God Shaped HolePosted: July 28, 2014
Lately I have been exploring my motivations for becoming involved with BDSM. It is no coincidence, that I recognized myself as a submissive almost immediately after leaving religion. I spent my life being told that I am inherently bad. That humans all walk around with a sense of shame. That there is nothing we can do about our fallen nature–we are born this way. I spent my life being told that a man–Jesus–was the only one who could save me from myself. The only one who could purify and cleanse me. The only one who could make me whole.
There were to be no boundaries between me and this god-man. He knew all of my thoughts. He was privy to all of my feelings. He knew when I messed up. He saw me all the time, but he still loved me. Granted, I would be punished harshly–with my life falling apart, and eventually eternal hellfire–if I resisted his authority in my life. But this was also somehow love. As were the challenges he brought, and the hoops I had to jump through in order to prove myself worthy–in order to be refined into something pure.
Sometime last year, I declared this all hogwash. And yet, here I am. On my knees. Begging to be remade into something beautiful. Taking words straight out of my prayers and throwing them at the feet of a Dom.
“Take everything I am.
Do what you have to do to transform me into YOUR idea of who I should be.
Leave no stone unturned, no crevice unexplored.
Know me, and love me anyway.
Whip me if I step out of line.
Hurt me just because you are the powerful one, and that is your right.
Give me what I need, because I am not capable of doing that for myself.
Make the decisions. Make it easy for me.
Set out the rules, and no matter how painful, I will follow them.
See my weakness, and make me strong.
Own me, and make me free.”
This may sound extreme. Like I was taking religion to the max. But it was all there–all of it. Here are some words from my former fellow-believers:
“He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree…
And all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory
When I realize just how beautiful you are, and how great your affections are for me
Heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss, and my heart turns violently inside of my chest.
I don’t know how to maintain these regrets when I think about the way that he loves us”-Kim Walker, How He Loves Us
“The pathway is broken and the signs are unclear
And I don’t know the reason why You brought me here
But just because You love me the way that You do
I’m gonna walk through the fire if You want me to” -Ginny Owens, If You Want Me To
“Like waking up from the longest dream
How real it seemed
Until Your love broke through
And I was lost in a fantasy
That blinded me
Until Your love broke through” Rebecca St James, Your Love Broke Through
“To love you – take my world apart
To need you – I am on my knees
To love you – take my world apart
To need you – broken on my knees” Jars of Clay, Worlds Apart
These are all lines from popular Christian songs. There are tons more like this–scores. Christianity–my brand at least–was all about God as the ultimate Lover. The ultimate Sugar Daddy. The ultimate Dom.
And then there I find myself, rudderless. No one telling me what to do, how to act, who to be.
At first I love it. I go fucking wild. I explore. I give and I take and I don’t care if it’s right or wrong. But there is a fantasy, a need, in the dark corners of my mind. Like a vignette at the edges of an old photograph, slowly creeping in. The surface strips itself away, and I find, that while I am done feeling like I am dirty, bad, wrong, merely for being human…I crave someone who will take the reigns. Take control. Have authority in my life and tell me that, not only is it okay to be a dirty little slut, but it’s what he wants.
Yes, I will do that, Daddy. I will suck your cock. I will give you unlimited access to all of my holes. I will be a dirty girl for you–and you will see what you have created, and say that it is good. I am a good girl.
You will not make me hide my body. Your chains will give me pleasure instead of pain. If you make me fight myself, it will only be so that I can become myself. The quintessential submissive–fragile, yet strong. Dauntless and unafraid, yet unable to take even a harsh look from your eye, a harsh word from your mouth. You will teach me to walk with my head high, to be proud to be me and proud to be yours, so that I feel nothing less when I am crawling to you across the floor.
I am on my knees.
In your arms.
I will do that for you.