To be accepted

Last week one of my best friends came to visit. She has been my friend for years and there is little she doesn’t know about me. She is one of those people that are able to accept anyone for who and what they are (she might blink a couple of times and ask a few questions, but she will accept you none the less). I have other friends, good friends, but she is my go-to-person if I need to talk about anything, anything at all.

With all the questions, doubts, anxieties and tickling butterflies I have been struggling with these last weeks and months, she was the natural choice to talk to and this was a good time. For a while we talked about a lot of things, work and our plans for the summer, books and the like. We also discussed our fingernails. Hers is always long and painted and mine have slowly grown out since I became single. When I’m with someone I keep them short. I’m a natural clumsy and I don’t need long nails to accidentally hurt my girlfriend when I’m perfectly able to do that with my elbows, knees and head. Also, to fingerfuck someone with long or uneven fingernails … It’s a big no-no, at least in my book. Anyways, I have let my nails grow and had just painted them that day; she commented and said they looked nice. I thanked her and added that I looked forward to using them on someone, sometime in the future. I said it jokingly and with a grin, because I wasn’t quite ready to say anything more.

I’m not sure if she just knows me very well or if I’m transparent, but she knew something was up from the beginning. We had talked for maybe half an hour before she asked what I was thinking about these days. I could back out, she would never push, but I wanted, needed, to tell someone. Someone that knew me and that I could trust. I told her that I had been reading about BDSM these last months and that I was pretty sure it was something I wanted to explore further. She asked what BDSM was, and I answered the best I could, even if it came out in a bit of a stutter. It is one thing to read, think and write about it, it’s quite another to say out loud.

I saw it on her when she realized what I was talking about. She looked away for a moment before looking at me again, smiling.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so. Earlier, when I said I wanted to use my claws on someone, I meant it literally,” I admitted.

“I kind of got that,” she said with a grin.

“I think I’m a bit sadistic.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, not condemning in any way, just inquisitive.

We talked a bit about the fact that I really want to hurt someone, but that the thought scares me and that I would never, ever, think about hurting someone that didn’t want me to. It was very important for me that she understood that part, even if it probably was unnecessary to explain. She knows me, she knows that I’m not a violent person or someone who wants to hurt those close to her, everything but. Just imagining hurting someone for real leaves me cold inside.

We talked a bit more about it before the conversation turned to something else. I took it up a couple of times before we parted. Once to tell her about the munch I want to attend and once to ask if she thought anything different about me now. She didn’t. Not really surprising.

So, that was the first time I admitted out loud that I think I’m a bit sadistic and that I’m curious about BDSM. It went very well, if I might say so myself. Acceptance feels good, and now I have someone to confine in.

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