Sometimes things don’t work out as planned or as hoped.
Sometimes too many roommates being around stops a scene.
Sometimes sudden illness, surprise visitors, or conference stressors do.
Sometimes a scene takes about a year to actually come into fruition.
After all, “good things come to those who wait”….
I have a large number of kinks, but an even larger list of kinks that I’ll be really into if you are, and if I like you.
Food play was always one of them – I didn’t personally see the appeal, but I was never against it in theory. It wasn’t until Indigo started talking to me about it (and I read their erotica Something More Scrumptious) that I really became excited about it – but even then, it was something that I was excited to do for them and for the experience, not because I thought it’d be something I would be into for myself, outside of this context.
From there, things, uh, kind of spiraled.
Changing our room to one with a fridge and a microwave.
A lengthy trip to the grocery store.
Wandering up and down the aisles, picking up food, considering how well it would stay on a body.
Asking them to hold altered versions of positions in the store so I could judge their platter-ability.
Eventually we left, bags filled with way more food than we anticipated, making this scene probably the most expensive one I’ve ever had (in terms of single-use items, at least) and made our way to the hotel.
We were giddy, laughing about everything that we had picked up, about everything that we were going to get up to, and then, suddenly, the practical elements set in.
“Wait. When are you eating?” I asked Indigo. “Because I’m planning on having my entire dinner off of you. So maybe eat some first? But, uh, make sure it’s food that won’t make you feel too full to have sex? But not so light that you’ll be grumpily wanting food the whole time? What do you think?”
Suddenly I was questioning the food that I bought, too. My health issues make eating complicated sometimes, and my body’s reaction to food can be a little unpredictable. Indigo knew all of this, but the reality of “this is a planned multi-hour scene where my body has to cooperate in a way that it may not” had set in, and with that, my anxiety.
Obviously there are a ton of scenes where my body might not be able to do it. But this was a scene that depends on my ability to do something that it usually cannot.
This is why I prefer playing with people who I know well – if I couldn’t follow-through and had to bail, that would be too bad. But Indigo would get it, would support me if I needed it, and we had other ideas to replace it with. If I have to sit there and decide between barreling through or attempting to explain in the moment why I had to stop, there’s a good chance that my anxiety would make me push through to my own detriment, but I wouldn’t need to navigate that with Indigo if things went wrong.
Sometimes the smallest thing – eating some fruit – can be more intimidating than needles or rope or knives.
I love experiencing new things, but I get in my own way, my anxiety tells me all the ways that I’m going to mess it up for everyone involved. Letting go off all that is hard.
As they showered, I unpacked and organized and reorganized the food, planning the order and methods again and again, hoping it would settle my nerves (ehhh, not so much, but I’m good at snapping into my role).
And so it began.
Anxious Dom Trick #1: don’t let them see your face.
The evening was, as expected, very silly. But as it progressed, I rapidly understood more and more clearly why people enjoy food, at least as we were doing it.
Teeth scraped skin. Tongues licked juices and salsa (a poor choice, but still amusing). Food slipped around as they were fucked.
Plus, I got fed.
By the time I was done my dinner, I was surprised at how strongly my original impression of this would be a fun thing to do with Indigo changed to heck yes, I’d do this again.
Eventually, I was done with my delicious Indigo Platter, and then it was on to the other main event – the pie throwing!
These we picked up on a whim – hey, uh, do you want to throw a pie in my face? one of us asked – and spent about ten minutes picking crunchy chocolate off the top.
We set up my camera, wanting a record of the mess for later.
Even with a Sheets of San Francisco carefully laid out, we weren’t expecting the mess that immediately sprayed over onto the bed, the walls, the fridge, our spare pillows, the floor…just…everywhere.
Which was obviously hilarious.
Then I realized that I didn’t break, I didn’t need to tap out, I wasn’t let down by my body.
That my anxiety left me hours ago, that all that was left was the confidence and sense-of-self that I find in dominating. It fills my bones and quiets my brain, allowing me the rare moments of peace where all I am is there, in that moment, with the other person.
I washed the pie off my face, my hair, my chest.
I felt calm.