Blog, Kink

Losing Control

You want to see me lose control, you say.

You are not alone in this. It’s a common theme. What I look like when I let go. What I look like when I give up control.

I want, too. I want to know why.

Do you find it beautiful? The mess, the raw humanness of it?

Does it give you power, to say you have seen what do few have? To believe that you have seen the entirely of me in a moment of vulnerability?

Does it turn you on? Me, in power, unfettered, unashamed? Is that what you imagine? Or do you imagine me broken, a huddled heap bending to your whims without regard for the shards of myself that are cracking underneath your boots?

What does it mean to you? To have it, to lose it, to let it go? Is it flippant or potent? Does it twine you into me in an intricate web or do you hold back, dancing a binary line of in control/out?

To me, it tastes like shame, burning spice on the tip of my tongue, a flushed heat, a struggle. It tastes like fear, uncertainty, vulnerability. I don’t know what shape my words will take, and I dislike learning under observation. It is the tender, precious part of me that aches, quieter than the footfalls of ants, louder than the rage of a hurricane.

Control is where I live. It is safe. It is the stable core of my nuclear self. What container do you offer to hold that series of chain reactions that come when I loosen my grip?

You want to see me lose control, you say. Is it because you want to see me free or because you believe that it means you see me completely? Is my loss your gain, or are we still in this together?

Please do not confuse control with power. I have more of both than you can imagine. When I give up control, I embrace power, and that, that is the most terrifying part of all.

You want to see me lose control. I want to know what you can hold in your tender hands without shattering.

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