So there I am at work, hands encased in rubber gloves. I had opened my snack earlier, the aforementioned Chex Mix..but I didn’t want to put my gloves into the bag. Ugh.
So I tilted it up and jiggled a little into my mouth.
Oh. Wait. Ow. Zippy. Salty. Piquant.
Almost too much zest and zip.
That wasn’t what I expected.
I’m a Chex-picker. I like it all, that is true. But I pick out my favorite pieces and eat them first. The bag is a mix of textures and flavors…some kind of bland, some just right, and some…well, a bit intense.
What had filled my mouth was intense.
And that’s when it hit me (no masochistic pun intended!)…what a great metaphor for submission.
We like it, right?
But sometimes we get things we don’t expect. We like it…but there are those piquant over-spicy bits that are just shy of overwhelming. Intense and yet…still good.
And yes…. I could have spit it out, I suppose. But even though it felt a bit overwhelming, I adapted to it, took it in, swallowed.
More than I expected, to be sure.
But really, as I thought about it, it was not more than I could handle. It was not more than I was ready to give. It wasn’t more than I was ready to receive.
I let Him open me, let (let? me, let Him do anything…hahaha! as if!) Him see the vulnerabilities, and take all that He gives me.
The bland stuff. (You know there is bland stuff…this submission thing isn’t all about the high of being beaten–we’d like it to be, but it just isn’t.)
The exciting exhilarating stuff. (Yeah. You know what does it for you. I don’t need to go into details here, right? The canes or crops or brushes that we love and hate and fear and crave?)
The neutral stuff. (Conversations. Some vanilla, some D/s. Some about submission and dominance, I’m sure, and some directing us to submissive tasks.)
It’s all in that bag. Okay, it’s not a crinkly blue bag, but metaphorical. They hold that “bag” for us, and pour the treats into us and we chew and swallow–all of it, spicy or bland–and hope for more.
We always hope for more.
There are long times between our visits, Master and I. Sometimes I feel like my slut-bag is empty. For days, weeks even. Oh, there’s a wee bit of this, of that. We talk almost every day. There is never a doubt who is who in this relationship…but there is a lot of vanilla in our relationship.
Out of the blue, I hear a crinkle…and I realize that the bag is open and He’s pouring me some of what I need. Even from far away, I get the taste of it. Just a tease, but enough to keep me from starving. I’m not sure how He knows when I’m nearing the point of falling over from the need He engenders in me…but He knows. It may not be a big thing…but it’s something. I appreciate every time He feeds me, even knowing that it furthers my dependency on Him.
And I’m a chex addict.
Okay, maybe not that. But I am an addict to what He gives me. And I’m addicted to Him.
I’m good with that.