On Bending Yourself Over
- Sophia R.K.
- 14 minutes ago
- 6 min read
The secret third thing between control and surrender.
For the first 30 years of my life, I was certain that I was submissive through and through. I was always ambiently searching for Daddy in lovers and art, bouncing from person, place, and thing, fantasizing about being told what to do, what to wear, what to eat, what to think. However, when I look back on how I was actually moving through the world, I came off more like a delusionally confident, moderately pretentious know-it-all with very big ideas, not great listening ears, and a 55% success rate when it came to follow-through. I was submissive in my mind's eye, but life is a cruel mistress, and she made a girlboss out of me.
When it came to sex, I was fully enveloped in my inner fantasyland, crafting stories and scenarios and almost completely unable to actually be in the present moment with my lovers. This would manifest in multiple instances of partners asking, “Where did you go?” when they inevitably noticed I was so transparently Not Here. Rich for someone who is a student of Ram Dass, lmao.
Some of this was trauma, some of it was shame, a LOT of it was just not being fully acquainted with my real desires enough to even articulate them. Yet, on the rare occasion of truly transcendent sexual experiences, so much of the “wow” factor was a product of either surprise and mystery, or my partner seemingly being able to read my mind so that my fantasy became a part of the reality without my having to exert any effort at all (which we cannot ever truly expect of our partners). Of course, we often hear that people who are submissive in bed are often dominant in life and vice versa, but this binary is reductive. There was this secret third thing, this ebb and flow of longing and turning away, something akin to a hunger pang… not exactly painful, not exactly pleasureable either — this dissonance that I noticed arising in my late 20s.
So what is this dissonance? Carolyn Elliot (PhD and author of Existential Kink) would say having is evidence of wanting.
I thought I wanted to be told what to do by others in art, life, sex, whatever. But what I actually wanted, craved, and starved for was the tension of being told what to do — seeing how it could be the right thing and not listening. Getting good, solid advice, and going “Nah! I’m gonna do it my way. Thanks though!” I was creating scenarios that were ripe for people to tell me, “You can’t do that,” “Are you sure?” “Shouldn’t you get a real job?” just so I could prove them wrong. Or, rather, just so I could try, fail, feel that hot sting of embarrassment, and try again. In other words, I’m a big fucking brat.
To be a brat is to be a bit of a fucking pain in the ass to yourself and others at all times. This translates in and out of the bedroom. For me, it’s not being whiny or petulant in the traditional sense. It’s more like a subtle but constant jockeying for position with whoever is the most powerful man in the room. And I always, always win. Even when I “lose”, I still win, because on the rare occasion that I’m losing, that means I’m rubbing up against a man who is smarter, stronger, braver, and altogether more together than me. He knows better than I. There are very few of these men in the world, and when I meet one, or more to the point, allow one in my bedroom, I am more than happy to lay down my arms and my panties in kind.
The thing about these men is that they are truly dominant. Not Andrew Tate-style, tiny man in a suit-dominant, which is actually just controlling. These are the men who can look at a little boy throwing french fries in a restaurant, walk up to him and his friends, shake his hand, and strike the fear of God into him with his presence alone, no words required. We can learn much from these men.
Being dominant (sexually or otherwise) isn’t about telling anyone what to do — dominance is responsibility, and taking that responsibility for the entire situation. It’s not “bEnD ovEr I’m GonNa hAvE mY Way WiTH You.” That’s a sub pretending to be a dom. True dominance involves preparing the environment, gathering the tools, and existing in the flow state to execute. In other words: the dominant focus = responsibility. The submissive focus = pleasure. More specifically, pleasure and trust in being in good, reliable hands that will not Fuck It Up. This dynamic can be applied to creative work, making money, personal responsibility, and all facets of life, really. It’s important to get very well acquainted with the dom and sub within you, and to know when it’s time to wear each hat. This is especially true if you consider yourself an artist, which, as we’ve learned, most of you secretly do.
In the boudoir of creativity, when it’s time to be the dom, you create all the conditions needed to produce great work: studio setup, time blocks, limiting distractions, and saying NO to anything that takes you off course. When it’s time to be the sub, you are flexible, open to making mistakes and embarrassing yourself, embracing the full expression of the inner sanctum, with no holding back, and are ready and willing to try new things.
Consider, if you will, how you can be a better dom to yourself — to money (money, like ego, is a wonderful servant and a terrible master), to your work, to your art, etc. Perhaps a re-calibration of your Google Calendar is in order? Perhaps it’s time to start going to bed before 2 A.M. If it’s the sub in you that needs attending to, maybe it’s time to turn the phone off and go for a long walk to get some ice cream. Perhaps it’s time to throw away the underwear with holes and buy something lacy. Maybe what you need is self-directed yoga in a very hot room. Only you can know what you need, and I encourage you to be your own scientist and find out for yourself.
If any of this hornyspeak triggers the prude in you, consider the fact that creative energy is sexual energy. Same energy, zero differentiation. The only difference is the end result, i.e., what is born. But you can be pregnant with a painting the same way you can be pregnant with a baby. That old adage, “Everything in life is about sex except sex, which is about power,” is very true. These are truly secret codes of the universe that, when adopted and practiced, will inevitably change your entire life.
There is much to still be discovered here for me personally — let alone for us as a collective. This monologue is less of a deep dive and more of a treading the shallow end, but I’d be curious to hear how this lands for you, dear reader. As it happens, in last month’s Reading Room, we dug into Gillian Anderson’s 2024 collection “Want”, a selection of anonymous letters written by hundreds of women from around the world, revealing how women feel about sex when they have the freedom to be totally honest. This month, it’s J.G. Ballard’s Crash, a provocative and surreal masterpiece that explores the visceral fusion of human experience and modern technology through the lens of high-speed car accidents as erotic playgrounds. I would love to see you there.
The sub in you desperately wants a dom with a PLAN and the willingness to EXECUTE. The dom in you desperately wants a sub that will DO WHAT SHE IS TOLD and RELAX. And the dog in you wants to go fetch. Arf arf! 🌀
Sophia R.K. is a musician, writer, artist, ex-thinker, and intern for God on the weekends. She is the creator of the members-only book club Reading Room. You can acquaint yourself with her musical alter ego here. You can find her on Twitter @kaliyugacowgirl.