More on my Safe Word

I am afraid of heights.  This is not because I am afraid someone might push me or I might accidentally fall but because I am afraid I might jump out of curiosity.  I guess this explains why I couldn’t jump off the high board at the lake while growing up.  Somehow in my childhood brain jumping off a diving board was equivalent to jumping off a bridge so perhaps it is good I didn’t grow to love the diving board.  I admit this is probably not a normal thought process but then I never claimed to be normal.  My fear sat inside me, eating at me and growing with other situations.  I avoided any situation where a bit of fear, trepidation or anxiety arose.  And so I grew up.

Anyone that reads my blog probably realizes I love the outdoors and would not be surprised to hear that I frequently hiked the Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee back in my 20′s.  I loved to hike the trails and marvel at the scenery and still remember views of valleys and waterfalls.  But one day (there is always a but, isn’t there?), there was a steep trail that circled one of the mountains that challenged my fears.  As we hiked, we came to a narrow portion of the trail about 2 feet wide encrusted with ice and snow. A large wire cable had been embedded into the mountain face for handholds.  I took one look at the valley below, another look at the iced ledge I was expected to walk along, and finally a look at the cable I was to entrust my life to and began to sob.  There was no way in hell I was going forward.  Of course another hiker came from the other direction nonchalantly and asked what the problem was.  My companion told him I was afraid.  The hiker had some words of encouragement but it was the ease of his passing that angered me.  Inside me, something grew.  I was tired of being afraid, gathered my courage, and ventured out onto the trail.  From there, despite a few more challenges, I made it to the top.

As the years passed, I found myself enjoying physical challenges and took up horseback riding and eventually road biking.  There was nothing better than biking for miles and drafting along in a peloton behind very nice muscular male bodies.  I vacationed by biking across portions of New York averaging 75 miles a day and extended the trip with a solo excursion in Vermont.  I set out from a wonderful B&B and enjoyed the fresh morning air and the gentle rolling hills until I got about 25 miles when I suddenly hit this wall of exhaustion.  I couldn’t bike another foot and there were no taxis, buses, family, friends or cell phones to rescue me.  I had never hit the wall before and probably had some mental confusion but I still knew I had to get myself out of my predicament.  I made it back by eating, drinking, and alternating walking with biking and found myself better as I got closer to the inn.  But it was hitting that wall that intrigued me and tempted me.  It was the realization I could actually push myself to this end of self-control that stayed with me (think sub-space).  Although I have attempted to hit the wall with running, my instinct for survival takes over and I just can’t do it.

These events have shaped how I view my safe word.  Of course there is a safe word in our contract but to me, it sits there like an unwelcome relative who just won’t go home.  I have written about my safe word before but I see where my understanding comes from now.  It is the physical challenge and the lack of control but also this search for my own limitations.   If the situation arose where I felt I would come to immediate bodily harm, I would use it,  but I need to be in denial that my safe word exists.  I search for that wall in the strike of a whip and that lack of control in the tightness of ropes.  To acknowledge the possibility of uttering my safe word while my ass stings or burns is to seize control and take away the possibility of reaching the end.  I want to know if there is an end to my capability of maneuvering through life past the obstacles of pain, lack of control, and the capricious nature of daily living.

There exists behind that denial a need to have no needs … to be pushed beyond over-thinking my own control to get what I want and allow Sir to dictate what he thinks I need and want.  My need becomes his need and I wish to be of use and the use is defined by him.  In terms of labels, maybe this is feeling like property but labels don’t matter.  I need Sir to define the parameters of the challenge and success and then let me see if I can attain them.  I can’t have the same view of the challenge if I know I have a safe word in my back pocket.

My relationship with Sir allows me the luxury of self-denial and I couldn’t do this in a casual play setting.  Sir knows me and knows my body extremely well and only this allows me to trust the play and immerse myself in my search to find my limitations and enjoy the challenge.  What is important is not the existence of my safe word but my understanding of it and how I feel about it.  A safe word is needed to protect the Dominant as well as the submissive and hiding from my safe word doesn’t mean I don’t communicate to Sir.  I am honest in the assessment of what my body can take and tell Sir when a body part starts to protest but it is his decision to provide relief and I merely provide data.  My safe word can sit there and watch but no joining the fun.

 In response to To Safeword…or Not to Safeword
 

About bonimiss

bonimiss only found her kinky side in her early 50s and thankfully found Sir shortly after. She is is a long distance journey with Sir and is constantly amazed at the new and exciting experiences and discoveries. You can contact her at bonimiss through the Submissive Guide Community.
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One Response to More on my Safe Word

  1. What an amazing thoughtful post! You truly have an amazing gift for expressing yourself. I am going to have to look up your previous writing on the subject.

    I am flattered that my post inspired this writing! Thank you:)

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