Surrender 

“You want me to hurt you? Tell you what to do? Degrade you and own you?” He said.

His eyes lit up with excitement.

Mine squinting with disappointment

“Masochist doesn’t inherently translate to submissive.” I responded, and with an eye roll, mentally crossed him off my list of possibilities.

Homo sapiens, as far as we know, are the only species that has permanently enlarged breasts.

In the rest of the primates, plump breasts last only as long as breastfeeding does.

Why?

To attract a mate. The female body genetically modified itself to appear ripe for impregnation.

This got me thinking.

Thinking about the concept of the male gaze.

Take social and cultural construct out of the picture for a moment.

Biologically – women are at the mercy of men. Their genetic encoding surrendered to the desires of a male.

Then I thought about me, I am profusely rebellious.

Equipped with my wit, fire and confidence, I have never allowed any man to force me into surrender.

It was uncanny when I realised that through a recent connection I made, I organically allowed myself to surrender. Many men have tried and failed. But what was it about this connection that made me okay with it?

I felt safe, comfortable, loved and respected – yes.

But I felt those things in previous relationships and connections.

What is the anomaly?

He never asked or implied for my surrender- I offered it.

I am not submissive by nature- but in this dynamic- I am.

It is a very unusual mix of chemicals to get me to this state, and through some occurrence, here I am.

A rebellious masochist, who can on occasion surrender.

It’s uncanny how comfortable it feels.

How it can only happen with few.

How rare and profound it can be, to flip everything right side up.

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