I'm an irresponsible blogger. I know it's true. I intended to write this days ago, after it happened, but life conspired against me and interfered with that (translation: I was too busy perving online over hot men who aren't for me, and trying not to fall asleep at my desk at work as a result. Irresponsible, but horny. What's to be done).
So. Pee. Most of you reading know that I don't really hold an opinion of pee, one way or the other. It's not disgustingly gross for me, and it's not exquisitely hot and sexy and intimate for me. It's just pee, yanno?
Submission, on the other hand...now that is disgustingly gross and exquisitely hot and sexy and intimate for me. I am in constant awe of submission, others' submission, anyway. My own? I have a bit of a love hate relationship with it, that's likely a result of lifelong programming meets wet cunt. Even if I could resolve that and just decide one way or the other, i don't know that i would. Cognitive dissonance is sexy.
I've said it many times - I don't need the grandiose acts of submission to really feel that the task is worthy. I don't need to be asked to serve thai chai from my slave belly to 18 leather clad whipmasters, just to receive the infamously rewarding "good girl". 'K, that might be kinda hot though. Hm. Anyway.
No, submitting, for me, is about the submitting itself. As i said to some folks in AV chat, when i am in the presence of dominance (and yeah, i know dominance. Can't explain how, but i'm guessing it's a smell or an energy vibe or something equally tangible.), I just know, and my instinctual reaction is to fall to my knees, metaphorically and physically. I want to respond to dominance with submission, because it just makes sense, and feels "right". I want to submit, because it wouldn't occur to anyone that i wouldn't.
So here we were, having this great conversation about dominance, and submission, and hot buttons, and kink, and all those other fascinating things, and the time ran away from me. After several hours of talking, I realized that I hadn't peed, and that it was time to take care of that. Relatively soon, because i have a sneaking suspicion i realized it once or twice as we talked, but put it off because the conversation was so enjoyable, and now, my body was trying to take back the reins over my irresponsibility.
I made the mistake of saying something like "i have to pee. i should go do that", and one of our devilishly charming resident dominant types said "No you shouldn't".
There's a moment, when you wake in the morning, that you just know today's going to be a good (or bad) day. There's a moment, with friends, that you know you're sharing a profoundly intimate moment, and aren't quite sure why, but just enjoy it for what it is. There're moments, too, when you're with a lover, and you know, without doubt, that you are heading into dazzingly and blindingly good sex, though no one's touched or said a word. It's just an energy meets energy thing, i'm sure.
Like submission recognizing dominance, and responding, despite your brain.
His lighthearted "no, you shouldn't" triggered an immediate agreement in me; an acquiescence that precluded argument or refusal or denial or even responding with equal measure of dominance. That's possible, too, even for the "naturally submissive", and i always find it interesting when i hear it said, by the submittive types, that "i couldn't dom my way out of a paper bag". Hm. Won't, perhaps. Couldn't? I don't buy that. "No" is, in itself, a dominant response to a command. It might be necessary, but it's not submissive.
Anyway, I'll save the philosophical for later; let's get back to the pee.
I'm a fan of the clarity of the command form, rather than the obscurity of declarative statement, so I didn't take "no you shouldn't" as a command. Instead, i said "i should, yes", and was then told (see girls, dominants can be led too, and you don't even have to top from the bottom to do it) "no, we're having a nice conversation. You just sit there and continue the conversation, I'll tell you when you can pee".
Be. Still. My. Heart. Pee, i can take or leave. The presence of dominance, and the resultant command...ah, that's a good place to inhabit.
Of course i said "ok". Sure, i had a choice. I could have responded with dominance and said "no, i really have to pee, i'm going to go do that". I could have been coy and deflected dominance by pretending i didn't hear it, and gone anyway. I could even have been passive agressive and responded with a giggle and a stomp and a "that's not fair, my body has to pee!". I could have done or said lots of things, but I like to submit - even when i don't.
I said ok. I like clarity and direct communication, so i asked if i was expected to ask when i really had to go, or simply wait until i was told to go. Not surprisingly, "i'll tell you when it's time" was the answer.
Fair enough. For close to two hours, i sat, as gracefully as i could, and tried not to squirm (except for when i was told to squirm; it's amazing the power of suggestion and how it impacts the brain's ability to process sensation. Must explore further). I chatted, i clenched, and i squirmed inwardly and outwardly as it was suggested that a punch to my stomach better not make me pee. That a boot on my torso, grinding against my bladder, while the wearer drenched me in spit and piss and all other manner of instigatory fluid would not make me pee. That even a fist, filling me so full that there was nowhere for the pee to go but out, even that would not make me pee. It would, however, make me come. Of that, i have no doubt.
