Hanging out with kinsters, reading FetLife, dating freaky folk, eventually it often comes to a point where it all seems so… mundane. So unimpressive.
Don’t worry.
That’s quite normal.
After all, humans see patterns in everything, and we are always relating it to ourselves, so we get used to even the most bizarre ideas, exposed to enough of them.
And frankly, real life often falls short of what we read, so often, it’s easier to just fall in love with an idea of something, rather than do what it takes to search for and find the tangible.
After all, the idea of D/s (or kink or slavery or whatever) is infinitely adaptable.
Because it’s just an idea, it can be anything, contain anyone—any gender, any looks, any level of severity, mind reading—it can change on a moment’s notice, and adapt to whatever you desire.
See a new porn? Your IDEA of D/s can incorporate that.
But it’s more than that. Do they think your potbelly is hot? Oh yeahhh.
Do they love to spend time playing video games and drinking beer? Uh huh.
Do they care that you are an awkward, inflexible, irritable asshole that MUST have things their way at all times and is petrified of any show of emotion or vulnerability? Nope. Of course not.
Your idea of D/s might be hot and steamy in the bedroom, strick and implacable in the home, and tamer, even vanilla in public or around family.
Except, of course, during those special times that it will be brought out to humiliate you int he most delicious way at a mixed party. You may even be made to show what a depraved git you are to all those people, maybe even co-workers or your boss… or an entire biker gang…
And never spoken or thought of again, afterwards. Not to mention, it ends as soon as your pleasure is done.
Your D/s partner is smart and analytical, yet soft and creative in measure.
They are extremely successful, probably a CEO or something. Not unlike your own personal Mr. Grey of whatever gender(s).
But more than that. He was, rather one-dimensional. And flawed. He hurt.
Yours is vulnerable, yes… but not TOO vulnerable.
In fact, yours is the most beautifully pieced patchwork quilt of a relationship, ever. A carefully crafted recipe of all you’ve read, all you’ve seen, everything you’ve experience.
Well all the good stuff.
It will be funny, like the first fumbling times you tried spanking your best friend. Tall and gorgeous like that crush in high school, or short and petite like the girl who tutored you in college. You’ll dress and go out on the town, like in 9 1/2 weeks. You’ll get tied up and they’ll look at you with hunger like that sexy vampire movie.
Leather will play a role. Maybe even some poetry from that one love that you moved away from… if only.
Elaborate scenes will be on the menu, regularly. Your IDEA of D/s won’t allow real life to get int he way of your action and sexy times. Communication will be perfect, but it won’t hardly be needed. You know each other’s souls. When you’re feeling off, understanding or punishment will be dealt out, depending on what you want, of course.
Finally, a relationship that really GETS you.
All of this, sprinkled with impossibly hilarious observations of daily life, guaranteed to bring a smile to your face, texted just when you need them most, because they know you like that.
Don’t get me wrong. You don’t imagine perfect. You’re smarter than that.
But their imperfections are really cute. The kind where you meet because they accidentally catch you on the backswing of a flogging, and you’re pissed, but as you meet their eyes, you realize they are exactly the shade of green that makes you weak in the knees.
The IDEA of D/s is so comforting, and will pop into your mind at any time, when you least expect it.
And you can be 100% insufferable and unwilling to compromise with actual living, breathing, human D/s partners, and the IDEA of D/s will stay with you to comfort you forever, showing you just how RIGHT it can be.
As your face ages, your body slows, and your mind stars to go, the IDEA of D/s will still be as colorful and rich as new love on a spring day.
Or maybe it won’t. Maybe it will leave you, too. Like a will-o-the-wisp, laughingly leading you further away from every light and warm and good.
Maybe by then, you won’t care.
