As I try to tell this story, at least this early part of the story, I sometimes find it hard to separate the feelings I have for and about Jack now, with those feelings I had about him then, in our earlier relationship. I was so young, and it was 20 years ago. Some things seem as clear and detailed as if they had happened yesterday. Other things ... are fuzzy. But one thing that remains clear is the memory of the conflicted emotions I experienced that summer.
Does Feeling Submissive Make You Weak?
Sometimes the feelings I had back then were hard to process because my relationship with Jack was so different. Not only because he made me feel different, like I described in the last post. But because it was my first "adult" relationship. Jack was the first boyfriend I had that I wanted to spend time with more than I did my friends. I had three close girlfriends and we were nearly inseparable. I had broken up with a boyfriend or two in the past because either I or they thought he was getting in the way of our tight knit friendship. But that summer felt different. We had graduated, we were all going off to college in the fall. We had jobs. We still spent time together that summer, but for me, that summer was all about Jack. And I didn't care.
Mostly because I was afraid that summer was all we were going to have. Jack made it clear, from the start, that our relationship had to end when I went away to college. He said we couldn't get too serious. He would warn me not to get too attached. He would say it was because he didn't want to make it hard for me to leave. He wanted me to be able to experience college life to its fullest, without being tied to him, or a long distance relationship. He would say it was for my own good. This turns out to be a theme.
I think he meant what he said, for the most part. But I think it was for his own good, too. Of course it was. He didn't want to be tied down to a long-distance relationship. I didn't understand this at the time. I would have done anything for him, I wanted us to stay together, even after I went away to school. And I thought that if he loved me in the all-powerful way I loved him, he would want that, too. He would want to overcome any obstacle to be with me, no matter what. But he didn't. And looking back, I understand. He was twenty years old. I was going to be four hours away. It's simple math, really. He just did not want what I wanted.
I had already fallen for Jack. And most days I was sure he felt the same about me. I could see it in the way he looked at me. I could feel it in the way he touched me. When he whispered my name in the dark as his warm hands roamed my trembling body, I could hear in his voice how he longed to possess me. And he did. I assumed that the fire between us was much stronger than his need or desire to "do what was best for me."
But some of the time, I would feel less sure. He would get distant, and pull away from me. He did not like to talk about himself, or his feelings. That was part of why he was so good at figuring out other people, especially women. The more he distracted people by being so interested in them, the less likely they were to spend too much time trying to figure him out. I knew this, and so I never pushed him on it. I didn't want to push him away. Plus, ever since the battlefields of Jr. High, I had always strived to be just a little bit different. To not conform. To not be "just like the other girls." The last thing I wanted to be was the girl who bugged him too much about the status of our relationship.
But maybe I was wrong. Maybe things would have ended up differently if I had acted differently. Pushed him more. Been more ... assertive. Would that have made me more irresistible to him? Maybe he would have found it harder to ... make the decisions he did.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
So ... I was confused sometimes that summer, wondering how he really felt about me. He made me feel like he loved me, that I was special. But then he wouldn't call, or he would seem distant. When we were together, sparks would fly and the world would disappear, but then his friends would warn me that he was flirting with other girls, maybe even doing more than just flirting. My friends would wonder why it didn't bother me more that he ran so hot and cold.
I would wonder, too. I would tell myself, and I would tell my friends, that it was ok, the way he acted towards me, because he had always said that we couldn't get too attached. That the summer was going to be all about fun, and nothing else. They weren't buying it. They could see how I felt about him, and they didn't want me to get hurt. I didn't want me to get hurt, either, but most of the time, I honestly was not bothered by the way he acted. I think part of it was, I felt like I understood him. I think he felt this irresistible pull towards me, and was fighting it. I think he was trying to fool himself into thinking we were just a casual thing. I think he was trying to protect himself from how he felt about me.
