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Recently on self-imposed hiatus, finally believing it's time to test the water and consider getting back into the pool. Genuinely disappointed there's not a choice here for "bottom", only "submissive". At best I'm a high-end submissive; a loyal, generous bottom and a reluctant but passionate and tenacious switch.
Willing and wanting to be convinced there are women who are not schizoid, sociopathic, duplicit, or so damaged they have no business venturing onto this playground. If honesty and you don't have even a working relationship, well that's a hard limit. Move on, sister, move on.
If you haven't worked through your mother or father issues or any other abuse or neglect, deal with it. It doesn't go away unless and until you do....deal with it that is. Guilt and shame are every bit as consuming as anger. Get help. Work through it. I can be an amazing asset, bottom, and partner, but I'm not a therapist or healer. I'm not qualified to give absolution. I don't want to change or fix you, even if you're wanting or willing.
Hygiene is an extremely erotic attribute, but it's a tie between the appeal of cleanliness versus the very attractive traits of self realization and acceptance. You can't love me if you don't love you.
Oh my! Talking about love before we've even had coffee. How presumptuously rude! Please forgive me. My original profile text follows below, if you've read this far and have interest. Beyond that, well, message me here, dear. Beginnings must start somewhere.
Un abrazos y besos, tambien,
BentWench
I am a loner but also a traditionalist. I'm a liberal, politically progressive leftist and proud of it. I've been an agnostic, but never an unbeliever.
It's amazing right now that I find so many labels that fit me, because so much of my life seems to be a dodecahedron-sided peg in a triangular hole. It's not even as simple as round and square. Everything takes on multiple dimensions for me.
When the outside world pronounced me a genius and the tests I took in school put me in the upper one-percentile my family said "You have such potential. We don't expect you to marry a doctor or a lawyer....we expect you to BE a doctor or a lawyer." My teachers beamed with pride and satisfaction, writing glowing reports. My parents always said I was capable of more and found I fell short of their expectations. I always gravitated to the "dregs of society". I "knocked my family two rungs down the socio-economic ladder."
In the meantime I took drugs and I ran away. I turned tricks, lived on the streets and made violent fantasies reality. I lived a life of such depravity that I still haven't put those stories down on paper, or even articulated most of them to my closest friends or lovers. When I have, the backlash and judgments have ALWAYS been "deal-breakers", no matter initial commitments and promises of happily-forever-afters.
I always knew I was enamored of the beauty of a woman's body. Dancing and growing up in '70's strip bars were delights. The women were wanton and beautiful.
My fantasies were of bondage and servitude, mostly with this underlying drama of tasks and humiliation. Punishments earned and unjust mingled with rewards that were physical and verbal, you know, "Good girl," and privilege-based rewards.My endgame fantasies were even more complex.
My fantasies about power and shame have stayed with me through the years. That is why, when people ask me what my orientation is, I tell them, "I'm a sadomasochist."
There are roles I've played all my life, some with more passion and truth than others. Roles people play because that's our way of coping; dutiful child, diligent scholar, sardonic rebel, committed employee, enthusiastic volunteer, loyal lesbian. One part after another, and always an edge of distance that made me doubt my sanity and doubt reality.
That was how I saw my relationship with life. Somewhere underneath my roles, there was a person who was not relating fully to her circumstances, to her family, to her friends, to the rest of life. A role gave me a context in which to interact and a plan to follow. It wasn't real; it was a script.I knew when I was real. It was when my body dripped sweat from fear and pain and anguish and indecision and determination, terror and ecstasy, the will to take just one more, to push harder until something broke.
I was real the first time a woman touched my face after she slapped me and then she kissed me hard and bit my lips even harder. I shut off the voice that kept asking what I was getting out of this, except for bruises, cuts, aches, and those incredible moments of timelessness, when there were no masks on me, and I was alone in my pleasure and pain.
In my time, I've been a bottom, a boy/girl. I've been collared for a period of formal submission. I've been an engaged and energetic albeit reluctant switch, a mommy, a bisexual and an exclusive lesbian; a happy pervert.
I love bondage and blindfolds and beatings and buggery, in no particular order. And now, instead of giving myself up to a moment, I throw myself into it fully aware. I open my eyes, and I drink it in, and I celebrate it.
What used to be a desolate place of desperation and frustration, I've made into a stage for my passion plays, and that's what I live for; passion. I seek it out when I play; I watch for it when people tell me their stories, and I hear it in secrets and fears and dreams and visions.
My fantasies have never been safe. If you don't or can't realize that don't fuck with me. If you have esteem issues then again, get better at it or don't play with me. No harm, no foul. This is my ball park and my rules. I will respect you as an athlete but don't ask me to change my rules to suit short comings or proclivities that color too far outside the lines for my liking.
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