Serving and Subbiness

I sometimes wonder if I'm really all that kinky at all. I have my preferences, the things I enjoy, but I also have my limits. Most, if not all, of my limits are hard limits. There is no negotiating my limits. There are no "soft" limits in which I might be willing to do p, q, or r if the circumstances were right. And the things I enjoy, want, ache for tend to be very light in regards to kink. In fact, I might be more French vanilla than either vanilla or kinky.

I enjoy impact play, breath play, intelligent conversations, oral hygiene, and I absolutely LOVE anal sex. Traditionally, I had considered myself submissive. There are a lot of reasons for this which I'll not go into here.

Then, my community put on a high protocol dinner. It was billed, largely, as an event for Dom/mes and their subs, however, the possibility was left open for singles who wanted to experience an HP event to come as singles and the creators would pair unpartnered Ds to unpartnered s-es. Great. This seems like a great option for everyone!

Fuck no.

This is actually the point where I began to question whether or not I was a submissive and began to think of myself as a bottom rather than sub. I like play, but I want my body to be played with/upon. I do not want to inflict any kind of anything painful on anyone else, no matter how much they might enjoy it. Even knowing they'll enjoy it, because I know how much I enjoy it, I still can't bring myself to appreciate the notion of topping anyone.

My response, emotional revulsion, to the idea of serving at an HP dinner had me wondering, "Am I a truly a sub? Maybe I'm a poser. A twue sub. Someone playing the part because it's fun and exciting to be spanked by Doc and because he's willing to use a belt on me if I'm really, really, really well behaved and ask politely." Actually, I'm making that last bit up. Doc was moving his belt from the pair of pants he'd been wearing the day before to the pants he was wearing on that day and my eyes lit up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree.

"We can build up to that if it comes to it," Doc said.

"Ok!" I responded, getting giddy at the very notion. It's actually quite a shame Doc's out of town at this precise moment, because now I'm thinking about Doc and his hands on me and his belt....

Not the point of this post.

Doc once told me he might not be the domliest dom of all doms on the planet and I'm completely ok with that. I was beginning to think it's because I'm not a very good sub. I was beginning to wonder if maybe I'm just a bottom lite.

Then I decided that, since Doc is out of town this weekend, I would visit my best friend and her husband for a few days. And bake. Because they're my guinea pigs when I'm fixing recipes I've found elsewhere.

My best friend and her husband both know that I bake for them when I visit. As I was prepping the first test batch of awesomeness (savory Thyme Lemon Bars with Raspberries), the husband came in and asked what I was making. "Something that's going to make you hate me later," I said with a sigh. It's the nature of his being someone who loves food and wants to eat healthier and the nature of my making that difficult when I stop in.

"Probably," he said, "but I'll love you for it first!"

My best friend is also a minister. Her husband is in the family business. They both work 80+ hours a week.

I explained to Doc once that my former and current roommates have often found me nearly impossible to live with. "I don't think my expectations are too high," I told Doc. "Wash your dishes and pick up your shit. That's all I've ever asked of my roommates." This was also a problem in grad school when my fellow students would leave a week's worth of dirty dishes in the common kitchen. Ugh. (Love you all! But seriously....)

Doc told me, "That's not an unreasonable expectation; it's a task of daily living." Oh, that everyone in the world would get this.

Given that my bestie and husband are so busy, I know that when I visit, I'm likely to find a few dishes and other detritus in the sink. I'm okay with it. It's not my home, not my kitchen. I'm just visiting.

Truthfully, I actually kind of like the fact that there are a few dishes in the sink and food scraps in the drain traps. The reason is this: I like serving my best friend. I enjoy putting her clean dishes away, reloading the dishwasher, and scrubbing out and wiping down her sinks. It makes me happy to serve her. Acts of service is her love language and this is a practical way I can love her.

More than that, though, it really makes me happy to serve people I love. Not so much people I occasionally resent or have strongly ambivalent feelings for. It just pisses me off to have to clean up after those people, especially in our shared kitchen, when I just want the space and equipment to make a meal.

I've come to realize that this is not an issue of not being subby, or not being subby enough, or not being the subliest sub that ever subbed in the world of subbiness.

It's about relationship.

Just as I'm not going to play with everyone who asks (and if you're wise, you'll not ask for the reason if I politely refuse your request), I'm not going to be submissive to anyone just because they've asked, suggested, or expect. For me, play is about a very specific type of chemistry and we either have it or we don't.

Submission is about our relationship, and we either have it or we don't.

I love serving. But I'm not a service sub. I love serving. But I'm not going to serve or service just anyone. I love serving, but I'm not going to do it for anyone as a member of a submissive group serving a dom/me among a Dominant group. I'm not a fucking show monkey.

While there are a lot of things about Doc that get my juices flowing (everything to date) and few things that give me pause or evoke less pleasurable emotions, the fact that Doc is inordinately clean does both.

Seriously.

It makes me disgustingly happy that he's clean and neat and organized. It makes me happy that when I walk into his house, I'd never know he has cats until I see them. It makes me happy that I can walk into the room where he keeps the litter box and not know that's the room where he keeps the litter box.

It makes me happy that I've never seen dirty dishes in Doc's sink and that I've never seen much in the way of dirt on the floors. It makes me happy that his closet is well organized, from the brief glimpses I've caught when the door was slightly ajar and I was packing my bag near it. (I swear, I wasn't snooping!)

But it also makes a little sad that I can't serve Doc in this way. It makes me a little sad that when I come over and ask how I can help, there isn't much for me to do. I love pitching in to help with the dishes as he cooks or helping to set the table. But it makes me sad that there isn't much more for me to do. I want to contribute more, and I don't know how.

Because Doc has earned my respect. Because Doc has earned my appreciation. Because Doc has earned my vulnerability. Because Doc has earned my service, I want to serve him.

Even if I'm not the subliest sub in the world of subby submissive. Even if he's not the domliest Dom in the world of Dominant.