Entropy

Submissive by Lauren Zuniga

All day long I expend I hold together, I lift up, I give out I pour life for a food supply, irrigate crops in my mouth It is a rare occasion where I just take in. So when he asked if I was a dom or a sub, I didn't know what the fuck he meant. I just knew I wanted to be the opposite of him so we could fit. To be quite honest, I would have settled for kissing his wrists. Now I am a strong liberated woman, My ex-husband will tell you that you will never find submit written on these palms. But they are always face up and open, ready to give.

According to Cosmo, men like a woman that can take control. So, I have long memorized the erogenous zones. The exact placement of tongue for the desired response. I could always make a man's microphone sing some pretty damn good songs. But, the really hard thing for me was to lie back and receive. He held me like an edge of the cliff holds the feet of the fed up Like the sky holds the surrender of a falling body. He maneuvered me, like a canoe through crashing rapids, My hips the stern, his hand the pivoting blade through water. I reached out to return the favor but he said, "No, relax. I don't want  you to do anything." That is a move I do not know. The move to nothing. To be completely empty and open. To be effortlessly receiving pleasure without thoughts of strategy or counter. He placed my hands above my head. He pulled and pressed and bit like I was the last piece of fruit on earth and his survival dependent on it. He consumed every inch of skin, every drop of juice. I didn't notice any pain, just the joy of proper use. There was a fretboard between my legs and a soundbox in my  mouth. There were chords that never existed until he pulled them out. There were no chains or whips but I would have called him Master. Not because I felt I was less than him But because I felt like he knew things about my body that I didn't. Like he'd been studying it a thousand years and he deserved a  fucking certificate. Like I was the eastern sky and I was the prayer man and he was the man that conquered the last square of a turbulent mind. Then he asks me, "How do you feel?" I say, "Alive." I guess that makes me a sub, whatever that means. I guess I don't mind being dominated if I can trust the dominator. I guess sex doesn't really fit in boxes anymore. Gender and sexuality are words and images clipped from magazines waiting to be glued down on our vision boards. But they are always OUR vision boards because the way they were originally assembled does not make sense anymore. We are un-definable. We are prims of light. Shades of masculine and feminine looking for someone to  bounce life off of. Looking for someone to give when we need to receive, to receive when we need to give. And when it is done right, both gets done at the same time. Sometimes it is rough, like bone to bone, your insides cling kind of  love. Sometimes it is candle wax on torsos or moonbeams on eyelashes. Sometimes there is no skin involved at all; it is just being to being. Here let me hold that soul for you because you have been drowning in labels for so long that you have grown tired of survival. Here is a moment of bliss, a moment of aliveness. All day long I expend. I hold together, I lift up, I give out But sometimes, I just take in.