This is my third post in a series on subspace, as promised, though it is a bit later then I intended. With my imposter fears, I almost abandoned the thread all together, but when I saw it half done I remembered how important this particular story is. I learned my lesson the hard way, but hopefully you don’t have to.
This is a different kind of story about safety. Most cautionary tales out there are about the physical safety involved in impact play, knowing your own limits, working within consent, or playing with someone responsible for your well being. This is a different kind of tale. This is about the safety of our minds, the safety we walk away from without even knowing.
TRIGGER WARNING: This story includes elements of grabbing and unwanted touching from a stranger.
To understand this story, you should understand a tiny bit about my kinky evolution. I knew what subspace was in the biblical sense, long before I knew it in the literal sense. That is to say Mr.R and I had been playing there for years without having a label for it. It never actually occurred to me that it would have a name, it was just what we did. So was most of our kink. It was casual, common, and particularly normal to me.
One day I was hanging out with some girlfriends, and one of them was horrified because her boyfriend wanted to use a blindfold on her. I chuckled dismissively. Not at her boyfriend, but at her. “Doesn’t everyone do that?” In retrospect, I must have sounded condescending, a blindfold was vanilla to me, a daily staple. I didn’t understand she was seriously scared, and working with the issues of trust taking away your sight requires. I was in my early twenties, had already worn out more than one blindfold, and kept ties permanently affixed to the bed posts for convenience. Another girlfriend in the conversation didn’t believe people really tied each other up. I shook my head, “OH yes, they do.” More looks. That’s when I decided to stop talking.
Don’t get me wrong, we aren’t the most extreme couple in the kink scene. In fact, at the time, I didn’t know there was kink scene. This was before fetlife, before internet porn, before the sexual and gender revolution we have today. My early days were limited to our imaginations, fears and personal shames. Things might have unfolded differently in my kinky story if I had popped on the internet a little sooner, but c’est la vie.
In this time frame, we had great sex that lasted literally for days. Now that I know the vocabulary I know we were edge playing, using orgasm control, exhibitionism, humiliation, and a small slew of other kinks. Our play brought us into public places across the state(s) as we made long car drives, visited new cities, and traveled. I thought of these trips as a day or weekend of sex. In fact, I was floating around in a light psychological subspace, possibly coupled with other natural highs from edging. However, I didn’t understand any of that, or even have the awareness of my mental shift.
If you’ve read my other posts, you’ll know I find the experience of subspace to be a sliding scale, rather then a line to cross. In a light subspace, I can float around for extended periods of time. Which is where my story starts.
On one particularly great trip, my Master (though at the time he was my husband, as I hadn’t heard of power exchange relationships) and I were driving across the state in late June. We were engaging in a great day of playful sex under the engerzing warmth of the early summer sun. I was floating lightly, highly aroused from being his play thing, under his control while he drove. I had on a particularly short dress that barely covered my bottom, though my panties had gone out the window hours ago. I was aware of the occasional driver watching me through the windows as I acted out the commands I was given.
Around lunch time, we stopped at a local fruit stand, and I ran to use the bathroom in the back of a large antique mall. On the way, I found a few snacks and passed them off to my Master to buy for me. He took the trek back up to the front checkstand, as I continued to the meador through the warehouse of cluttered shelves to find the restrooms. An entire wall was open, and an occasional gust would zip through, grabbing at my short skirt, twisting it up lightly. I held it down, trying to keep it under control. At the bathroom there was a line, and I entertained myself looking at little knick knacks on the shelves surrounding it.
As I waited, a strange man started up a conversation with me. He started it innocently enough, asking me about the things I was looking at, making casual remarks about the weather. With 20/20 hindsight, I can see many red flags in the events and conversation that transpired, but in the moment, with my floaty brain, I saw nothing. He started to ask increasingly personal questions, though I didn’t connect them, and I answered freely with a flaky dismissiveness. He asked my name, my interests. When he asked how I got here, I told him I was driving through, just stopping for an apple. I neglected to mention that Mr.R was with me, letting him believe I was here alone. Another unnoticed mistake.
I kept dancing around, looking at cute ceramic things, waiting for the bathroom door to open. He kept getting closer and closer to me, moving to the end of the aisle I had wandered down. I looked to the bathroom door again, still closed, another person in front of me. The strange man had begun adding cooing sounds into his conversation with me, and started touching and petting my hands and arms as I picked up and replaced little things. He had maneuvered himself right next to me, and I could smell his cologne.
When the bathroom door opened, and I dashed in.
At this point I knew enough that I didn’t want to be around the strange man anymore. I innocently assumed he would be gone when I came out, and didn’t think anymore of it. Master was still up at the front of the warehouse, surrounded by a crowd of people, long away, and separated from me by noisy ventilation fans, piles of old furniture and racks of collectibles. I came out of the restroom quickly, expecting someone else to be waiting to get in, and the strange man to be gone.
Closing the door, I found the exact opposite. The strange man was still there, and he was the only person as far as I could see. I should have yelled out, or gone back in the bathroom and waited. I should have left as soon as he started petting me, or as his questions got increasingly personal. But I didn’t. I was floating in subspace, naturally high, not thinking clearly, not stringing together clear coherent thoughts, and not capable of making sound decisions.
As soon as I stepped forward from the shelter of the bathrooms, the strange man grabbed me. He pressed his face into me, kissing me, holding me from the side in a forceful hug. He said things like, “Ah, my sweet,” and talked to me like he was my caretaker, or a father-figure. I pushed him off me, using my knee for leverage, and rushed straight to the front of the store where my husband was just paying for our road snacks.
Now, you might be thinking here is where I got help, reported the man, said or did something. But nope. I did nothing. I said nothing. In fact, the only action I took was to cover it up. I took the keys from Mr.R and drove away as fast as possible. I didn’t tell him anything had happened until we were too far away to do anything, and even refused to go back when he wanted to (that was before before my submissive days… ).
I wasn’t hurt, and nothing bad came of the event. In fact, it was a great day, and we had a wonderful trip. But it is a cautionary tale and reminder of the impaired decision making we all experience when floating around, whether deep into subspace, or just at the beginning. Had I not been floating, I would have seen the warning signs very early on, and gone straight back to Mr.R. If not that, I would have sought help afterwards, maybe even called the police. Instead, I saw nothing. I did nothing.
So take my experience, my lesson, and run with it. You may enter a light foaty high thinking of play to come, fantasizing, without even realizing it. Remember to keep yourself surrounded with sober people, and that your decision making is probably impaired long before you know it is. In these light, floaty times, the need for after care, and risk for sub-drop is much lighter. But it is still there. The standard sequence of care and precautions should always be followed.
Have fun and play safe out there!
This is post 3 in a series on subspace.
Have any questions for me? Want to hear more? Want more stories? More Pictures? More of the little me? The submissive me? My kinks? Let me know. I love your comments, and want to write and post about what you want to hear about.