It became fun for everyone, as it became public knowledge that daay was obeying an order superior to nature's, and the teasing was lightheartedly merciless. Water was poured, we were regaled with stories of glorious pee sessions, all of which were fun, mean, and interesting - but they didn't distract from the purpose. I wasn't allowed to pee. Listening to the sound of water being poured and then watching it be consumed was not going to be the excuse for my denying myself what i really wanted - to obey, to acquiesce, to submit.
I didn't pee. Even after he went to bed, leaving me the light at the end of the tunnel that "another half hour, then you can go and relieve yourself". God, those minutes just crawled by. Thank goodness i had great conversation, a pretty georgian, and an even prettier scotsman to distract and inspire me.
It's good, that feeling of acquiescence. I read, often, women (and men, though it's rare) who rail so hard against that acquiescence, as though once they've done so, they've lost. It's such a foreign thing to me; i just can't understand how acquiescing (when what i really crave is to be acquiescent) is any more a loss than getting the job i want when i apply for it is a loss. I keep reading these women, in hopes that one day it'll make sense. Hope's a dangerous, but unquenchable thing.
And then - 1:31 am. Glory be! I could pee! I'm not sure, but i recall interrupting someone with an "omg, i can pee", and running off to the bathroom. When I got up, my legs were a little shaky, as i'd been sitting in nearly the same position for over 2 hours, as i was told i couldn't get up ("you just sit there and continue the conversation" - really people, there's no ambiguity there). I had that passing fear that i'd get there, sit my throne, and my body would reject me, as punishment for my earlier disregard of its plea. Even as i sat, and there were those milliseconds of non-response, i thought "oh no..."
Fortunately, my body is either not that smart, or not that petty. I sat there, labia throbbing slightly, legs still radiating shock at their recent movement, mind praying desperately to be over matter, and then...it came. Oh, how it came.
There's something so amazingly comforting and intimate and titillating about one's own pee making its way out of one's body. There's that first little tickle, deep inside, as your bladder awakens and unlocks its normally guarded gates. That tickle becomes a trickle; that hesitant stream like a new lover, kissing tentatively at your lips before breathing deep and diving in to consume you.
And then it comes. There's always just a little shame associated with urinating - you feel it rushing out of you, soaking your lips in its warm embrace; its redolent spiciness soaking into your skin, your hair, your senses. You know that, after its all over, the only way to rid yourself of it will be to wash it away - soap and water will eliminate even the body memory of it, at least until next time. You feel slightly dirty and ashamed knowing that you have no intention of washing afterwards.
I felt it hurry out of me, desperate to vacate my treasonous body, and i exhaled deeply. I may have sighed slightly; i know my eyes rolled back in my head as my eyelids gratefully closed over them for a moment, allowing me to just be in that moment.
It. Was. Magnificent. It seemed a never-ending stream; like an orgasm that just washes over you and through you and around you, and i rode it like one who'd survived a plane crash floats on an endless sea, too glad to be alive to worry about looking for land. Or maybe like a warrior, fiercely and defiantly victorious on the back of my trusted steed, riding through fields of carcasses of the enemies who fell at my hand.
(Ok, maybe just orgasmically. The steed might be a bit overdramatic for pee, n'est ce pas?)
Nonetheless, time escaped me. I peed, and i peed, and i peed some more. It seemed it would never end, and then came that moment. The one where the stream becomes a trickle; it slows, then pauses, then comes to a stop that, were it not for my body's baited breath, would be enough to reach for paper.
But my body knew, always knows, better than my brain, and it paused too. And sure enough, pee grinned and giggled, thrilled to be allowed to stay up past bedtime and play just a little longer, and again it began.
Peeing when you think you're finished is like getting fingered after you've just orgasmed so deeply that your teeth vibrate. Lovely and warm and delightful, but just a little scary, as you wonder "oh god, how long will this last, can i handle it again?"
I can. I did. I reveled. And for that, i was rewarded with that all-too-familiar washing of the water, that lingering kiss to my hairy mouth (waxed to be neat, tyvm), for another few seconds (hours?). I found myself wondering if orgasm was this fantastic, and found myself surprised that i really didn't care.
(Clearly, i need to get laid again, and soon. Meanwhile, there's pee. Glorious, sexy, intimate, caressing pee.)
When i came back, the pretty scotsman asked if it was enjoyable. I could scarcely answer; in my post-pee euphoric giddiness, my fingers hadn't yet come back to earth. My brain took substantially longer, as i was drunk with pleasure. Such delicious poison, pleasure is. Thank god it doesn't make me vomit like gin does.
Why didn't i just pee, many asked. Because then i wouldn't have been able to submit, that's why. Sure, i'd have submitted to my body's whim. But in the end, i got to dance with submission twice - first, the blatant, direct, and overtly willing submission that was my response to dominance, no matter how unremarkable it may have been, and the second, submitting to nature, after just proving that i can fight it; that i can win the battle, if not the war. And, of course, i got to pee.
There's nothing mundane about submission, no matter how ordinary it is.
And pee's magnificent. As the lady says, Gawd, i lurve pee.
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