Let the Good Times Roll

Let the good times roll, let them knock you around, 
Let the good times roll, let them make you a clown

It's hard to be humble when your wishes always come true. The expression is that you can't be grateful and fearful at the same time, but if you really dig deep into gratitude, if you are fully delighted by your charmed life, there isn't much room for humility either. If success comes easy to you, both because you define success so loosely and because you are extraordinarily lucky, motivation becomes fleeting too. 

Narcissus was Pushed, that's the title for a work of fiction that I have drafted fully in my imagination. The title, just now, that's the most I have typed of it in the real world. 

While I slept last night, one of my favorite gooning foot subbies, zoned out and tipped me...well it would be so tacky to share the exact amount, right? Let me instead share this a short story, when I was 19 a lived in a little green cottage on a lake in Nowherebrook, MA. This subbie tipped me my rent in 1992 for that little green cottage. 

That wasn't even the most generous tribute of the past 24 hours.

My top, wait let me clarify that too while we are here, of course he's still my top ya dumb ass. Why would I need his collar? I have his soul embedded in ink in the flesh of my right forearm. One of my favorite characters in one of my favorite books is Zaphod Beeblebrox. Among other things, he carved his initials into sections of his brain before modifying his brains (yes plural, he has two, keep up), so he could keep his plans a secret from himself and also know it was completely his own idea to steal the improbability drive, once it was done. Subliminal exclusively for you Master, all the same, ink be damned, I wouldn't let a submissive of my quality hitchhike around the universe uncollared, but that's just me an experienced Domme of unequalled caliber. 

Back to the lecture at hand. 

My top gives exceptionally good advice, and often times it is diametrically opposed to what I think on the matter I have asked for his thoughts on. Which is such a gift. More important than contemplating if he's right, or if I'm right, it gives me insight and the ability to step outside my own experiences, my own opinions, and to see the matter from the point of view of someone I trust almost as much as I trust myself. I trust myself unquestionably. Those are my initials all over this life. 

One of the most turned over pearls of wisdom he has given me is his observation that people will go to great lengths to avoid being humiliated. It may very well be my favorite dichotomy. He is right, but so was I when I responded, "But Sir, people pay me to humiliate them."  And they do, they come back for more even. 

Humiliation is not my kink. I don't think it's my strongest skill even if my subs would disagree, and never have I ever had my finger on my trigger while imagining that I am anything less than the star of my story. Yet one of the most significant scenes Master **** and I have shared included some rather intense humiliation. I've talked it about it here before, I floated around for weeks in this frequency of profoundly deep contentment. I've questioned how much longer it might have lasted if my mother hadn't taken ill and snapped me right back to reality.  The scene was completely his idea, while I agreed to it, it was not an idea I had any interest in exploring nor do I have any interest in revisiting. It wasn't the specific activity that caused such a flood of endorphins, but I believe rather the risk of allowing myself to feel and look, don't for one second underestimate how vain I am, absolutely ridiculous in front of my top.  In that scene and in other moments I've found myself scared, terrified really, and thinking What if this is the pig blood in Carrie moment? What if this is when he rejects me? What if this is my undoing? What if I am the punchline? 

The answer that soothes me, so what if it is? 

What an absolute rush of power. First and foremost, aiming to undo another speaks more about who they are than who I am, doesn't it? Wouldn't it verify they imagine that I am so very much? If my love and submission were rejected, it could only speak to their lack of taste not the quality of my affection. And if I shake off this scared version of me, trapped here in this moment, and do this thing, push all the chips in, what a payoff no matter how it unfolds. What a rush. Either I cum or it all burns. Oh wait, did I say I humiliation isn't my kink? Fuck, I didn't think I was a masochist either until I felt my feet throb while boarding. 

What I keep coming back to, all in all I think he's right. Most people would do anything to avoid feeling humiliated. The lengths people will go to in the name of self-preservation is fascinating to me, because simultaneously it seems they aren't big fans of the self they are preserving.  Whether it is in ways that only harm themselves, like opting not pursue one's passions in favor of safety and comfort, even if that safety and comfort is within a life they hate, rather than risk being a failure. Or in the ways some lash out, blame others, assign the narrative of their story to those who have wronged them, even if the slight was entirely in their own imagination, rather than examine the choices they made and how they might choose differently in the future. And it seems to me, from here far outside of the mainstream, that is accepted and encouraged by the masses. That we, as individuals and as a society, encourage each other to choose mediocrity rather than risk humiliation. And that, to me, sounds mortifying.