Confessions of a Power Top
6.3.13 at 18:48.
Years' worth of aggressive kisses, soft-spoken demands, pinned down wrists, and tugged tresses preceded the knighting. I required no title for my brand of intimacy, I seeked not to constrain it under a cloak of predetermined parameters and expectations. It evolved as I did and I embraced it as my own from the moment we two met in that dark, weed-scented Brooklyn bedroom.
There was never a choice.
I was a top by design and the power, the power came with experience...and so you see the decision was never mine to make, it was bestowed and lovingly concocted in my loins. From the day, that I learned it's true name: we have pushed one another ...molded each other ...enforced each other ...nurtured one another ...loved one another. Our partnership has given birth to an unyielding confidence that has been on the front line in all of my social, professional, and otherwise life endeavors. She is the genie that I chase and the muse that I channel, we just happen to conduct our best work when enthralled in the lavish, luscious throngs of passion and pleasure.
That ode to her aside, there is a turmoil within me that I can no longer ignore. In recent months, I have found myself consciously forcing her into muffled hiatuses...
Now, it goes without saying that I LOVE the view from the top: it is the perfect vantage point to bask in the sways of hips, the clenching of facial muscles, the heaving of chests, the curling of fingers, and my personal favorite, the uncontrollable audible expulsions of ecstasy So, even I find conflict in this willingness to play the opposing role. The sociologist in me would attribute this submission to role-reversal with a deeply seeded desire to be taken care of, an unsatisfied appetite for contextualized real-time appreciation/adoration. For an individual who gives so much of themselves without delusions and/or expectations of reciprocation, creating circumstances in which manifestations of 'seemingly' genuine needs to please are bestowed upon them, would be a welcome escape. The want to experience the attention to detail and sincere commitment to happiness ( in this case, physical pleasure) that you shower onto others, is a part of the human condition, the need for reciprocity is transcribed in the coding of our being.
Even with me knowing and accepting the validity in the aforementioned, I do find myself, laying in silence on restless 'morning-afters', reliving and picking apart every facet of these submissive sexual exchanges:
Questioning why I let them do this...Deciphering why I didn't do that...Chastising myself for biting my tongue...Regretting.
There is nothing that infuriates my spirit more than looking back on a circumstance shrouded in regret, knowing in my very core that I permitted control of the situation to slip freely through my fingers like a winter's whispering wind. I am incapable of facilitating the allowance of self-shaming/disappointment in the realm of sexual expression, and so it becomes evident that this power top must either embrace her inner submissive or cast her out entirely.
And so it seems, there is indeed a choice.