow thing; it's as though all those impulses, usually strong, are heavily muted at their best, and it will probably take some time to clear away the baffles between us and that part of me, time and work.

Which means that the stuff that's usually drowned out by the strength of that response is ... much, much stronger, much more present. And there's so much energising of power in our relationship that it's very easy for those flows to get going.

In the time between when I wrote "Vacancy" and when I posted it, there was one evening of talking through things, trying to express things, working through the scope and nature of the problem, doing our best to reconnect. And I found myself with one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other holding his head against my chest, and the rich dark redness of the emotion: Mine. (No matter that I was hurt and badly so; mine. Mine, mine, mine.)

And as we stretched out together to talk and touch more, I ran my fingertips along his neck and throat, sometimes with just a touch of scraping the skin with the nails, and his eyelids fluttered, just a little, in the way I knew from the other side. And I grinned that hungry predator-grin (mine!) and said, "I switched so hard I took you with me."

It doesn't usually happen that way, he told me. The sensation was different. The emotions were different. It wasn't clear where the boundaries were between us.

It's like that, I say.

I couldn't have done submissive that night; I can choose it now. And at the same time, he can lean his head back on my couch and show this long perfect beautiful distracting line of throat from chin to collarbones and ...

And it worked out, the other day, spending a while nibbling along those perfect lines, up the delicious bit from shoulder to behind the ear, mutually and reciprocally (and I took a little bruising from it, and I don't think he took any), and there's something there that I need, space where we can each do the rich red predator chewing on each other, I think, need that to be okay to get to where I can get the rest of it back.

And maybe some other things too. Don't know if I need them. But it's a sweet slick beautiful thing, that gorgeous curve of a neck, and it makes me hungry.