The other day, Nilla asked me this question in her comments on this post.

See, erotic fiction is what got me here. That might be a meme question, how did you discover your kink?

Interesting question. I’m going to take advantage of it to go slightly off-topic and take up two posts!  Bwahahahaha, I rock!

Kink seems like the wrong word, for one.  I still don’t have the right one. I just… I felt submissive by nature, and that nature had proved itself unsafe and abnormal and dangerous.

I’ll give you an example of how I always sort of KNEW I needed to submit, to be treated a certain way… I remember, distinctly, sitting on the couch with my brother Harrison and a mutual friend, Jackson. We were watching a movie.  I was very comfortable, buried under blankets, and totally settled in. Per usual, I was operating under the pressure of self-hatred, anxiety, and depression. It was not so much a conscious thing, but just my perpetual state of being.  It was simply my whole reality for a very, very long time.

Out of nowhere, Jackson turned to me and said, “Chlo, go put on a pot of coffee.” Now, let’s be clear. I don’t drink coffee. Ever. Jackson knows this.  It was simply not in his brain at the moment that MY needs or desires should matter.

I rose from the couch, without a word and without hesitation, and went to make a pot of coffee. And… I can’t even describe the feeling.  To be vital yet unimportant.  To be useful but not fully valued.  It was the first time in months I had felt like I could actually breathe.  I was buzzing in silent thanks, feeling purpose and direction flood into me.  Yep, over a fucking pot of coffee.  I’m insane – I am aware.

Back then, moments like that made me feel like crap after.  Like I was broken and wrong and disgusting for feeling GOOD about something like that. (Now I know that because, while I cared for the person I submitted to, I didn’t love him, I had no romantic attachment, the tasks seemed empty because I need to feel appreciation and love in order to serve and debase myself.)  I can see those moments for what they truly were. 

I felt a need to be submitting, to be treated that way, and I had no understanding of it and no way to channel the need into a single person who I trusted with my life and my heart – which is really the only way for me to do it.  Instead, that need to submit left me raw and open and at ANYONE’S mercy.  I got hurt, a lot, in little ways and big ways ALL the fucking time because of that need.

So I suppose  my “kink” is less a kink and more of a basic survival need. I’m not someone who wants kinky sex because it’s omg!fun (it is, but that’s not the point).  I don’t want to submit because it makes me feel humble or sexy or used or anything (it does, but that’s not the point).  I NEED to be in service.  I NEED to be submitting to someone.  I can’t breathe or make choices or move forward when I’m not.  My anxiety paralyzes me and I feel disconnected and purposeless.  I begin to care less and less about myself and my life and my future.  The best I can hope for is to tread water, but forward movement is NOT gonna happen.  Trust me, I did it, in all its incarnations, for 20+ years of my 26 years on the planet.  (Come to think of it, more on this later in another post.)

But I didn’t have a name for it, and due to my self-hatred I actually assumed it was a bad thing.  I couldn’t separate that desire from the negative feelings I stewed in all day long. I thought that need was PART of my issues when the truth was the fact that the need wasn’t being met properly or safely or in a loving relationship was one of the CAUSES of my issues. 

So, the short answer to Nilla’s question would be: “I think I was born with this kink.”  I described that here.  The second part of the answer is: “And Antonio is the person who brought it into the light and showed me that it wasn’t wrong or bad or diseased.  And neither am I.”

And that little trip down memory lane will be posted in a moment!