But that was only part of it. Sometimes the thing that bothered me most was how much I wasn't bothered by the way he acted. The thing was, I knew I was his, and so it didn't matter. God, it's so hard to describe these feelings I had. They were so confusing to me. I knew I should have been more worried when I would hear about him with other girls. Or mad! Why wasn't I mad? I mean, part of me was. It's like I had these two Sheas inside of me, in conflict. One was a regular 18-year-old girl, in love and worried that her boyfriend didn't feel the same way she did. Worried when he didn't call, or when he acted distant, or ignored me altogether.
But the other part of me was this OTHER Shea. The Shea who felt that everything was ok as long as he was happy. The Shea who felt that nothing else mattered if she could make him smile, or laugh, or surprise him with some witty comment or unexpected observation. This Shea felt that it didn't matter what he did or didn't do when they weren't together. It was only the time they spent together that mattered. That Shea thrived on the darkness and intensity. It was from her that the dark fantasies came from. I was that Shea in the dark of my bedroom, my hands between my legs, sweaty, moaning, creating new fantasies.
I had this desire, this urge, to throw myself at his feet. Or, really, to lay at his feet, looking up at him. Thinking about this turned me on like you would not believe. I would imagine myself naked, laying on the floor as he stood over me, fully clothed. Just looking at me, staring down at me with that darkness behind his eyes, like he was going to devour me. And I would feel so exposed, so vulnerable. Scared even! I would imagine that he could do anything he wanted to me, that he WOULD do anything he wanted to me, and I wouldn't care. I wanted him to watch me as I touched myself. I wanted him to see me as I teased my nipples, as I pressed my fingers between my legs. I wanted to lay there, trembling, and beg him to touch me. I wanted it so badly! I lay there in the dark, rubbing my fingers against my soft pussy and writhing in the sheets, and as I climbed to orgasm I would whisper, "please, please please." I was masturbating more and more as these thoughts and fantasies consumed me.
But then the other Shea, the everyday Shea, would come back and I would feel confused. Ashamed, even. I didn't think I should feel that way, because I thought it meant I was weak. Shouldn't I stand up for myself? Play hard to get, even a little? Where was my self-respect? My dignity? Shouldn't I be mad when he didn't want to spend time with me? When I felt him pulling away? I would feel sad, and a little hurt sometimes, but never mad. I could never be mad at Jack.
I was ashamed of those feelings, so I never told Jack about them. I didn't want him to think I was weak. I didn't want to seem like a doormat, that he could walk all over. I wanted to be strong. I wanted him to respect me. I wanted him to desire me. I was a cool, smart, interesting, fun girl to hang out with. I felt even more cool smart interesting fun when I was with him, because I knew he loved those qualities about me. He loved that I was a writer, or aspired to be one, and he encouraged that in me like no one else did. How could I let him know how weak I was on the inside? Girls were supposed to play hard to get, right? We were supposed to make the guys earn it, weren't we?Aren't we taught that a guy doesn't want a girl who throws herself at him? And god, I wanted Jack to WANT me! Guys like a challenge, right? I was so afraid if he saw what I felt on the inside, he would think I was weird. Or worse, boring. (Would ANY guy think a girl dying to offer herself to him, naked on floor, was boring??? Ah, the folly of youth.)
Back then, I didn't know what it meant to be submissive, sexually or otherwise. I wish I had. I would have understood that it didn't make me weak, it made me stronger than I ever thought I could be.
But I didn't know. So I tried to hide it. Though I'm sure it seeped out of every pore in me. I think Jack could sense something. It called to him. He could see it in my eyes. He could feel it in the way my body moved when I was with him. But he was young, too. He didn't understand it, either. Oh my god, how much more would we have explored that summer, if only we had known!
This post has been harder to write than I thought. I'm still not sure I'm explaining correctly how those budding urges of submission made me feel. How confusing it all was. And exciting. And confusing. I can still feel that roiling mix of emotions now, as I remember those days.
But that's enough introspection for now. This got more serious than I intended and it's making me sad. Next up: SEX! ICE CUBES! MY FIRST BLOW JOB! And not necessarily in that order.
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