Writing from the top
I am a product of academia. I surround myself with words; naming, and writing are integral to my experience of a thing. I find it really easy to write from the bottom’s perspective and almost impossible to write from the top. Needless to say, I find this frustrating.
Perhaps we as a community focus more on the emotional experience of the bottom than that of the top. I for one tend to process my experiences of bottoming in a more in-depth way; I almost have to in order to make them safe. I think of bottoming in emotional terms, I think about the sensations I want and how I want them to make me feel. I think about my fears too, and contexts in which it is ok to play with them. I think of topping visually. I see the scene before I feel it. It is like photography but backwards…in photography I say “this is the image we are going for” and then I work to match accessories, backgrounds, and models to the image I want. Topping kind of goes from the ground up…it starts with a person who makes something click in my head because I do not walk through the world wanting to slam people against walls, rip their clothes off, force them to their knees, tie their hands behind their backs, and shove their heads down to make them lick my boots before I beat them till they scream. I really need to meet the right person before all that flashes in front of my eyes. But as you can see from the above description it is still very visual. I think of topping in physical terms; I think of bottoming in emotional terms, and the physical is harder for me to write.
This visual thought process is somewhat misleading as well. Don’t get me wrong, I get off on watching people process pain and it’s awfully nice if I’m the one causing that pain. However, somewhere under all that imagery, I am looking to cause my bottom to feel a certain way on an emotional level. I am not looking to break people, or to make them fall madly in love with me. If anything I am looking to comfort them. I don’t know where I got this idea, but somehow I have absorbed the notion that kinky sex should make us more at peace with ourselves. It should make us feel loved and cherished. Yes, between coming up with absurd role-plays requiring serious research into costuming and dripping hot wax on very perky nipples, and somewhere beneath wanting to see that moment of panic in a bottom’s eyes because they don’t know if they can take anymore and I don’t look ready to stop, I want to make them feel loved, and cherished, and safe. I want to make them go through feelings of fear, humiliation, panic, lust, and submission first, but I always want to bring them to a safe place with pink fluffy bunnies in the end. Funny isn’t it?