The Art Of Baking Humble Pie

So what's on your menu? That was essentially the focus of my recent interview with the lovely, obviously talented, and oh-so-smart certain someone who shall remain anonymous until she gives me permission to share her identity. As we virtual chatted about the origins and manifestations of my kink, her very attentive and perceptive questions honed in on what it is I really like and why. While I've ruminated, analyzed, and pondered this stuff for sometime now, I'd never really had someone inquire and follow the thread of from whence my desires issue in quite the same consistently thoughtful way. Save for my shrink - and I've known her since I was two - or so it sometimes feels.

So when the certain now nameless someone began to ask me about my thing for humiliation I was really challenged to deconstruct and elucidate a deep, erotic drive that is, in so many ways, the essence of what makes my kinky second hand sweep. For me, the image of the snarly domme, barking and spitting about my flimsy, flaccid, farce of an excuse for wood is just so much ill informed hamfisting. It's the mainstream media archetype. It conjures images of a cowering, embarrassed, weak, submissive who craves feeling bad about himself.

Now, if that's your thing, more power to you. But for me, my need for a humiliatrix is all about love, romance, sex, empowerment, redemption and transcendence. I've done an awful lot of sexualizing difficult situations in order to feel good about bad stuff. From mother stuff, to a classically unhappy adolescence, to a completely failed vanilla sex life - I've eroticized the emotional malfunction of mommy dearest's disparagement and life's disappointments in general.

Why, you may ask, if I understand this can't I get the cure and just be normal. Well, being a pervert is much more interesting, it feels way hot, and it just plain is who I am. It is by seeking the replication of disapproval and transcending it that I am redeemed. My domme values my need because it permits her sadism. Together we fit perfectly and it is there in that pain space that I am capable of tremendous intimacy and romance. It's pretty counter-intuitive but I know surely in my heart that it is true for me.

On a breezier note, we chatted about my thing for vintage lingerie. Give me a nice black Rago Shapette open bottomed girdle and a long line bullet bra over leather any day of the week. Not that there's a problem with leather. There's just something about lycra and support circling when baby's got back that sets my heart aflutter. Just what did Katie do, anyhow?