Acceptance: In Scene and In Practice

It's hard for me to describe my knowledge level here, because my life has been so wildly disparate a collection of meat experience and online liaison. When someone asks me, "How long have you been into the scene?" I have to cast about for an applicable response. The best I can do is this: I was familiar with the sensation of being in subspace long before anyone came into my physical proximity with so much as a bight of rope. Because of this, I struggle constantly with the labels, titles, and names for various states of being in the lifestyle. I may say D/s and mean B & D. The headspace is the same for me, and so I have a hard time realizing that others may need me to distinguish between the two.

Another facet of the struggle to grow into The Person I Want To Be is my long-term fight with self-image. (Hah, right? "Don't we all?" asks the peanut gallery.) I looked upon my first visit to a public playspace with a measurable amount of trepidation. Between my body weight and the many scars on the insides of my thighs, I felt almost paralyzed at the thought of showing myself to a bunch of strangers, especially in the uniquely-vulnerable position that a sub can find herself in during play.

Even at my debut event, the fall LF&P, I was entirely taken aback by the perceptible amount of acceptance in the scene. I didn't have to worry about being big or being scarred or being new. Nobody cared what I looked like, except that I looked happy. I've been complimented by strangers more in my several visits to Crucible than in my entire life previous.

You can't know how much that means to me.

I received an especially gratifying comment this past weekend at the BR Night at the Crucible. Niy put me in a loose karada of white cotton rope with miniature LED Xmas lights wrapped around it. Each set of lights ran on 4 AA batteries, with the battery packs tucked into the front of my panties. Aside from the multiple inquiries about how the lights were powered and where the batteries were stored, I got plenty of (very pleasing) long looks from the tops present (including Uncle Frazier, yay! Sexiest Dirty Old Man I EVER did see,) and from a bunch of the bottoms too. However, the nicest compliment I got was from one of the BR regulars. I was lounging on one of the couches in the former smokng lounge, legs stretched out, lights blinking and reading some book about the history of sex patents in the US. Said regular stood back and surveyed me, then told me "This is beautiful. A beautiful subby lounging on a couch in a classical pose, all comfy and tied up in her festive Christmas bondage, reading a book. This should be a poster or something."

I suck at accepting compliments, and this one was so nice and so uplifting that all I could really do was smile and babble something pleased-sounding that may or may not have been English.

Additionally, I got to snuggle with another non-busy subby who I'd spoken to in introduction only a half hour or so before.

I love this level of acceptance. I love that I get to experience it, and that I know that it extends to all within the scene.

I only wonder what's wrong with the world that one has to be part of a niche social group on the fringes in order to feel it. There are people on this earth that will never feel the kind of warmth and regard that I felt this weekend from a pair of relative strangers.