Recently, during sex, my partner got agressive with me. Most of the time I love it when he’s rough and dominant in bed. I find it intensely arousing to play the role of his submissive, letting him do whatever he wants to me. But this time felt different. I noticed visceral resistance — tightness in my throat, tension in my yoni, my sense of arousal gone — followed by thoughts of “this doesn’t feel right” and “say something”. 

His desire to have me quickly in the way he wanted brought me to the brink of tears. At that moment, I needed him to be tender and check in with me.

I could have bypassed the emotion by presencing myself and focusing on the sensation of his cock, but instead I took a deep breath and said: “Babe, I need you to go slow”. Instantly I felt his energy align with mine and I felt seen. He responded by softly kissing my neck, caressing my skin, and taking his time with me until I opened back up and came.

After we settled I had a quick mental dialogue about whether to elaborate on what happened. I felt sated and connected, so staying quiet would have been easy. But I didn’t want myself nor our partnership to bear the subtle yet toxic residue of silence. After some cuddling and eye gazing I worked up the nerve to share my feelings. Vocalizing my experience was an important step for me — and is a key part of aftercare.

The moral of the story: submission does not mean self-abandonment.

When we know our value and feel connected to ourselves and our partner, objectifying ourselves can be a fun, erotic game — and healing when it fosters the integration of our shadow (more on this in a sec). 

And when we feel ourselves tighten, question our worth, or doubt whether our partner sees our complexity, we must stay with the feeling and respond in the most self-honoring way we know. Because without receptivity, self-awareness and communication, sexual submission can be just another place where we repeat old patterns like people-pleasing, unhealthy boundaries, and relying on external validation to feel worthy, thus perpetuating pain. 

Power play is all about reclaiming our right to choose how we want to express ourselves sexually — and can be especially empowering for the sub because without their consent the dynamic is not possible. Beyond that, exploring different roles and identities (I love costumes for this!) is an opportunity to integrate and express the parts of ourselves we may otherwise hide from the world out of shame (our shadow). Personally, power play has helped me accept and appreciate the needy, slutty, passive and vain aspects of my personality.

And, the thing is, we’re allowed to be inconsistent. I don’t know about you, but how I want to be fucked changes with the moon, my menstrual cycle, how connected I feel to my partner, how vulnerable I’ve been with him recently, and how grounded I feel in myself.

That’s the beautiful thing about feminine energy, it’s fluid, everchanging; as much as our masculine side wants to put us in a box, we’re never stuck.

And while our changing needs and desires do not need an explanation to be valid, it is healing and helpful to observe and reflect on these inner tides and communicate them with our lover(s).

By Allie Andrews, Self-Care Coach & Founder of OmBody Health
IG: @iamallieandrews

Photo Credit: @les_esprits_libres

July 20, 2021 — Alexis Maze