to the boys who followed me first: this is for you
hello lovelies. i'm new here.
i was scrolling through comments the other night of subby men talking about when they first just knew. how they've always been wired this way. and i'll admit i was a bit overcome, because i saw myself so clearly in these stories, reflected back at me through the eyes of the sub. the bossy girl on the playground who adopted the shy boy as hers.
i haven't met many like me. so, at the risk of sounding corny af, hearing these stories felt a bit like finding a home i didn't know existed.
i write to process (autistic girlie things amirite) and inspired by your stories, i wrote about my first mousey: a childhood friend who might feel familiar for some of you.
my dominance was always there. rooted deep in the core of who i am. before sexuality, before language, & before anyone named it.
i'd love to hear more about your moments like this too.
so, this is a sort of dedication to all the beautiful submissive men out there:
for the boys who were called too much or too soft. whose strengths were treated as weakness. for the ones who carried this silently, thinking they'd never find someone who speaks the same language. i see you. i'm here. i remember what it felt like to be looking for you too.
and to any fellow dommes who see themselves here too. yeah, it's a quiet, specific kind of loneliness growing up this way as a girl. you get it. & i see you too.
thank you & enjoy. xx.
The Cat and Her Mouse
I have been called bossy my whole life when I am just doing what comes naturally. I see a problem, and my body moves to solve it. I don't hesitate, and I don't wait. I take control and I get things done. I am confident. I question the adults and their rules that don't make sense. I don't know any other way to be. Some adults call me obnoxious and precocious. I don't doubt myself much. I am the kid who volunteers incessantly. Me! Me! Me! I want to read out loud in class. I'm probably annoying about it. I'm unaware, or I don't care. Either way, I'm in my own little world and I am ruler here.
But I am lonely and I need a friend. Some of the girls don't like me. They seem to form groups against me. I can't figure out why. I correct the things they do wrong and sometimes I tell the teacher. My report card says I need to work better in groups, and my teacher reminds me that others can have good ideas too. I'm not convinced about that. So far my ideas have been the best. A girl tells me to go away, she doesn't want to be friends with a bossyboots. I feel hurt, but I also think I don't want to be friends with someone who uses baby words like bossyboots. I say grown-up words like butthole and bitch.
On the playground, I see a boy. He sits alone and seems engrossed in his own world. Maybe one like mine. Expansive and imaginative. I like his face. He is quiet and shy but his eyes are warm and he smiles at me when I wave at him. I don't think he uses baby words. I like him. I think he'll be mine.
I have been leading boys by their collars since I was in kindergarten. Well before it became anything sexual. We are hardwired and I am drawn to my counterparts. I am a hungry cat, patrolling the playground. But I am no killer. I am prowler and protector. Hunting not for food, but for you, little mouse. This pre-destined connection, more innate than learned.
These boys are mice, and I am their cat. My mouse boy is different than the rest. He doesn't irritate me or try to take me down a notch. My mouse really likes me. He isn't just tolerating me or falling victim to the tyrannical rule of a supreme bossyboots. He is here of his own free will, with ardor and zeal. Cute little mouse. He is grinning at me when I tell him what he needs to do. I tell him he should be Batman because I am already Catwoman. He likes his cape and the way Batman has become sidekick. School can make him feel uncertain and anxious. He tries not to cry when he is dropped off for the day. I grab his hand, pull him away and say, "Come, little mouse, let's play." He says his tummy ache has gone away.
I tell him to kneel and he does so readily. I am the Queen, my stick is my sword and its tap on his shoulder turns him into a knight. Sir ButtsALot, now you rise. I am theatrical and you think I'm fun. I like it when you laugh at me. My brain moves fast, but so does yours. You don't interrupt and you like the way I talk, fast and in varied accents. We spend entire afternoons talking only in The Simpsons quotes. When I zip from idea to idea, you keep up with me. You don't mind that we move onto the next before finishing the last. You aren't scared to climb all the way to the top of the monkey bars with me, where we dangle and giggle with glee. I like you. I think I'll keep you.